Lectionary Commentaries for April 27, 2025
Second Sunday of Easter

These two interconnected scenes are escalating episodes of recognition that John has crafted to lead his audience down a path of trust in Jesus. We’ve already experienced moments of recognition in John’s post-resurrection scenes—Peter and the “other disciple” stumbling onto a quasi-recognition at the tomb (John 20:3–10), and Mary moving from misidentifying Jesus as the gardener to recognizing him when he calls her name (20:11–18). 

In the transition between the garden scene and Jesus’ appearance to the other disciples, we learn that Mary Magdalene has become what Thomas Aquinas will later call the apostolorum apostola, or “the apostle to the apostles.” After she tells the disciples about her encounter with the risen Jesus, Jesus himself appears to the disciples in a locked room and shows them his hands and side. They move from a state of fear to joy as they recognize Jesus and accept his resurrection. 

Jesus’ response to their joy is threefold. First, he wishes them peace. His words recall the earlier Paraclete discourses, when Jesus promised to leave the disciples the Spirit, reassuring them with these words: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid” (14:27). 

Next, Jesus announces to the disciples that he is sending them out, and this finalizes a “sent out” theme that winds its way through the Gospel. God sends John the Baptist in the Prologue and early scenes of the Gospel (see 1:6, 33; 3:28), but the dominant theme is that the Father sends Jesus. We learn that Jesus is sent to complete God’s work (4:34), deserves honor for being sent (5:23), is sent to do God’s will and lose nothing that God has given him (6:39), is going back to the one who sent him (7:33), and that whoever sees Jesus sees the one who sent him (12:44–45). Now, after his death and resurrection, Jesus is sending the disciples out.

Jesus’ last response is to breathe the Spirit onto the disciples. This part of the scene seems to be in conflict with Luke’s account in Acts 2 of the Holy Spirit coming on the disciples at Pentecost. But that need not be the case. It could be that John is emphasizing a specific function of the Spirit here, the forgiveness and peace that the Spirit brings to a community of faith. It could also be a literary device that John employs in order to ensure that Jesus’ promise to leave the Spirit is fulfilled within the pages of the Gospel. The main idea is that the Spirit has a role in the sending out that Jesus is doing, however loose the details are on that role.  

So, the disciples have come to recognize the resurrected Jesus and are sent out with the breath of the Spirit. But not every disciple is there. The transition verses here tell us that Thomas was not present with the disciples and that he wants proof that Jesus is back from the dead before he can trust that it is so. 

A week later, Thomas gets his proof in a dramatic post-resurrection scene. Jesus appears to the disciples again and wishes them peace, but then he addresses Thomas specifically. It is interesting that Thomas had wanted to see Jesus and touch his wounds, but when Jesus invites him to touch, he doesn’t need to. Nowhere does John say that Thomas actually touches the wounds. Instead, Jesus shows up and speaks to him, and then without accepting Jesus’ invitation to touch, Thomas has an epiphany, uttering the central and climactic statement in the Gospel of John, “My Lord and my God!” (verse 28).

Up to this point in the story, John has been loudly hinting at a key point he is trying to communicate about Jesus—that Jesus is one with the Father. Jesus himself says it in different ways throughout John, but it isn’t until now that someone says out loud that Jesus is Lord and God. And who says it? The guy we disparage as “doubting Thomas.”

Interpreters sometimes make Thomas into a second-class believer because of one of the lines Jesus says in this scene: “Do you believe because you see me? Happy are those who don’t see and yet believe” (verse 29). They assume that John is holding up those who don’t see and yet believe as greater followers of Jesus. That’s likely because most Bible translations render the word makarios as “blessed”—blessed are those who don’t see and yet believe. 

But that Greek word is best translated as “happy,” “content,” or “at peace”—it does not imply that God blesses those people. It’s a simple adjective—happy. And isn’t that a true statement? People who have that simple kind of faith, the kind that doesn’t ask questions or have doubts or require evidence, are pretty undisturbed, blissfully happy, even. But is that the goal? 

Is John trying to tell us that we should all believe without seeing, without reasoning or questioning? I don’t think so. No one in this story believes like that. It takes Jesus’ voice to bring Mary around to recognition. Peter and the other disciple require a glimpse into the tomb, and even then they don’t understand. The other disciples need Jesus to show up miraculously in their midst. So, Thomas’s delayed recognition of the resurrected Jesus is not an inferior form of faith but just another way that people might move from doubt to belief in order to follow Jesus. 

The story of the apostles’ trial before the Sanhedrin comes on the heels of their miraculous escape from the prison.¹ This motif of escape from prison is a familiar theme in the book of Acts, including in chapter 12 where an angel assists Peter’s jailbreak. Later in chapter 15, Paul and Silas break free from a prison at Philippi.

The literary context of this story highlights the significance of the apostles’ actions—teaching and healing ministry—that led to their imprisonment. Peter and John were warned twice by the elders and the high priest not to continue their teaching ministry (4:17–18). They are at it again, this time in the temple court, having just escaped from the prison. From the perspectives of the authorities, Peter and the apostles have become repeat offenders. But what exactly was their offense? 

What got Peter and other apostles in trouble were their healing miracles and their insistence that Jesus was the only name by which humankind could be saved (4:10, 12). Peter refers to Jesus again in this pericope as the ruler (archeyon) and savior (soter). From a Roman perspective, Augustus Caesar was the sole savior of the world and the healer. The authorities who were deeply invested in depicting the emperor as the only savior likely saw Peter’s words as a challenge to, and a mockery of, royal titles. Jesus, from their perspective, was an imposter whose name should not be associated with the titles the emperor had rightfully earned.

Peter’s assertion in this story that God exalted the crucified Jesus is reminiscent of Paul’s christological hymn in Philippians 2:5–11, where Jesus was exalted as a result of his sacrifice on the cross. Whereas the Roman emperor would have exercised absolute power in order to maintain his status, Jesus sacrificed his power and status in the process of bringing salvation to everyone. Unlike the Roman emperor’s abuse of power and violence that allowed him to claim the title of savior, it was Jesus’ crucifixion, an act of solidarity with the marginalized, that made him the savior.

The emperor might have undeservedly claimed the title of savior for himself, but in truth, it was Jesus who lived up to that title. This makes the emperor, not Jesus, an imposter.

Within the literary context of this story, it was also their healing ministry and the practice of sharing possessions among members that enhanced the apostles’ popularity and landed them in trouble. Whereas the empire turned a blind eye to the needs of the disadvantaged, the apostles brought them healing. Whereas the Roman Empire fostered an ethos of hoarding and acquiring wealth at the expense of the poorest, the Jesus movement was promoting an alternative worldview—an ethos of sharing possessions.

Peter’s insistence that they will obey divine authority rather than humans (5:29) is reminiscent of 4:19 where he and John defied officials by forcefully articulating their obligation to preach what they had witnessed. And their escape from the prison suggests that the new movement will not be curtailed or limited by human institutions or structures.² God’s word transcends the power of human authorities.

This story of Peter, just like the one in the previous chapter, speaks to the resilience and indomitable spirit of the Jesus movement. That’s the good news in the text, but the story also poses some interpretive challenges. 

When the leaders of the Sanhedrin rebuke Peter and the apostles for blaming them for the death of Jesus (Acts 5:27–32), Peter employs disturbing imagery to accuse them yet again of killing Jesus. This text, specifically the notion that the religious officials were responsible for the death of Jesus, has been interpreted by many Christians in ways that have perpetuated anti-Semitism. Similarly, celebrating the resilience of the Jesus movement in Acts often takes the form of holding first-century Judaism responsible for the persecution of Peter and other apostles.

Peter’s scathing criticism of the officials is a reflection of the conflict between the apostles and the elite in Jerusalem. Furthermore, the suggestion in 5:26 that the captain and his officers did not use force against Peter and the apostles because they feared the people—who were likely sympathetic to the apostles—also highlights a conflict within the community. Finally, the apostles are bailed out of their predicament by Gamaliel, a member of the Pharisaic community.  

Still, Luke’s placement of blame for Jesus’ death at the feet of temple officials is puzzling. Crucifixion was a Roman form of death, and just as Peter and other apostles were imprisoned for challenging imperial titles, ethos, and practices, Jesus was killed for undermining the economic and political interests of the Roman Empire, not for violating any Jewish religious traditions.

The chief priests may have collaborated with the Roman Empire in targeting, but ultimately, crucifixion was the Roman form of death carried out by imperial agents in order to preserve political and economic interests of the empire. Luke holds the elite in Jerusalem responsible for the death of Jesus but does not call attention to the fact that Rome would have been primarily responsible for what happened to Jesus. 

Luke likely shifted the blame toward temple officials (5:28), perhaps in an attempt to make peace with the Roman Empire. Such a harsh tone toward the priestly community would have been especially problematic at the time of Luke’s writing when the Sadducees were increasingly less powerful in the aftermath of the destruction of the temple. This was a case of two colonized groups turning against each other and, in the process, deflecting attention from the empire’s role in perpetuating violence against its subjects. This was likely also the result of two oppressed groups convincing themselves that they can only survive at the expense of the other.  

Luke’s attempt to highlight the tenacity and resilience of the apostles in the midst of adversity is commendable, but Luke’s suggestion that the religious leaders were primarily responsible for what happened to Jesus has engendered deeply problematic interpretations and violence against our Jewish siblings. 

Luke’s proclivity to shift the blame for Jesus’ death primarily toward the temple officials suggests that even a community like Luke’s that practiced anti-imperial ethos can fall into the trap of allowing itself to be pitted against another marginalized community and, in the process, serving the interests of the empire. Even as we celebrate the way Luke highlights the resilience of the Jesus movement, we need to juxtapose it with Luke’s failure to hold the empire accountable for its violence and death-dealing practices against those at the margins.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for April 24, 2022.
2. F. Scott Spencer, Journeying Through Acts: A Literary-Cultural Reading (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2004), 70.

If you have ever experienced a performance of Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture,” you have some sense of what Psalm 150 is all about. Picture the conductor tapping the baton. The orchestra comes to attention, and the audience waits in hushed expectation.  Then the conductor cues each section to come in—first the brass, then the violins and woodwinds. Gradually, the piece gathers strength until, finally, it flings itself against the sky with the sounds of crashing cymbals and firing cannons.

It’s not an experience one soon forgets.

Psalm 150 offers a similar experience. The psalmist taps the baton with the first invitation to “Praise the LORD” in verse 1. Then, one by one, new instruments are added. Verse 3 cues the trumpets, and then the lute and harp. Tambourines—played, presumably, by dancers—make an entrance along with strings and pipes. Cymbals join in next, and as if the psalmist wants to make sure we get their full effect, they are described as “loud clanging cymbals.” Finally, “everything that breathes” joins in on one last, climactic “Hallelujah!”

Although it’s not obvious when we read this psalm in translation, the Hebrew poem amplifies this crescendo visually. Each verse is slightly longer than the previous one. As the words build verse by verse, one can see the crescendo as well as hearing it.

A command performance

To describe this psalm as an “invitation” to praise would be inadequate. It’s less of an invitation than a command. This is clear from the very first word, which is literally the Hebrew word hallelu-jah. When we unpack it, that’s a plural imperative followed by the shortened version of God’s proper name. “Praise the LORD, ya’ll!” might come closer to capturing it.

But this psalmist is just getting started. When we count up the imperative verbs in this psalm, there are 11 of them. That’s almost two per verse. Clearly, something more is going on here than a casual invitation that we can accept—or not. Think subpoena rather than party invitation. This is a command performance in which “everything that breathes” is expected to participate. Fortunately, there is every reason in the world we would want to.

Praise with a purpose

In terms of form, Psalm 150 is a hymn. Hymns in the Psalter typically have two parts. There is a call to praise and then reasons for that praise.

The “reasons” for praise in Psalm 150 are summarized in the second verse. We’re called to praise God for God’s “mighty deeds” and “according to his surpassing greatness.”

The fact that these mighty deeds are not specified is an invitation to fill in the blank. Any and all of God’s mighty deeds are called to mind—whether for us as individuals or for the people of God throughout the generations. The fact that this psalm appears in the lectionary during the season of Easter makes that easy for Christians. Reading the psalm from the perspective of the empty tomb calls to mind the mightiest of all God’s deeds: the resurrection. John L. Bell points out that psalms like this one that “celebrate what God has done and is doing for the individual or community are often tantamount to a statement of faith.”¹

The grand finale

While Psalm 150 can certainly stand on its own, we should not lose sight of the fact that it is the grand finale of the entire Psalter. Indeed, that finale actually begins with Psalm 146. All five of the last psalms in the Psalter begin with that command to praise—“Hallelujah!”—and form an exuberant coda for all that’s come before.

If—for whatever reason—our hearts are heavy, we may not feel we can respond to this command. Yet, the book of Psalms reminds us that we can praise God no matter what our mood. The title of the book in Hebrew is Tehillim, which means “Praises.” When we think about the fact that fully a third of the psalms are laments, it forces us to expand our definition of what “counts” as praise.

Old Testament scholar Bernhard Anderson once described laments as “praise in a minor key.” The analogy is helpful for those times when our situation makes it impossible to sing a happy song. Even a heavy heart can sing a sad song, and sad songs are still praise in a minor key. God welcomes all voices to join in this grand finale of praise. Indeed, “let everything that breathes praise the LORD!”

Notes

1. John L. Bell, Living with the Psalms (London: SPCK), 143.

On the second Sunday of Easter, the opening epistolary greetings in the book of Revelation seem a strange place to start. What do these standard features of an ancient letter—naming the author, identifying the recipient, and extending greetings—have to do with resurrection? How do these four verses help us proclaim God’s good news in a broken world? I suggest several possibilities. 

First, it is important to note the genre—or genres—of Revelation. We have already observed that the text includes the standard features of a first-century letter. But Revelation is more than a letter; it is also an apocalypse and a prophecy. While these two genres are similar, there are important distinctions. Apocalypse comes from the Greek verb “to unveil.” It seeks to reveal the problems of the world and disclose God’s good will and purposes for the cosmos in its place. Prophecies aspire to proclaim God’s word to a specific situation. Like a letter, they speak to a particular circumstance; like an apocalypse, they speak truth to power. 

In addition to identifying author and audience, the standard greeting at the beginning of Revelation stresses the divine origins of John’s message to the seven churches. This isn’t an ordinary report. John’s message is heaven-sent. In addition to verses 4–6, the first two verses in Revelation similarly tout the sacred roots of John’s missive. This message is important enough to John that it bears repeating. In these dreadful days of political calamity, it is good news that God wants us to know that the world is not as God intends. God desires a better world. 

Second, God does not act alone. The opening verses of Revelation emphasize the communal nature of God’s good purposes for the world. Revelation is addressed to the seven churches in the province of Asia (verse 4). A series of plural pronouns follows and similarly stresses the universal and communal nature of God’s church. John first extends grace to the churches collectively—“grace to you [plural] and peace from him who is and was and who is to come” (verse 4). John then includes himself as a part of the group that God loves and calls as servants—“to him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood and made us a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father” (verses 5–6). While John goes on to address each church individually in chapters 2–3, it is worth noting that his message begins with community. 

While too much is often made of John’s use of numbers in the book of Revelation, it is worth noting the repetition of the number seven in verse 4. Following his address to the seven churches, John briefly mentions seven spirits before the throne. We cannot know with certainty what John intended to communicate through this image of seven spirits. But it is not beyond imagination that the seven spirits referred to the seven churches. After all, the seven lampstands John sees in his next vision are quickly identified as the seven churches (verse 20). Resurrection isn’t in the hands of individuals. It is a communal affair. 

Our participation in God’s good work continues through John’s calls to action in Revelation. John’s audience is continually called to do something. Revelation, therefore, is more than a message. It is a call to action. The first word that follows John’s greeting, for example, is the command “Look!” John repeats this command more than two dozen times in Revelation. In verse 3, John implores that the churches read, hear, and keep God’s word, and throughout Revelation, he encourages them to withdraw and resist the distorted ways of the world (Revelation 2–3; 9:20; 18:4). In sum, God’s church plays a crucial role in the ushering in of God’s intentions for creation. Unlike popular political demagogues who prefer dictatorship and monocracy, Easter’s good news requires community. We are called to join God in the good work, and we don’t have to do it alone.

Third, one final detail calls our attention. It is noteworthy that Jesus is described in the opening chapter as pierced. “Look!” John writes. “He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him” (verse 7). John doesn’t begin with the typical qualities of a political leader—power, strength, might, wealth, et cetera. John points to Jesus’ wounds. John wants his audience to pay attention to the dangers of imperial powers. He wants them to see the scars of empire. But that is not all. 

The passage also models what serving God looks like. Serving God requires serving the one who notices the victims of empire, rather than serving the empires themselves. In other words, leaders should expose violence, not perpetuate it. John shows us that true leaders join God in unveiling the truth and exposing injustice. I am reminded here of Bishop Mariann Budde’s plea at the National Cathedral’s prayer service during the inaugural events of the 47th U.S. President. She heeded John’s call to look and speak truth to power. She saw victims of imperial violence and she didn’t turn away. She asked those with power for mercy. This Easter, how might we join Bishop Budde in identifying the scars of evil and its power, and lifting our voices in service to the victims of violence? 

This short passage from Revelation, as it turns out, is packed with the hope of Easter. It reminds God’s faithful that God is in control and that God does not act alone. It beckons us to pay attention and to look for the evil ways of empire in our own imperial context. And it encourages us to serve those who experience violence at the hands of power, rather than the powerful themselves. This is good news indeed.