Message: "Joy Interrupted" - 04/27/2025

Joy Interrupted

Rise Up: How to Start Living Again
John 20:19–31; Acts 5:27–32

Have you ever had one of those moments where the joy was supposed to break through—but it just didn’t?

Many years ago, I officiated a wedding that had all the makings of a perfect day. The couple had waited, planned, prayed. The weather was beautiful. The music was just right. The ceremony began. A groomsman’s pants fell down, and he tripped walking down the aisle. One of the flower girls had a meltdown in front of everyone. The soloist forgot the words to “The Lord’s Prayer” and decided to get creative – not a good idea!

What was supposed to be a moment of joy… suddenly felt chaotic, awkward, disappointing.

Later, we all laughed. But in that moment? It felt like joy had been interrupted.

That’s a lighthearted example. But some of you know what it means when joy is interrupted in a much deeper way:

A pregnancy that ended in miscarriage.

A retirement dream cut short by illness.

A reconciliation that crumbled again.

A season of joy that collapsed in a single phone call.

We all carry stories where life didn’t go the way we hoped.

And that’s not just your story—it’s also the story of Jesus’ first followers.

They had seen Him crucified. They had wept. They had hoped for resurrection, but they hadn’t experienced it yet.

And on Easter evening, they’re not out proclaiming victory. They’re hiding behind locked doors.

Let’s enter the scene in John 20.

“On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jewish leaders…”

They’re afraid. Confused. Grieving.

They’ve heard that Jesus might be alive—but the trauma is too fresh, the fear too real.

And then—Jesus shows up.

Not with a lightning bolt. Not with judgment. But with peace.

“Peace be with you.”

He shows them His wounds. He doesn’t hide the pain. He breathes on them and gives them the Holy Spirit.

Jesus meets them in their locked room of fear and breathes peace into it.

But not everyone was there. Thomas missed it.

And when they told him? He couldn’t believe it.

“Unless I see the nail marks… unless I put my hand in His side…”

That’s not stubbornness. That’s grief. That’s a heart that hoped once and got crushed.

But eight days later, Jesus comes again.

And this time, He doesn’t go to Peter or John. He goes straight to Thomas.

“Put your finger here. See my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side.”

Jesus doesn’t erase the pain—He invites Thomas to touch it.

And suddenly, Thomas isn’t doubting anymore. He’s worshiping:

“My Lord and my God!”

Jesus turns fear into worship. And wounds into witness.

Now fast forward to Acts 5.

Just weeks or months later, the disciples are no longer hiding. They’re standing in front of the very leaders who killed Jesus.

They’ve been arrested, beaten, warned to stay silent.

But Peter stands up and says:

“We must obey God rather than human beings. The God of our ancestors raised Jesus from the dead…”

The same Peter who once denied Jesus is now preaching Him. The same disciples who locked themselves in fear are now standing in the open, filled with courage.

What changed?

Not their circumstances—they were still in danger. What changed is that Jesus met them in their fear—and they believed.

Here’s the big idea:

Jesus doesn’t wait for perfect circumstances to bring peace. He walks through our fear, our grief, our doubt—and offers us new life.

            So, what about you? Where has your joy been interrupted? Where are you still behind locked doors of fear, grief, or heartbreak?

Let me tell you about someone who knew what it meant to have his joy crushed.

In the late 1800s, Horatio Spafford was a successful lawyer and a man of deep faith. But life unraveled: first the death of his son, then the Great Chicago Fire that destroyed his business.

Finally, while seeking to start anew, his wife and four daughters boarded a ship for Europe—and tragedy struck. The ship sank. All four daughters died.

As Spafford crossed the ocean to join his grieving wife, he wrote words that have echoed through generations:

“When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.”

It didn’t erase the pain. But Christ transformed the pain. Resurrection hope broke through, even in the sea of sorrow.

Maybe your story isn’t quite that dramatic. Maybe it feels more like Jonathan Roumie's story.

Before he became famous for playing Jesus in The Chosen, Jonathan Roumie was struggling. Out of money. Out of options. Out of hope.

One morning, with only $20 to his name, he knelt on the floor of his apartment and prayed:

“God, I surrender. I can’t do this anymore. If You want me to leave this path, I will. But if You want me to stay—please, help me.”

That same day, he got the call that would change everything—the opportunity to audition for The Chosen. In his words:

“I think Jesus waited for me to get to the end of myself… and then said, ‘Now you’re ready to see what I can do.’”

Maybe your interruption isn’t catastrophic grief. Maybe it’s the slow ache of dreams deferred, doors closed, prayers unanswered—until God shows up.

And sometimes, it’s heartbreak closer to home.

In 2019, Christian musician TobyMac—someone our children and grandchildren know—lost his 21-year-old son, Truett. It was sudden. Devastating.

Toby wrote: 

“We didn’t see it coming… I’m still in shock. But I’ve learned that God has not left.”

He turned his grief into music: first “21 Years”—a raw lament. And then “Help Is On the Way”—a declaration of hope rising from sorrow.

His wife looked at him through her tears and said: “God is still good.”

Whether you find yourself relating most to Horatio Spafford, Jonathan Roumie, or TobyMac, the invitation of Jesus is the same:

·                Open the door.

·                Touch the wounds.

·                Believe again.

Because resurrection doesn’t erase the pain—it transforms it. Jesus still comes. And He still says: “Peace be with you.”

Friends, this is the heart of the resurrection. Not that everything gets fixed. But that Jesus is with us—even when the joy has been interrupted.

Here’s what you can do this week:

1. Name what’s broken. Be honest with yourself—and with God. You don’t have to pretend everything is okay. Jesus already knows what hurts. He didn’t ask Thomas to hide his doubts or clean up his grief. He simply met him where he was. This week, take a moment to pray or journal: “God, here’s where my heart feels broken…” Naming it is the first step toward healing.

2. Open the door—even just a little. Fear locks us in. Grief isolates us. Doubt convinces us we are alone. But Jesus doesn’t wait for a wide-open door. He shows up even when the door is barely cracked open. You don’t have to have perfect faith to invite Him in. This week, whisper a simple prayer—even if you’re not sure you believe it fully: “Jesus, if you’re real, meet me here.” Or “Jesus, I’m scared. Please walk into my fear.” One whispered prayer is a door He can walk through.

3. Touch the wounds. Don’t rush past your pain or pretend it doesn’t exist. Thomas needed to see—and touch—the wounds of Jesus before he could believe again. Sometimes healing begins when we dare to touch the wounded places with the belief that Jesus is already there. This week, acknowledge the hard places you’ve tried to avoid. Ask: “Jesus, show me where You are in the middle of this hurt.” Look for small signs of His presence: a word of kindness, a reminder of love, a glimpse of peace.

4. Speak the truth aloud. Resurrection hope isn’t just something we think—it’s something we declare, even when it feels hard. Peter didn’t stay silent after seeing the Risen Christ. He spoke up, even in front of those who could hurt him. This week, practice speaking hope aloud: Say to yourself: “Jesus is alive—and I am not alone.” Write it on a sticky note where you’ll see it. Tell someone you trust: “I’m trying to believe again.” Speaking the truth plants seeds of resurrection in places we least expect it.

Let’s be the kind of people who don’t pretend everything’s perfect. Let’s be the kind of church that tells the truth—about fear, about grief, about Jesus showing up anyway.

Let’s be a community where interrupted joy gives way to resurrected hope.

Because the same Jesus who came to Thomas…

…who transformed Peter…

…who met Horatio Spafford, Jonathan Roumie and TobyMac in their lowest moments…

That same Jesus walks through your locked doors, too.

And He still says: “Peace be with you.”

So, let’s open the door.

Let’s rise again.

Let us join together in a prayer of response:

 

Risen Jesus,
You walked through locked doors to bring peace,
and You walk into our hearts even now.
Where we are afraid—bring calm.
Where we are grieving—bring comfort.
Where we are doubting—bring grace.

Help us to see You, even in the places where wounds remain.
Help us to speak truth: You are alive, and You are with us.
And help us to live as Easter people—
with open hearts, open hands, and courageous faith.

We believe, Lord. Help our unbelief. Amen.