"Doubting" Thomas

“Doubting” Thomas

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

April 15, 2012; 2 Easter, Year B

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(John 20:19-31) When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 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. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told  him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark  of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and  stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe."  Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those  who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

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NOTE:  I’m repeating this sermon that I originally preached 5 years ago.  I like it, and I couldn’t think of anything better to say today. -- Lowell

You've heard me say before that it is unfair to speak of "Doubting Thomas."  For me, he is "Grieving Thomas." 

Go back one week -- to Easter Day.  Just two days before Thomas had seen the brutal slow execution of his beloved friend and mentor Jesus.  The scenes are vivid in his brain -- the brutal nails through his hands; the spear thrust into his side.  The sense of grief is profound and overwhelming.

Thomas wasn't there when the other disciples experienced the appearance of Jesus risen and triumphant on Easter Day.  They came to him with unbridled excitement, telling him "We have seen the Lord."  But Thomas had not shared their experience.  He knew what he had seen, and the happy words of the others sounded shallow next to the real physicality of the death of Jesus that he had witnessed.  Unless he could see something of equal reality and power, his grief could not be allayed.  How could someone else's happy words erase the horror he had lived through?  He is Grieving Thomas; Hurting Thomas; Haunted Thomas.

Now, give credit to the other disciples.  They did not say to Thomas, you just don't believe enough.  They did not exclude him from their fellowship, alienate, screen, avoid, or ostracize him even though he did not share the faith that now energized them.  He was part of the fellowship; he remained in the fellowship. 

And good for Thomas.  He stayed with them, even though he was different.  Even though he didn't experience life as the others did any more, he received enough acceptance from them to stay.  Although he was probably uncomfortable, he stayed with his friends.  They made him welcome enough that one week later, the next Sunday, he was still there, and Jesus honored Thomas with a special resurrection appearance.  That day for him, everything changed.

If you want to, you might call him Grieving Thomas, because on that day when he had a vision of Jesus, it healed his grief.  None of the facts had changed.  Jesus had still been crucified; the wounds were still there.  But all the meaning had changed.  Jesus' resurrection transcended the pain, evil, and death that Thomas had witnessed, and now everything was gloriously healed.  Thomas grieved no more.

Or if you want to, call him Truthful Thomas, he was a person who had the honesty and courage to claim his own reality, to speak his true emotions -- even if they were contrary to the prevailing opinion.  Jesus honors his honesty.  Out of Thomas' willingness to face his own dark struggle, he experiences Christ's presence so profoundly that he becomes the first person to utter words of worship: "My Lord and my God."  Thomas sees more deeply into the reality of the significance of Jesus than anyone else has thus far.  His courageous honesty opened him to new and deeper truth.

But note this.  It is the experience of Jesus as loving and compassionate which faces his doubt and gives him peace.  That's important to remember.  The experience of God as loving and compassionate produces peace.  Upon that foundation, one can risk faith.  You can trust when what you trust is compassionate love.

For centuries the Church has called him Doubting Thomas.  Let's talk about that.  I want to talk about doubt.  Doubt gets a bad name.  I've had people say to me that they thought about coming to our church because they see all the good things that we are involved in, but they hesitate because they are not sure that they believe enough.  I've heard it over and over:  "I'm not sure what I believe," they will say.   I will answer, "Wonderful!  You can belong before you believe."  Wasn't that the gift the disciples gave to Thomas?  He belonged even when he didn't believe.  In fact, if you were brought up in the church as I was, most of us belonged before we believed.  That is part of the power of the meaning of infant baptism.

Doubt is an essential component of faith.  The opposite of faith is not doubt.  The opposite of faith is certainty.  There is always an element doubt and trust in healthy faith.  To be a person of faith is to look around the world and to say, "Despite the presence of evil and tragedy and death, I trust in something good."  It is the choice to go on living hopefully.  We say that God is good; that God created all that is and said "It is good."  Despite all, life is good.  So, in faith, we choose to trust.  We choose to act out of compassion and love rather than defensiveness and fear.

But you always know, in the back of your mind, you could be wrong about that.  After all, life is hard, and people can be cruel.  Human beings are fragile and can be broken.  I might be one of those who could be broken.  But, despite that, I'm going to trust, and go on.

The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty.  Certainty erases openness and kills the pilgrimage of growth.  I had a college roommate Howard who put a bumper sticker on our refrigerator: "The Bible said it.  I believe it.  That's that."  There was a lot that Howard refused to think about.  Faith is not the same thing as acquired gullibility.  People can and will believe the strangest of things, and bend or ignore the evidence to the contrary.  Rigid certainty will cut off the pilgrimage toward truth.  Certainty obliterates openness, and openness is necessary for spiritual growth and faith.

I am a natural doubter.  I know some people who are natural believers.  They don't struggle because they know intuitively.  They are typically humble, gentle, and they remain very open.  That's different from squashing doubt with certainty.  But faith does not come easy for me.  Yet after a lifetime of experiences like Thomas' -- experiences of love and compassion which brings peace -- I no longer actively struggle to have a deep faith and trust.  It's just there.  Maybe that's part of growing old.

But I have doubt.  There are days when I feel challenged by the question, "What if it's all wrong?"  What if Jesus was simply a nice Jewish religious enthusiast, who made a profound impact on others by his powerful love, his compelling teaching, and a personal impression that brought congruity to their lives?  But his vision was too radical for the religious and political authorities, and they killed him.  End of story.  What if the resurrection was nothing more than the active imagination of his followers who insisted that they would continue to live out of his Spirit?  What if that's all there is?  I ask myself that sometimes.

If that were so, I would still follow Jesus as "my Lord and my God" because it is the best story going.  I will give my life to that story, because it carries more meaning and value than anything else I have encountered.

The Jesus I follow is the incarnation in human life of divine love and compassion.  I have some friends who follow a Jesus who is very different from that.  They look forward to the day when Jesus will return and judge and destroy the earth.  He will condemn everyone who hasn't declared allegiance to his name.

What if they are right?  What if that's how God really is?  Ready to destroy all who don't believe "right"?  Then count me part of the revolution.  That kind of god doesn't deserve my worship and allegiance.  I am not going to worship a god who isn't at least as good as I am.  Their god is a very bad god.  Bad religion happens when people worship gods who are projections of their own darkness.  True Christianity proclaims that Jesus is light from light.  I'm holding out for that good God.

And what happens when we die?  I confess I have almost no interest in that question.  For me, Christianity is about life here and now.  Jesus said "I came that you might have life and have it abundantly... so that my joy may be in your and your joy may be complete."  My practice of faith is about living life abundantly, authentically, here and now.  But what about after we die? 

The God that I have experienced is a God of such love and compassion that I trust God eternally.  Whatever God wants after this life is fine with me.  After all, there is no way for me to know anything concrete about that.  Oh, there are some hints.  And those hints are pretty encouraging.  But if after we die there is nothing, I'm fine with that.  I've been close enough to nothing in contemplative prayer to be at peace with returning silently to the all.

So, that's some of what I believe.  I am your priest.  I lead our prayers, teach, consecrate, bless.  On a personal level I pray, study, and try to live a life of consecration and blessing.  But I doubt.  I have doubts.  Not every day.  But some days.  Some days more than others.  I don't stuff those doubts.  I allow them to be there.  From time to time they have led me into great discovery.

Thomas shows us what is important.  It is important to be honest and courageous.  It is faithful to confront and accept your doubts and to invite the risen Lord to bring you whatever you need to grow.  Jesus honors our struggles and doubts.  Jesus will come to us, and what Jesus will bring is what Jesus is -- love and compassion.  Perfect love casts out fear.  That is the kind of love that breathes peace upon us.  I have seen that kind of peace present even in the face of great tragedy and evil.  It is the kind of peace that changes the meaning of things like crucifixion and things like death.  Thomas knows.  There is enough love and compassion to bring peace even to our deepest grief and doubt.  Our best contribution to that quest is our honesty and our courageous, open willingness to stay in the tension.  God will do the rest.

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