The Beauty of Hindsight

The Beauty of Hindsight

John 20:19-29

            Hindsight is wonderful.  It’s so easy to look back and say, “If I had been there things would have been different.  I would never have behaved that way.  I would have had a completely different reaction to that set of circumstances.”  Because we weren’t there, and we didn’t take part in whatever situation we’re talking about, it’s difficult for anyone to disagree with us—or is it?

            John’s gospel, like Luke’s, doesn’t end with an account of the first Easter morning’s activities, but tells us what happened that evening as well.  Luke takes us to Emmaus, while John keeps us in Jerusalem.  You remember John’s version of the Easter story.

            Our first chance to question the disciples’ reaction comes here.  They are gathered in a room with doors locked from the inside.  They’re afraid, as they have been since Jesus’ arrest and trial.  They’ve been in hiding since the crucifixion, and will remain so for another 50 days.

            I can almost hear us saying (myself included, I assure you), “I would have done things differently.  You wouldn’t have found me locked away in some hideout.  I would have been right there with Jesus through the crucifixion.  I would have gone to the tomb with the women.  I’d be out in the street right away proclaiming that Jesus had risen.”

            Right!  I can see it now:  one, two—perhaps eleven of us arrayed against the might of the Roman army.  Judea might be a backwater of the Empire, but that only meant the soldiers would be less than elite troops; in other words, meaner, more sadistic, and more inclined to inflict pain.  It’s no wonder the disciples were in hiding.  They knew how Rome handled insurrections and troublemakers:  crush them and take no prisoners.  If we had any sense we’d be in hiding too.

            Even after Jesus appears to the disciples they still don’t get it.  They’re overjoyed to see the Lord, and they realize he’s no ghost.  He’s really alive.  But they don’t unlock the doors except to let Thomas in.  And here’s our next chance to take exception to the disciples’ actions.

            The disciples crowd around Thomas, saying excitedly, “We have seen the Lord!”  Thomas says, “Right!  Of course you have!  I don’t believe it for a second.  If I don’t see him myself, and feel the wounds, I won’t accept that he’s alive.  You can say what you want, but don’t expect me to believe without proof.”

            So we call him “Doubting Thomas,” and berate him for his disbelief.  But he did nothing different from what the other disciples had done when Mary Magdalene returned from meeting Jesus in the garden.  “I have seen the Lord,” she said, using the same words the disciples later used with Thomas—and they didn’t believe her any more than Thomas believed them.

            Would we have behaved any differently?  Would we have demanded any less proof?  Would we have willingly, eagerly said, “Of course I believe your witness!  Hallelujah!”

            Probably not—and therein lies the problem of hindsight.  From 2,000 years on, twenty centuries of Christianity, it’s easy for us to say what we would or would not have done. But the disciples didn’t have that luxury.  Jesus was, as Paul later said, the firstborn from the dead.  Even taking into account the story of Lazarus, there was no precedence for Jesus’ resurrection.  Remember, Jesus had raised Lazarus.  Who was left to raise Jesus?

            We know the answer, of course, but we know it because of the accounts written by the first eyewitnesses to the resurrection.  In their hindsight they realized what they had missed.  We don’t have the right to second guess them.  We can only be thankful for the faithful witness they bore once they realized what they had seen.