Calling a Thing a Thing (John 20:19–23)

“Lock the Doors!”

When John describes the disciples after the resurrection, he says they are gathered together “with the doors locked for fear.” Jesus is gone, their leader has been executed, and they do not know what comes next. They are afraid, confused, and uncertain about who will guide them now. In many ways, this mirrors the experience of John’s original audience, who were trying to follow Jesus after being pushed out of the religious systems that once gave them identity and direction.

It also feels deeply familiar today. The modern church is full of confusion about authority and guidance. Many people no longer trust institutions or religious leaders because of corruption, abuse, or disappointment. But instead of learning how to discern together, we often simply replace one authority figure with another. Politicians, influencers, podcasters, celebrities, pastors, and even technologies like AI have become the voices we look to for meaning and certainty. Fear creates a hunger for control, and when people are afraid, they tend to grasp for someone (or some thing) who promises answers.

The theologian Kosuke Koyama wrote that “fear is not unrelated to confusion.” He described a person mistaking a rope for a snake in the dark. As long as the object is misunderstood, fear remains. But once the truth is revealed, fear loses its power. In that sense, fear often grows from confusion about what something really is. When we elevate leaders, movements, or systems beyond what they truly are, fear enters history. Human beings become larger than life, and we begin treating them as saviors rather than fellow humans. But when we honestly discern the reality of things, when we can call a thing what it is, its power over us falls apart.

Discerning the Way as The Body of Christ

John’s Gospel offers a different vision. Into a locked room filled with fear, Jesus appears and says, “Peace be with you.” Then he breathes on the disciples and tells them to receive the Holy Spirit. This moment echoes the creation story in Genesis, where God breathes life into humanity. It also echoes ancient temple imagery, where idols were believed to receive life through ritual breath. But here, Jesus does not breathe life into statues or institutions. He breathes the Spirit into people.

This matters because Scripture consistently warns against the creation of idols. An idol is not simply a statue; it is anything we construct and then look to for salvation, guidance, or ultimate security. The prophets repeatedly warned Israel not to place their trust in things fashioned by human hands. Isaiah mocks the absurdity of people shaping wood into an object and then bowing down before it. The same human creativity used to build homes and fires becomes redirected toward creating false sources of meaning and control.

That warning feels increasingly relevant in a world shaped by technology and artificial intelligence. Much of what we now call “AI” is built from human thought, human labor, and human creativity, gathered together and reflected back to us in disembodied form. We are tempted to treat it as something higher than ourselves, something capable of saving us from slowness, uncertainty, or dependence on one another. But in many ways it functions like every idol humanity has ever made: a human creation elevated beyond what it truly is.

The deeper issue underneath all of this is our discomfort with limits, patience, and dependence. We want immediate answers. We want certainty without the slow work of conversation, community, and discernment. But throughout Scripture, God consistently moves slowly. Koyama described God as moving at “three miles an hour”—the speed of a person walking. Love is patient. It does not force, rush, or dominate. God forms people through relationship, presence, and community.

That is exactly what Jesus restores in John 20. The disciples are afraid and looking for guidance, but Jesus does not hand them a new institution, system, or idol. He gives them the Spirit and sends them toward one another. The implication is that discernment is meant to happen in community, not in hierarchy. The Spirit is present among ordinary people gathered together in love, forgiveness, and truth.

The church exists to resist the forces that separate and dehumanize us. Babylon, throughout Scripture, divides people from one another and reduces human beings into tools for power and profit. The work of Christ moves in the opposite direction. It reconnects us. It slows us down. It calls us back into embodied relationships with God and neighbor.

The answer to spiritually destructive systems is to develope practices of resistance. Slowness. Presence. Shared meals. Honest conversations. Discernment in community. The New Testament depicts the Spirit of God moving among ordinary people around meals, seeking wisdom together at the speed of love.

House Church Discussion Questions

When you think about the disciples gathered behind locked doors, what feels relatable about their fear or confusion?

Where do you notice people today looking for certainty, guidance, or “saviors” ?

Have you ever had a moment where seeing something more clearly released your fear of it?

Do you have any practices that have helped you slow down enough to listen to God?

Do you have any practices to help you discern life, connect with others, resist fear, or be “at peace,” as Jesus said to be?