When I came to Alaska, there was only one item on my “must-see” list: the Northern Lights. Any time I mentioned this, people would jump into stories about them. They would pull out their phones to show me the resplendent colors they captured the night before and wax poetic about their own experiences with the Aurora and how beautiful it was. I smiled and ooh-ed and aah-ed, but I didn’t get it. Not really.
That is, not until I made the trek up to Fairbanks in the dead of winter, cast off sleep as a luxury afforded by those who had seen the Lights, layered on nearly every piece of clothing I brought with me, and stood on top of a mountain for as long as my toes could stand, placing my hopes on a favorable weather report. And when the Aurora came out to play — those shifting sands of color blowing across a midnight sky, those pulsing sound waves revealing the music of invisible angel bands — when I saw them for myself, a transformation took place in me. All of a sudden, the Northern Lights moved from being something I knew about to something I experienced for myself.
Something similar is happening in John’s Gospel (20:19–31) on the evening of Jesus’ resurrection. The disciples are huddled and hidden together in their house because they are afraid that those who crucified Jesus are coming after them next. They have heard the news that Jesus is alive, but he isn’t around, and they are still afraid. A new life, a new creation may in fact be breaking into the world through Jesus’ resurrection, but that reality is stuck in between the disciples’ ears as mere information, until Jesus walks through the locked doors with a word of peace on his lips.
He shows the disciples his wounds, so they know it is him, and then he breathes his Holy Spirit upon them. In that moment, their fear turns to rejoicing, because their knowledge about Jesus shifts to an encounter of Jesus. Fear’s barricade comes crashing down in the presence of Jesus.
If my own experience is any indication, Jesus is still in the business of replacing fear with peace and joy. Even if I am hiding away, like the disciples, Jesus has a tendency to find me and meet me where I’m at. Because he has walked through the doors of my life, he has become, for me, more than words on an ancient page. Jesus is no longer relegated to the category of “intellectual doctrines I believe.” He lives in me. His peace and Spirit take up residence in my life.
I know this, I know Jesus, because I have experienced him for myself. So can you. It’s the same invitation offered to everyone: Come and see for yourselves the wounds in his hands and in his side. Come and see, so that you may come to believe and, in believing, have life in his name.
Joshua Gorenflo and his wife, Kya, are ministers at Kenai Fellowship, Mile 8.5 on the Kenai Spur Highway. Worship is 11 a.m. on Sundays. Streamed live at kenaifellowship.com.
