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Sibling in Christ,
What does it take for you to believe that God has really come through for you?
In Exodus, chapter 15, the people of Israel stand on the far side of the sea. What had seemed impossible—escape from Pharaoh, freedom from slavery—has become their lived reality. And so they sing. Moses leads them. Miriam dances. The whole community erupts in praise: “The LORD is my strength and my might, and he has become my salvation.” Their song is not abstract. It rises out of a moment when God made a way where there was no way.
In the 20th chapter of John's Gospel, the scene could not feel more different. The disciples are not singing—they’re hiding. The doors are locked. Fear hangs in the air. Even after hearing the news of the resurrection, they are unsure, uncertain, not yet ready to rejoice. And Thomas gives voice to what many of us know too well: “Unless I see… I will not believe.”
And yet, into that locked room, Jesus comes.
He does not wait for their faith to be strong. He does not demand that they get it all together first. He comes right into their fear and speaks the word they need most: “Peace be with you.” He shows them his wounds. He breathes on them. He stays with them. And in time, Thomas—honest, searching Thomas—moves from doubt to one of the most profound confessions in all of Scripture: “My Lord and my God!”
These two moments—standing at the sea and standing in that locked room—are not as far apart as they seem. Both are places where God meets people at the edge of what they can handle. Both are moments where fear gives way, slowly or suddenly, to trust. Both remind us that faith is not something we manufacture on our own, but something that grows as we encounter the living God.
Sometimes we are like Moses and Miriam, able to sing because we can clearly see what God has done. Other times, we are like the disciples, unsure and hesitant, needing Jesus to come and stand among us again. Most days, if we’re honest, we’re somewhere in between.
And here is the good news: whether we are singing on the far shore or sitting behind locked doors, Jesus comes to us just the same. He meets us in our questions, our fears, and even our doubts—not to shame us, but to speak peace, to show us his presence, and to draw us into deeper faith.
So wherever you find yourself this week—rejoicing, wondering, or somewhere in between—listen for his voice. Look for his presence. And don’t be surprised if, in time, your own song begins to rise.
Christ is risen. Christ has risen, indeed. Alleluia!
Pastor Will
P.S. Where in your life right now do you feel more like you’re standing on the far shore, ready to sing—or sitting behind locked doors, still waiting to believe? Reply to this e-mail. I’d love to hear your story.
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