John 20

John 20:1-31

The Gospel According to John John 20:1-31 John 20:1-18. In this paragraph we have the first part of the account of the completion of the Ultimate Sign. The temple of His body had been destroyed by His enemies, destroyed in the sense in which the word was used by Himself, dissolved. They had put Him to death. If that had been the end, there had been no sign, and no authority. However great He may have been in His idealism as revealed in His teaching, however heroic in His devotion to an intention, if death were all, there is no sign of authority. The completion of the sign was His resurrection.

The whole story, occupying the twenty-nine verses of this chapter, spans an octave of eight days. The account of the first day is contained in verses one to twenty-three (John 20:1-23); and that of the second day-that is, the eighth from the first,-in verses twenty-four to twenty-nine (John 20:24-29). We are concerned now with the earlier part of the first day only. John gives an account of the morning and the evening of that day. The story of the morning is found in these first eighteen verses (John 20:1-18).

These eighteen verses fall quite naturally into two movements. In the first ten we see the empty tomb; in verses eleven to eighteen we see the living Lord.

It is more than interesting, it is arresting, to remark in passing that we have no historic account of the rising of Jesus; but we have accounts of the risen Jesus. It is quite evident that no eye watched Him as He left the tomb. His enemies were not permitted to see that; and His friends were not expecting Him back; and so they did not see it.

As we consider the empty tomb, let us first follow the sequence of events in the early morning. There is much that John does not record. We are simply taking what he does tell us. His principle all through, was that of selection. The same principle obtains here. From the marvellous story of that first day, he makes selections, and he tells us certain things that happened in rapid sequence in the morning.

The first thing recorded by John was that of the arrival of Mary of Magdala, very early, “while it was yet dark.” When she arrived, the one thing she saw was that the stone-some of the evangelists say, was rolled away,-John says, was lifted out. The stone which had been rolled to the mouth of the rock-hewn tomb, and upon which the seal of Pilate had been put, to render it secure, was removed from the entrance. Mary evidently did not stay to investigate. She ran to Simon Peter and to John. How long the journey was we have no means of knowing; certainly the tomb was not very far away from Jerusalem.

In passing, notice where Simon Peter was. He was with John, and consequently in company with John and the Virgin Mother of our Lord. John had taken her to his home. This is the only place from which we learn where Peter went after he had denied his Lord. The last picture we have of him prior to this is of the man with a broken heart, going out, having denied his Lord. I used to wonder what became of him during the dark intervening hours between the crucifixion of his Lord, and His rising. Here we find John had taken him in. For evermore blessed be the memory of John, if for nothing else than that he found Peter, and took him in during that dark period.

The next thing in sequence, is the story of how they immediately left their home, and ran to the sepulchre to see if this thing could be so; and, if the stone were really gone, what it meant. John outran Peter. I think that is our warrant for thinking he was younger than Peter. I am quite sure he was not more eager. When John arrived, “He seeth the linen cloths lying.” That was a little more than Mary saw. She had not stopped to investigate. He stooped and looking in, saw the linen cloths lying.

The arrival of Peter is the next incident. He did not stand outside, but went right in, and “He beholdeth the linen cloths lying, and the napkin . . . rolled up in a place by itself.”

Then John, encouraged by the boldness of Peter, went in too, and we are told that “he saw, and believed.”

Then Peter and John went home. Mary did not, She stayed. We are not told that she had seen what they had seen, but she stayed by, when they went home. Such is the sequence.

The supreme value of this story of the resurrection, as we have it from John, is the care with which he described what these disciples did, what they saw, and ultimately the effect produced upon one of their number. In this way John’s account, simple, natural, artless, characterized by truth and poetry, carefully considered, throws a light upon the resurrection, along the line of demonstration, to be found nowhere else in the historic records.

In these few verses John shows that these disciples, Mary, John, and Peter used their eyes, but he uses different words to describe how they did so. It is said that Mary “seeth” the stone rolled away. It is said when John arrived, that “He seeth the linen cloths lying.” It is said Peter “Beholdeth the linen cloths lying, and the napkin” in separation. Then it is said that John “saw.”

Mary “seeth,” and the Greek verb is blepo, which means just to see, quite the ordinary word. When John came, and stooping, looked in, he also saw in that way, the linen cloths lying. When Peter came, he beheld. The word for Peter’s use of his eyes is theoreo. This word suggests far more than mere seeing. It means that he looked critically and carefully. We are not told of any effect produced upon him. I am sure an effect was produced. Then John, encouraged, went in. Now we have an entirely different word. It is the word eido. This word, while describing the use of the eyes, always conveys the idea of apprehension and understanding of the thing seen. When John went in, he saw, that is, he understood, and therefore believed. Intelligent apprehension produced absolute conviction.

Let us now consider what it was they saw. Mary saw the stone rolled away, and the entrance unguarded. John saw a little more. He looked in, and saw grave cloths lying, fallen flat, but lying just as they were, except that there was evidence that the body was not there. When Peter came in, he examined. What did he see?

In a book written in the year 1900 by the Rev. Henry Latham, M.A., who was then the Master of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, called “The Risen Master,” the author has gone into this matter with very great care, and has clearly shown what they actually saw that morning. I have no hesitation in saying that nothing finer has been written on the Gospel of John than Westcott’s commentary. But when Bishop Westcott suggests that the description means that everything was left in order in the grave, that there was no haste or hurry in the resurrection; and that the fact that the napkin was folded together apart shows order without haste, I do not hesitate to say that this is an entirely mistaken interpretation. Peter saw the grave cloths as they had been wound about the body of Jesus, with all the spices in the windings, undisturbed, except that those wound around the body had fallen flat. They were not unwound.

The most significant statement is that the napkin was lying by itself, separately; and that it was still in the folds as it had been about the head of Jesus.

A careful consideration of the method of burial in those rock-hewn tombs shows that the wrapping of the head was never a part of the wrappings on the body, but was separate. Into those rock-hewn tombs the body was carried, and laid the feet towards the opening, and the head further in, the body lying on a stone ledge; upon which ledge there was a slightly elevated place for the head. The napkin about the head was thus always separate from the wrappings about the body. When Peter looked, he saw the grave cloths lying. John had seen that, but that fact had no particular significance for him, except that it did prove at the first glance, that the body of Jesus was not there, because they had fallen flat. He did not see the napkin.

Peter saw that also. He discovered that the grave cloths had not been disturbed. They were just as they were when Joseph of Arimathaea and Nicodemus left them. The wrappings were still there; the spices had not escaped. Moreover the napkin, wrapped in a peculiar way about the head, was undisturbed, “folded up.” That word does not mean smoothed out. The napkin was still in the folds that had been wound round the head.

John entered the tomb, and he saw; that is, he understood. There had been no disturbance in that tomb. No rude hand had gone in and torn away the wrappings. Not even the hands of lovers had touched the dead body which Joseph of Arimathaea and Nicodemus had left there. John saw and believed. His Lord was not there. He was risen!

Remember, that as yet they had not seen Jesus. He had not appeared to them; but the demonstration of the resurrection came in a stone rolled away, and in undisturbed grave cloths. The tomb was empty. He had gone. The Ultimate Sign was complete.

That is the centre and the heart of Christianity. Deny it, and we have no Christianity. The historic fact of the Christian Church is the result of the thing that John saw and believed. The angel who rolled the stone away did not do so for Him to leave the tomb, but to show He was gone. He had gone before they rolled the stone away, and without disturbing the grave cloths. John saw, that is he understood, he mentally apprehended the meaning of the sight which fell upon his astonished vision. Therefore he believed.

And now in verses eleven to eighteen, we have the risen Lord. The central value of this is of course the Lord Himself, but the revelation gathers around Mary of Magdala. We see her in three relationships. First alone, in verse eleven (John 20:11); secondly with the angels, verses twelve and thirteen (John 20:12-13); and then with her Lord, verses fourteen to seventeen (John 20:14-17).

Mary alone. What a wonderful verse this is. “Mary was standing without at the tomb weeping.” Standing without. The stone was gone, but she had not understood it. Peter and John do not seem to have stopped and talked to her. A little fellowship might have been helpful, but they had gone away and left her. I can quite understand them from their own standpoint.

But she stayed on. What was she doing? Weeping. The Greek word there means sobbing. It is not merely that tears were trickling down her face. She was convulsed with her weeping.

And then what? “She stooped and looked into the tomb.” The word “looked” is not in the Greek, but it is implied. The statement is that standing there, she bent beside, or she leaned over to the tomb, evidently to look in. Peter had been in, and John. It would seem that they had come out and left suddenly, possibly understandably silently. But this sobbing woman wanted to see for herself. I can see her there, Mary of Magdala, out of whom He had cast seven demons; the woman who through Him had been set free from the appalling domination of seven evil spirits.

She had lost Him. She saw them put Him on His Cross. She had tarried longer than anyone else. Other of the evangelists reveal the fact that she stayed all through the first night after they had buried Him. She stayed by. She was back again the first day, after the Sabbath, for He was in His grave all the Sabbath.

She was sobbing, convulsed, and she bent over, and looked in. Then “she beholdeth”-the same word now that was used for Peter’s seeing. What did she see? “Two angels . . . sitting, one at the head, and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain.” She knew the body was gone. She had found that out, but angels were sitting there.

They asked her a question. “Woman, why weepest thou?” She replied, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.” When she went to tell Peter and John of what she had seen, she said to them the same thing, but in a slightly different form. She told them the stone was rolled away, and this is what she said, “They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb,” using the absolute term for Him, “the Lord.” In her mind He was dead, but that did not matter to Mary. He was still for her “the Lord.” Now she uses the personal word, “They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.” Mary of Magdala was true till death, and beyond it. He was dead. He had cast the demons out, and had been by her side through the years, and held her by His love and teaching. During those years He had indeed been her Lord.

But now He was dead. She had lost even His dead body. That is how she thought of Him. She did not think of a living Lord. She thought of a dead body. They have taken away a dead body; yes, but still she said, “my Lord.” I never read that without feeling rebuked at the loving loyal devotion of Mary of Magdala.

He might be dead and buried, but He was still her Lord. “They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.”

“When she had thus said, she turned herself back, and beholdeth Jesus standing.” She had bent and stooped over to look into the tomb, and when she had done so, she beheld the vision of two angels who spoke to her and asked her, “Woman, why weepest thou?” She told them through her sobs, she told her agony, “They have taken away my Lord and I know not where they have laid Him.” They did not reply. So she “turned herself back.” The wonder of the angels did not satisfy her hungry heart. They had not told her anything about Him. So she turned her back upon the angels. Her Lord was gone, and angels could not fill the gap for Mary’s heart.

She turned back; and when she did, there was Someone standing there. “When she had thus said, she turned herself back, and beholdeth”-the same word once more, the word that marks the staring wonder, examination, Surprise,-“she beholdeth Jesus.” But she did not know it was Jesus.

Then He spoke to her, and He first asked her the same question the angels had asked, and added another. He said, “Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?” To her at first it was only a man standing there, asking her the questions; a very understanding man, who knew that a woman standing by an empty tomb, weeping, was seeking someone.

Then “She, supposing Him to be the gardener,” quite naturally, very beautifully, said to Him, “Lord,” or “Sir”-I think it is good to translate “Sir,” because", supposing Him to be the gardener, it was not to be interpreted as anything other than a respectful address,-“Sir, if thou hast borne Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take Him away.” That was the splendid language of loyal love. Mary of Magdala may have been a very strong and healthy woman, but hardly equal to carrying a dead man. But love is capable of doing difficult things. Tell me where that dead body is, and I will carry it, she said.

Then He said, “Mary.” I cannot interpret that in any tone of voice of which I am capable, so as to reveal the significance of that “Mary.” It is possible to utter a name in such a way as to call back all memories, and reveal all endearment. That is what Jesus did. He just said “Mary.”

Then she said, “Rabboni.” That may be rendered “My Master,” but John is very careful to tell us what it meant in her case. “She turneth herself, and saith unto Him in Hebrew, Rabboni.” Then John says, “which is to say, Master.” No, that is not what John wrote. He used the word Didaskalos, Teacher. That reveals how far she had gone. It was very far, it was very wonderful; but it proved her ignorance of the final facts concerning Him. Immediately she approached Him to take hold of Him.

His words to her here were most significant. He did not say, “Touch Me not.” It is unfortunate how that rendering misses the true meaning. The Revised Version, in the margin, reads, “Take not hold on Me.” Our Lord did not say, You are not to touch Me. He said, Mary, not that way, you are not to take hold of Me, to cling to Me like that. The old order is changed. Do not so take hold of Me.

I have not yet ascended to the Father. He was declaring that the new relationship had not yet been vitally established, but she was to break with the old. All the sobbing of her heart was caused by her grief that she had lost Him in nearness of touch and holding. He said in effect, Mary, there is a new way coming. I have not yet ascended to the Father. He did not then say more.

We can run on and see that presently He ascended, and received gifts for men, for the rebellious also. He received the Spirit, and He poured Him out, and linked Mary of Magdala with Himself in a fellowship she never could have known in the days of His flesh.

“I am not yet ascended unto the Father; but go unto My brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto My Father and your Father, and My God, and your God.” Then “Mary Magdalene cometh and telleth the disciples, I have seen the Lord; and how He had said these things unto her.” What were these things? What she announced and told the disciples, and revealed to them was not the fact of His resurrection. They knew that by this time. She announced His coming ascension. She told them He was going to ascend. Thus we have seen an empty grave, but a living Lord!

John 20:19-29. In this paragraph we have the account of the completion of the final Sign of authority in the mission and ministry of our Lord. Concerning the first day, the day of resurrection, John gives us the story of the morning and of the evening; the records of the morning, the story of the empty tomb and the living Lord. Then he passed at once from those morning incidents to the evening. We know from other writers that other things had happened in the interval. He had appeared to two other women; He had met Peter privately somewhere; and he had joined two walking to Emmaus in sorrow, and revealed Himself to them in the breaking of the bread, when He accepted their offered hospitality. John omits these, and records the story of the evening, in the upper room.

Then there is the interval of a week between the things recorded at the beginning of this section and those recorded at the end. We have two appearings of Jesus to the disciples. I said in the upper room. That is not specifically stated, but we take it for granted that is where He came, quite evidently to some place of privacy, and not to a public place; for we are told that the doors were shut on both occasions. The first time we are told they were shut for fear of the Jews. We have the appearances of Jesus, on the evening of the first day, and again a week later.

We have no record in John or anywhere else, of anything that happened in the interval between those two days.

In this paragraph then we have three movements; the evening of the first day, verses nineteen to twenty-three (John 20:19-23); the interval between, verses twenty-four and twenty-five (John 20:24-25); and the eighth day, and the second appearing, in verses twenty-six to twenty-nine (John 20:26-29).

On the evening of the first day, let us notice the assembly. “When therefore it was evening, on that day, the first day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews.” Luke referring to this says “the eleven” were gathered together. That was a phrase used in reference to the apostolic band. Only ten of them were present. Thomas was not there. That does not mean that none other were there. We have no means of knowing how many, but what we do know is that it was a gathering, all of them disciples of Jesus.

Their hearts were filled with fear, and the doors shut. The fear was perfectly natural. The hostility to Jesus that had put Him on His Cross was by no means dead; and quite naturally this group did not know exactly what was going to happen. They did not know where that hostility might break out again; or whether it might not manifest itself against them, being His followers. But they were gathered together. What brought them back? They had been scattered every one to his own. They had fled when the thunder-storm burst upon His head. But now they were together again. The only thing that brought them together again was the stories that they had heard in the early morning that He was alive, that He was risen from the dead.

They had not understood the fact of His resurrection. John tells us that in this very chapter at an earlier point. But there were those who said they had seen Him. Through the intervening hours, as recorded by other of the evangelists, others had seen Him. They were afraid. The doors were shut.

And yet inside they were surely talking of their Lord, and of these strange things. I think I am warranted in saying that, by the story of the two walking to Emmaus. They were walking disconsolately away from Jerusalem when our Lord joined them. He asked them what they were talking about, and why they looked so sad. They said, Are you only a lodger in Jerusalem, are you only tarrying for a night? Don’t you know the things that are happening?

And He said to them, “What things?” Then they told Him, “Jesus of Nazareth … a Prophet mighty in deed and word … we hoped that it was He which should redeem Israel.” I am always convinced that the two going to Emmaus were men, because they said, “Certain women of our company” say that they have seen Him, as though it were possibly a delusion. They were all talking about Him. Thus they were gathered, with the conflicting emotions of wonder, of hope, of fear.

Then suddenly the Presence. Right there, in the midst of them He stood. They all knew Him. During these days it was quite possible for Him to appear so that some did not recognize Him. He appeared to Mary Magdalene, and she did not know Him. The walkers to Emmaus did not know Him until He blessed the bread, and they then knew Him at once. On this occasion, however, they knew Him. He was in the midst of them; and He had come in a strange way,-supernaturally. The door had not been opened, but He was there. Then He spoke to them, and gave them the common, ordinary, everyday salutation, which undoubtedly they constantly used in greeting each other: “Peace unto you.” It is impossible, however, to read this story without knowing that the ordinary and everyday salutation of courtesy took on a new meaning when He used it, that evening, in that upper room. “Peace unto you.” The last thing He had said to them in those hours of intimate conversations, as recorded in chapters thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen, was “My peace I give unto you.” They had gone out from these conversations, and had watched Him on His way to Gethsemane and Calvary; and then they had left Him in the terror and dread. He had said, “My peace I give unto you,” and there was nothing like peace to their troubled hearts, as it seemed to them. Now He stood in the midst of them, beyond the tragedy, beyond the agony, beyond the darkness, beyond that which had filled their hearts with terror; and He used the salutation with which they were familiar. He had said to them, “My peace I give unto you,” and now the reason for the dread was over, He was beyond the thing that they had so dreaded for love of Him, and so He said, “Peace be unto you.”

Having said this He showed them His hands and His side that they might make no mistake.It was as though He had said, Don’t be afraid. I am the very One you saw and followed; the One you saw nailed to the Cross. Thus the first word of peace, with its accompanying action, was intended to banish their fear. Then John tells us “The disciples therefore were glad, when they saw the Lord.” They saw! The word is eido, the same word used of John when he saw and believed. It means more than the mere seeing of the eye, referring to the seeing which produces understanding.

When they saw the Lord they were glad. The doors were still locked. The Jews were still outside. Shall I say they were still filled with fear? For the moment fear was banished; their hearts were glad. What made them glad?

The risen Jesus.

Then He repeated His formula, again using the common salutation, “Peace unto you.” This time we must not stop there. We must read right on, in the closest connection. “Peace unto you; as the Father hath sent Me, even so send I you.” If the first salutation, “Peace unto you” was intended to allay their fears, the repetition of it had another purpose in view. It was to create within them something that was more than the absence of fear, namely a courage in view of the work they were called upon to do. “Peace unto you; as My Father sent Me, even so send I you.” He was bringing them back to the realization of the fact of responsibility that was resting upon them. He had told them that they were to be His messengers to the world. He had left His great commissions with them; but one can imagine, for the time being, in those days of agony and anguish and despair, when they saw Him die, they would probably forget their responsibility. He brought them sharply back to face it on that first resurrection day. “Peace unto you,” look at My hands and My side.

Mark My identity, and see that I am the living One with scars, which mean I am Master of death; there is nothing to fear. Then while their hearts became glad, He brought them back to a recognition of responsibility. As My Father sent Me, so send I you. It is significant that at this point our Lord did not use the same verb to describe His sending of the Father as He did to describe His sending of them. Here the verb He used for His sending by the Father was apostello. The verb He used for His sending of them was the verb petnpo. They are not the same. He used both verbs at other times about His own mission, and about their mission. It is, however, significant that at the moment, when He was thus bringing them back to face responsibility, reminding them that their own gladness must not be sufficient, their own safety not the final thing, that they were sent; He used these two verbs.

What is the distinction? The word apostello, from which the word apostle comes, always marked first a setting apart. Now we are very apt to say that an apostle is one sent, and that is true as it reveals a result. The first meaning of the word, however, is to set apart, and therefore to be sent. That is the word He used here about Himself. It is consonant with His constant reference to His own mission, especially as John records it. There are only four chapters in John’s Gospel in which He is not recorded as claiming to have been sent. He was the Sent of God. The verb apostello stands for delegated authority.

Pempo never refers to delegated authority. It always stands for despatch under authority. God delegated all authority to Him. He does not delegate authority to His Church. He retains it, and His apostles, messengers, are to run errands under Him. Their authority is His. “Peace be unto you.” As the Father hath delegated all authority to Me, so now I despatch you under that authority, which is Mine, to carry out My enterprises.

And do not let us forget that when He would identify Himself in their presence, He showed them His hands and His side. I cannot affirm it, but I always feel that those hands were still held out to them with the wound prints in them, as He said again, “Peace unto you; as the Father hath sent Me, even so send I you.” He was not calling them to a soft and easy pathway. The Father sent Him, and those wound prints were the insignia of His authority. When they had become recipients of the new resurrection life, they would be called to go by the way of the Cross, which is always the way of resurrection.

Then “He breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Spirit.” That, of course, was a prophetic breathing, symbolic and suggestive. They did not receive the Holy Spirit then. Did He not tell them in the course of these days that they were to wait until they received the Spirit? But while their mission was indicated by the outstretched hands with the wound-prints in them, and His declaration that He had authority, and they were to be His messengers, He symbolically revealed to them the secret of power. “He breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Spirit.” The word “receive” I think is better rendered by the yet simpler, “Take ye.” Take ye the Holy Spirit. He was indicating to them their responsibility in view of the resources at their disposal. My Father has sent Me; I am sending you. The authority He delegated to Me is the authority under which you will go; but you cannot go except in one power, that of the Holy Spirit.

Then followed that wonderful word, revealing the reason why they should receive that Spirit, revealing the meaning of their going. “Whose soever sins ye forgive, they are forgiven unto them; whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained.” That was spoken to the whole assembly, to those who were sent, to His disciples.

Is that authority, is that power still with the Church? It certainly ought to be. It certainly is, when the conditions are borne in mind, and observed. What did the Father send Him into the world to do? To deal with sin, and so with sins. “Thou shalt call His name Jesus; for it is He that shall save His people from their sins.” He came into the world to face a world morally derelict and bankrupt and paralysed and blasted. What for?

To bear the sins, to break their power, to liberate humanity from the mastery of sins, to remit them, set men free from them. “As My Father hath sent you, so send I you.” The ultimate reason of the mission of the Church in the world, is to deal with sin. Of Himself He said in His life-time, “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” That is the mission of the Church. Has the Church then the power to remit or retain? To bring the question down to the individual-have I, not as a priest belonging to a caste, not as a minister recognized by the Church, and set apart by the Church to my work, but have I as sent by Christ, the right to say to any individual soul, Thy sins are forgiven thee; or have I the right to say to any. soul, Thy sin is not forgiven? The answer is unquestionably, Yes. To whom have I the right to say, Thy sins are forgiven? To any man, to any woman, to any youth, or maiden who, conscious of sin, repents towards God, and believes on the Lord Jesus Christ. I have done it hundreds of times.

I have looked into eyes hundreds of times, and after man or woman has said, I do repent, I will trust Him; I have replied:-Therefore your sins which are many, are all forgiven in the name of the Redeemer. And when, for some reason of supposed intellectual pride, more often of moral delinquency, the soul has persisted in sin, saying, No, I cannot give this up; then I have had to say to that soul, Your sins are not forgiven; they are retained, they remain with you.

This was a wonderful hour, and a wonderful word, so simple, so sublime, so local, and so universal, to such a few, representing such a sacramental host all down the ages. “Peace unto you.” I am alive; behold My hands and My side. Let your fear be gone. Your work now begins. As My Father sent Me, so send I you. For this you are only equal in the power of the Spirit. Take the Spirit. Then pass out, carry oh My work; face sin, face sins, face humanity. You will be able to pronounce the remitting word, or the retaining word.

Then there was an interval of eight days. We do not know anything about them, except what is revealed in verses twenty-four and twenty-five (John 20:24-25). Thomas was not present on that first occasion. Why not? There can be no dogmatic answer to that question. Yet, as I understand Thomas, I can at any rate make a suggestion.

I do not think it was cowardice which kept him away. I think it was anguish. Thomas was the man who said when they were over Jordan, and they heard of Lazarus, Let us go with Him and die with Him. And he meant it. But, he had broken down like the rest. He had not been prepared to carry out his resolution, high and noble as it was.

He had run away; and when he said, “Except I shall see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe,” I cannot listen to him without feeling that he was in anguish. He had seen those wounds, and while in a sense he might not have been able to prevent them, he was guilty, he had not been true; he had run away. I think Thomas said in effect, I cannot go and meet them. We all ran away, but I am the man who said I would die with Him. Yes, Peter had said it too; but Thomas perhaps had a finer and more sensitive spirit than Peter. But evidently he could not keep away.

He got back to them sometime during that week, and they received him at once, and told him the good news, “We have seen the Lord.” That is all we are told, but surely they also told him the evidences of identity which He had given them. We have seen Him, and we knew it was He, because He showed us the wounds. Then Thomas said, I will not believe unless I have your evidences, “Except I see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side I will not believe.”

Jesus came back, came back to the man who had come back to the group of His disciples, came back to the man who had been in anguish, and demanding the evidences the others had had. The only justifiable criticism of Thomas is that he was not there on that first occasion. I have tried to account for it. Nevertheless, he ought to have been there. However, he came back, and Jesus came back to meet him, for who will deny that the coming of Jesus on that eighth day was specially for Thomas.

Then the story which is familiar and straightforward. Again the first day of the week; Thomas present, probably still unbelieving, but holding on. And again, no door opened, but the Lord in the midst. Again the familiar greeting, “Peace unto you.” Then immediately to Thomas, “Reach hither thy finger, and see My hands; and reach hither thy hand, and put it into My side.” He offered him the evidences which the others had received, and which he had demanded; and warned him, “Be not faithless, but believing”; or more accurately, “become not faithless.”

The with a solemn hush, with hardly any necessity for interpretation, we come to the supreme moment. Thomas saw the wounds, and looked into the eyes of Jesus, and he said two things in close succession, but united. “My Lord,” which revealed a conviction of identity. And then immediately the discovery of the ultimate truth, “My God.” So Thomas made the greatest confession of any.

Christ acknowledged his faith, as He said, “Because thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed”; and then there fell from His lips His last beatitude. The earliest were in the Sermon on the Mount. He had uttered others on the way of His public ministry; He had uttered one to Simon when he made the great confession at Caesarea Philippi, “Blessed art thou, Simon Barjonah.” Now the last: “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” Of whom was He speaking? The other ten? No, they had seen. Their belief was the result of their seeing.

Even John at the sepulchre saw and believed. Of whom then was He thinking? The eyes of the risen Christ were turned from Thomas and the group, and looking down the running ages, He saw the great hosts who should believe on Him, never having seen Him; and His last beatitude came down the ages for all the sacramental host that make up the Church of God.