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And somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I found myself telling him about Easter—not the version with flowers and full pews, but the one from John 20.
The first Easter didn’t happen in a sanctuary. It happened in a locked room.
The disciples were afraid. The doors were shut. The world outside felt dangerous, uncertain, and overwhelming. So they did what people do when they’re afraid—they locked the doors and stayed inside.
And then, somehow, Jesus came and stood among them.
Not after they opened the door.
Not once they got their courage back.
Right there—in the middle of their fear, their confusion, their locked-down lives.
“Peace be with you.”
That’s what I shared this week.
Because the truth is, we all know something about locked rooms.
Some are physical. Some are emotional. Some are places we’ve ended up because of our own choices. Others are places life has put us. But all of us, at some point, know what it feels like to close the door and try to stay safe.
And Easter says this:
Jesus is not waiting on the other side of the door for you to get it together.
He comes into the room.
He comes into the fear.
He comes into the regret.
He comes into the places that feel cut off and forgotten.
And when he does, he doesn’t lead with shame or judgment.
He says, “Peace be with you.”
That’s the good news of Easter. Not just that the tomb is empty—but that no room is so locked, no life so confined, no situation so far gone that he cannot step into it.
I saw that this week in a jail.
And I believe we’ll see it again this Sunday.
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