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The Daily Devotional
Monday, April 20, 2026
The Risen Christ in the Wounded Room
“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” — John 20:21–22
Reflection
These words of Jesus come after the shock of the crucifixion and the astonishment of the resurrection. The disciples were not gathered in triumph when the risen Lord came to them. They were behind closed doors, carrying fear in their bodies and confusion in their hearts. They had seen loss, betrayal, violence, and death. Even though the tomb was empty, their inner world was still full of unrest. That is why the words Jesus speaks are so tender and so powerful: “Peace be with you.” He does not begin with correction. He does not shame them for hiding. He does not dismiss their fear as weakness. He comes into the wounded room and brings peace.
That is still the way of the risen Christ. He does not wait for us to become strong before he draws near. He does not stand at a distance until we have sorted out our grief, cleaned up our disappointment, or hidden the evidence of our pain. He enters the places we ourselves would rather avoid. He comes to the rooms inside us that still carry the echo of loss. He comes to communities that have been fractured by sorrow, to families worn thin by hardship, to hearts tired from carrying too much for too long. Resurrection hope begins here—not in pretending that nothing has happened, but in discovering that Christ is present in the middle of what has happened.
So often, we imagine healing as the instant removal of every wound. We want the story to move quickly from heartbreak to joy, from fear to confidence, from ashes to beauty. But the resurrection accounts remind us that the risen Jesus still bears his wounds. They are no longer signs of defeat, but neither have they vanished. They have become witnesses to redeeming love. This tells us something important for our own lives. The hope of Easter does not always mean that pain disappears at once. Sometimes resurrection hope begins as holy breath in a frightened room. Sometimes it begins as strength enough for one more day, courage enough for one honest prayer, light enough to take the next step. Christ’s restoring work often starts within the broken place itself.
Think of a house after a severe storm. The roof may have been torn open. Rain may have soaked the walls. Windows may have shattered, and treasured things inside may have been damaged. In the days after the storm, the house is not immediately beautiful again. There is debris to clear, boards to replace, wiring to inspect, and water damage to repair. For a time, the signs of the storm are still visible. Yet when workers begin the rebuilding, something changes. The damage is real, but it is no longer the final word. The sound of hammers, the lifting of broken branches, the covering of exposed places, the return of light through repaired windows—all of it speaks of hope. The house is still healing, but it is no longer abandoned.
Many hearts are like that. Many lives are like that. Some people are carrying the aftermath of grief that has changed them. Some are recovering from betrayal, illness, loneliness, or long seasons of spiritual weariness. Some are living in the aftermath of trauma, where fear lingers even when the danger has passed. Easter does not mock that reality. Easter speaks directly into it. The risen Christ comes like the master restorer of what seemed too damaged to mend. He does not deny the storm. He begins the rebuilding.
And notice that Jesus not only speaks peace; he breathes on his disciples and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” This is not merely comfort for a moment. It is the gift of new life. The same Lord who conquered death now shares his life with those who feel emptied out. He gives more than reassurance. He gives presence. He gives breath. He gives the Spirit, that they might live differently in the very world that frightened them. Resurrection hope is not fragile optimism; it is the life of Christ at work within wounded people.
That matters for us, because many of us know what it is to feel emotionally exhausted or spiritually thin. We may still believe in Jesus, yet feel as though our souls are moving quietly behind locked doors. We may smile in public while inwardly struggling with disappointment, regret, or weariness. But the risen Christ is not put off by our frailty. He enters with peace, breathes his Spirit upon us, and begins again.
Perhaps the gentle challenge for today is this: stop hiding your wounded places from the Lord who already knows them. Name one place in your life that still feels storm-damaged. Bring it honestly before Christ in prayer. Do not rush to fix it. Do not force yourself into cheerfulness. Simply open the door and let him stand there. Let his peace speak before your fear speaks. Let his presence be stronger than your memories of loss. Then ask for the grace to take one small step toward restoration—one phone call, one act of forgiveness, one moment of rest, one word of truth, one quiet refusal to give up.
The good news of Easter is not that believers never break. It is that brokenness is no longer beyond the reach of Christ. The tomb is empty, and therefore even wounded rooms can become places of new beginnings. Even communities marked by sorrow can become communities of tenderness and courage. Even hearts that have been dimmed by fear can begin to receive light again. The risen Jesus still comes, still speaks peace, still breathes life, still restores. And because he lives, we may trust that no wound offered to him is wasted, no night is endless, and no broken place is beyond the possibility of resurrection hope.
Prayer
Risen Lord Jesus, come into the closed and wounded rooms of our hearts and speak your peace over all that is fearful, weary, and broken within us. Breathe your Holy Spirit upon those who carry grief, trauma, disappointment, or quiet exhaustion, and begin your restoring work in the places that still ache. Give us courage to open our lives more fully to your presence, patience to trust your healing even when it is slow, and hope to believe that your resurrection life is stronger than all that has wounded us. Let your light rise gently in us and through us, until our scars themselves bear witness to your mercy and love. Amen.
Devotional by: Kenny Sallee, ThM — Deming, NM, USA
The Bible texts are from the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) Bible, copyright © 1989, 1993, the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
