Artwork: “My Lord and God” Jesus and Thomas, Painting by: Ronald Raab
I know the truth is this—
Throughout these 40 days of Lent, these reflections have helped me realise something:
Just as the author of this Gospel uses Scripture to make sense of their experience—not just reporting events like the synoptics do, but interpreting them—I’ve been doing the same.
They came.
They saw.
They believed.
And in trying to tell others what they saw… they were also trying to understand it themselves.
Does that make sense?
That’s what I’ve been doing too.
Because truthfully… I’ve been in the wilderness.
Not with the strength of Jesus.
But as Elijah in 1 Kings 19.
“It is enough now, O Lord, take away my life… for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep.
(1 Kings 19:4–5)
That’s been me. Lying down under the broom tree. Burnt out. Done.
And then… God entered the chatroom.
So I’ve tried to use Scripture not as a shield, or a study—but as a way to survive.
To make sense of my wilderness.
This devotion today was supposed to be about John chapter 20.
But in a way—it’s my experience of the resurrection I’m sharing.
Two Voices of Hope
Alongside this devotion, I’ve also been writing about hope—wrestling with what it is and whether I still believe in it.
And there are two versions of hope that play in my head—like an angel and demon sitting on my shoulders. And honestly? Right now… I’m still listening to the demon.
Red from The Shawshank Redemption:
"Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It’s got no place in a prison. You better get used to that idea."
Red says this to Andy while they’re in prison.
He’s been institutionalised. He’s stopped believing that change is possible.
Hope has only ever made things worse—because it reminds him of everything he’s lost and can’t get back.
So he protects himself by rejecting it.
I relate to that.
President Snow from The Hunger Games:
“Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous.”
Snow uses fear to control the people—but keeps a little spark of hope alive, just enough to stop rebellion.
Because if hope grows? It becomes a threat.
Red fears hope will break him.
Snow fears hope will change the world.
Both know it’s powerful.
Both try to contain it.
And me? I don’t know which one I believe.
But I understand now why the resurrection is about hope.
So What’s the Point?
This devotion was supposed to be about chapter 20, but in a way—it’s been my own resurrection story.
A slow one. A painful one. An unfinished one.
But I’ve seen things.
And now I need to decide—do I believe or not?
Whatever I choose, I know this:
I understand the hope of the resurrection now too.
One Last Thing—About Thomas
This year, I met a different Thomas.
Not “Doubting Thomas.”
But Given-up Thomas.
You know—earlier in the Gospel, he says:
“Let us also go, so that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)
And he meant it.
But then Jesus died. And he lived
And so when the others said, “We’ve seen the Lord!”
He didn’t just doubt—he didn’t want to hope.
He’d given up.
And when he finally does see Jesus, what does he say?
“My Lord and my God!”
That’s not just belief.
That’s a breakthrough.
That’s resurrection.
Imagine the place that those words came from.
As Lent Draws to a Close…
If you’ve been following along—thank you.
Thank you for letting me think out loud.
Thank you for making space to listen.
And through it all, I hope—really hope—this journey has helped you find your own answer to the question:
What does it all mean?
Tomorrow we close off with the epilogue—John 21.
But for now…
the tomb is open.
And hope is dangerous again.
A Closing Prayer for Resurrection Hope
Jesus,
You prayed for Your friends.
You prayed for those You loved.
You even prayed for those who didn’t yet believe.
So today, I pray in Your way.
For myself—
When despair closes in, when hope feels out of reach—
remind me that the tomb is empty.
That love has won.
And that peace is possible, even here.
For those around me—
Family, friends, community—
may they encounter resurrection in the quiet and ordinary moments.
In healing conversations, in laughter, in restored relationships.
May peace find them.
For all people—
Especially those grieving, displaced, weary, or forgotten—may resurrection not be a story told about them,
but a truth that meets them, lifts them, and walks with them.
And for those I struggle to love—
Those who’ve hurt me, misunderstood me, silenced or shamed me.
I carry the scars of their actions, yes—
but I don’t want to carry bitterness with them.
So I place them in Your hands.
Not to forget, but to forgive.
Not to excuse, but to release.
That they, too, may find peace.
Because peace is not peace unless it’s peace for all.
Jesus, You rose.
Not to escape the world, but to redeem it.
So let that resurrection power work in us,
through us,
and around us.
Amen.