Doubting Thomas

2nd Sunday of Easter
Cycle C
Acts 5: 12-16
Rev 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19
Jn 20:19-31

Faith is such a fragile thing.

Thomas and all the apostles were suffering greatly. They had just witnessed the torture and death of someone they loved deeply. They had pinned all their hopes and dreams on Jesus’ promise, and now he was gone. That promise would not be fulfilled.

Thomas was not unique because he wanted hard evidence before he would believe. All of the gospel accounts of the resurrection say that the apostles did not believe that Jesus had risen from the dead, even though they had seen the empty tomb, seen the angels announcing that he had risen, and heard the witness of Mary Magdalene and the other women that they had actually seen and touched the risen Lord. None of the men believed. So, what was so different about Thomas?

Thomas believed deeply in Jesus. In John’s gospel, just prior to Jesus entering into Jerusalem that last time, Thomas said to his fellow apostles, “Let us go with him, to die with him, if necessary.” Like Simon Peter, Thomas’ faith in Jesus was so strong that he declared he would lay down his life for him. I can imagine all the apostles boasting the same thing at one time or another.

And, like Simon Peter, and like all the other apostles who supposedly had such a strong faith in Jesus, he denied him. All the apostles denied Jesus. They all ran away. Peter just denied Jesus publicly, and dramatically, but they all denied they knew him when they abandoned him. All that big talk about laying down their lives for Jesus was just that; talk. When it came down to their own personal safety they took to their heels. And they were still hiding days later when the women, who were the only ones with the courage to go outside, gave witness to the resurrection.
But wait a minute. There was someone else who had gone outside. Thomas. Where had he gone? Why wasn’t he with the others groveling behind locked doors?

Perhaps he had to get away from them, who most likely were arguing amongst themselves, as usual. Maybe he wanted to go to the tomb to see for himself the destruction of all his dreams. Maybe he was ashamed that he hadn’t had the guts to stand up with Jesus and defend him. Maybe he was running away and came back out of shame.

And he didn’t want to simply see Jesus, he didn’t want to embrace him and hold him. Just seeing his wounds wasn’t enough. Thomas wanted to actually put his hand into his wounds. He didn’t want to see a man. He wanted to see what that man had done for him. It was the wounds, the wounds that counted. On Friday Thomas saw Jesus as a holy man. On Sunday he acknowledged him as the Son of God. Because of the wounds. Thomas wanted to actually enter into Jesus’ suffering. Because he himself was suffering.

Maybe what Thomas doubted was himself.

He wouldn’t be fooled again. Jesus had let him down. He hadn’t called forth armies to overthrow the Romans. He hadn’t come down from that cross and shown them all who he had claimed to be. He hadn’t even defended himself. No, he wouldn’t fall for it again; he had to have solid proof.

But when he did have that proof, when he actually did see the risen Lord, he was the first to worship him as God. “My Lord and my God.” Entering into the wounds of Christ had given him a clarity the other apostles didn’t experience.

Thomas’ story is a lot like ours. We believe we are disciples of Christ, and have been following him for a long time. We sometimes are boastful in our faith. We have all the answers. We go to church on Sunday and we pray…occasionally. And when we read about persecutions of Christians in other parts of the country and the world, we think, “I wouldn’t run away and deny that I’m a Christian if it were me.” But when confronted by a co-worker who tells you that your Catholic faith is false you mumble something and walk away. When the church leaders that we have put so much faith in prove to be a disappointment; we go into hiding. When they are attacked unfairly we don’t rise to their defense. Even worse, we join in the melee. And when our faith in Jesus is inconvenient, or politically incorrect, or infringes too much on our own selfish lifestyles, we fade away into the darkness.

Like Thomas, maybe we doubt ourselves.

We read and pray that we should put all our trust in the Lord, that God wants the best for us, always. We shouldn’t worry about what to eat or what to wear, but then we’re still unemployed after a year. We have lost our home and our self-respect. Our dreams are fading away, and we feel betrayed. Or we hear Jesus say, “Let the little children come to me.” And then we read of the senseless murder of little innocents, or worse yet, we suffer the loss of one of our own children, and all those nice paintings we’ve seen of Jesus with little ones on his lap seem like a lie.

So, like the apostles, we run away and put up walls of skepticism to Jesus. It isn’t supposed to happen this way, so the promises can’t be true. We have to get out of the upper room and clear our heads. All that bold talk about faith seems to be just that when it’s tested so severely. We want proof that our suffering has a purpose. We’ll believe in Jesus when we can actually touch his wounds. We want to enter into Jesus’ suffering to make sense of our own.

And once we do, like Thomas we feel all the pain and bitterness and our own denial fall away and we can clearly declare, “My Lord and my God.” What little faith we have is enough. It will always be enough, because it will never be enough. We can’t do it on our own. We need to touch the risen Lord and see what he has done for us. We need to draw strength from his wounds. The wounds he endured for us. For you.