Poor Thomas. He gets
such a bad rap. Every single year, on
the Sunday after Easter, the lectionary turns up this well known story from the
Gospel of John: the story of Thomas, the one disciple who just so happens to be
out of the room when Jesus appears to the other disciples for the first time. Who knows where he was--maybe he was out
getting food for everyone, or perhaps he was out gathering information, trying
to determine when it might be safe for the disciples to show their faces in
public again. Wherever he was, whatever
he was doing, clearly, he missed out. And
now he has had the misfortune to be known for all time as Doubting Thomas. And I have got to say, quite frankly, I think
it’s pretty unfair. I mean, let’s look a
little closer at what’s going on here. After
Jesus dies, the disciples go and lock themselves up in a room. They are afraid to go outside. They don’t want anyone to be able to recognize
them or associate with them with their fallen leader. And apparently in the midst of all that, the
only disciple who was brave enough to venture outside this little room they had
holed themselves up in was Thomas! We
call him Doubting Thomas, but really, it was the rest of the disciples who were
so full of doubt and fear that they were paralyzed into inaction-- hiding out
from the rest of the world and locking themselves behind closed doors. At the very least, Thomas probably shouldn’t
be singled out as the only disciple who experienced doubt in
those initial days following the crucifixion and resurrection. I think there
was plenty of that to go around.
Beyond that though, I would argue that singling Thomas out as
the focus of this story distracts us from what this passage is really all
about. It’s not really a story about
Thomas and his personal inability to believe.
Or perhaps it is about that, but it’s also much bigger than that. This is a story about all of us and this
universal human experience called doubt.
But it’s not only about us. It’s
also a story about God, how God responds to us, and how God communicates with
us even in the midst of that doubt. Additionally,
I think that hidden deep within this story is a lesson about how sometimes, it
is in fact our doubt that can be the means through which we develop deep,
transformative faith.
Over the years, this morning’s text has probably become the
single most commonly referenced passage when it comes to the experience of religious
doubt. Even people who never go to
church have probably heard the phrase “doubting Thomas.” But it’s not just in this passage that we
find it. Doubt is really one of the most
prevalent themes in all the post-resurrection accounts in all four of the gospels. Yes, there is joy and amazement, there is
wonder and excitement. But for the most
part, the best way to describe how the disciples feel about everything going on
around them is doubtful and afraid. Last
week, for example, we heard about how Mary and the other women at the tomb went
home after hearing news of the resurrection and didn’t say a word to anyone
because they were afraid. In John’s
gospel this morning, we continue the story, and we read that Mary has
apparently since recovered from her speechlessness, and has announced the good
news to the disciples. But it seems that
her word is not quite enough to quell their own doubts and fears so they remain
behind closed doors. The doubt and fear
the women first felt has now seemingly affected the men as well. But then Jesus appears to them. “Peace be with you,” he says, perhaps in an
effort to subdue their fear. And then
the gospel tells us that he “breathes on them” and bestows upon them the gift
of the Holy Spirit.
Now one would think that this kind of personal encounter with
the divine would be enough to remove their doubts. One would think that such an experience of
the risen Christ might finally prompt them to unlock the doors they hid behind
and start spreading the good news. But that’s
not what happened! Scripture tells us
that they remained hidden behind closed doors for another whole week! Even after seeing Jesus himself— standing
before them in the flesh, giving them the gift of the holy spirit-- they were
still doubtful and afraid. When you
think about it, it’s kind of hard to believe that this is the same group of
disciples that we heard about in our passage from the Acts of the Apostles this
morning—this passage which portrays this almost utopian sounding Christian
community where everyone shares everything in common and all are cared for. “There was not a needy person among them,” the
book of Acts says, “for as many as owned lands or houses, sold them, and
brought the proceeds of what was sold… and it was distributed to each as any
had need.” How on earth did they get
from this cowardly group of doubtful disciples that we read about in John to
this courageous group of apostles— spreading the good news, living in a
community of radical love and compassion?
How did they get from here to there?
How did this transformation come about?
Well I’m sure that the Holy Spirit had something to do with
it. But I would also venture to say that
it was in part their doubt that got them there.
Now I realize that this may seem like a rather strange thing to say. After all, doubt is not exactly viewed in a
positive light in some circles of Christianity.
For many Christians, the measure of one’s faith lies in the certainty of
their belief. And to have doubts, or to
call into question that certainty would be seen by some as an attack on Christianity
itself. But I think we actually do
ourselves a disservice when we ignore or deny the value of doubt. It’s
certainly clear from many of the gospel stories that it’s natural and not
something to be ashamed of. And even
though we live in an age where doubt is not always seen as a positive trait for
Christians to have, it hasn’t always been that way. In the long history of religious thought, Doubt
has not always been looked down on as a thing to be avoided. And in fact, has been seen by many as an
important part of one’s spiritual development.
Take for example, one of the great Fathers of the early
Church, Saint Augustine. He wrote about
the importance of doubt in his major 5th century treatise—The City
of God. And he said that for a man to
doubt is not so terrible a thing because “at the least, even if he doubts, he
lives. If he doubts, he remembers why he's doubting... If he doubts, he thinks.
If he doubts, he knows he does not know. If he doubts, he judges he ought not
to give a hasty assent.” For Augustine,
doubt was an important stop on the road to true wisdom. For him, one could never really know
anything without experiencing doubt first.
Fast forward about a thousand years later, and mystics like
St. John of the Cross would come to talk about doubt as something called “the
dark night of the soul.” What we might
call a crisis of faith-- often brought on by some kind of personal upheaval in
which we lose all comfort of certainty. An
experience in which we are plunged into darkness and are forced to question
everything. For John of the Cross and many
others, they believed that one must first experience this “dark night of the
soul” before one could come to true faith.
For these ancient thinkers, doubt played an important role
in one’s personal spiritual development.
Not only that, doubt has also played an important role in the
development of religion itself. Looking
back over the history of the church, one can see that some of the most famous
“doubters” are the ones who actually helped the church make progress and move
forward. Take for example the
Reformation: when Martin Luther and other reformers casst doubt upon many of
the doctrines being handed down from the Catholic church. Not only did these doubts help form the
Protestant church as we know it today, but they also led to many important reforms
within the Catholic Church itself, helping them to move forward as well. And you know, while we’re here, talking about
reformers who cast doubt on the religious status quo, there is another figure
in the history of Christianity who did a lot in terms of casting doubt upon the
religious establishment. Someone who
questioned the way things were and prompted others to seek change. Someone who turned the status quo of
religious authority upside down and made a whole lot of people rethink what
they believed about God. I’m talking of
course about Jesus himself.
One could argue that really, the most significant and
positive moments in the history of the church have been those when doubt— not
certainty— was at the forefront of people’s minds. One could also make the argument that if some
of the greatest achievements in the history of religion have been the product
of doubt, that on the flip side, some of the greatest sins in the history of
religion have been the product of a kind of arrogant religious certainty. The Crusades, the Inquisition, modern day
fundamentalism and religious terrorism— these can all be traced back to the
kind of religious certainty that leaves no room for self reflection, humility,
or thoughtful engagement with those who think differently than oneself. And it is here where I want to bring us back
around to our gospel story from this morning.
It is here where I want to come back to that group of 12 frightened
disciples locked up in an upper room, full of doubt and trepidation about what
their next steps should be. Imagine what
might have happened if the disciples had reacted differently to the brutal
execution of their religious teacher and friend. What if their response had been not grief and
doubt, but rather anger and rage and a desire for vengeance? Perhaps such a reaction would have been
understandable, if not justifiable. But
I think that if that had happened, the end result would have been quite
different. And I think we can be fairly
sure that this community of radical love and compassion that we read about in
the Acts of the Apostles wouldn’t have been part of it.
Because here’s the thing-- there is something about the humility
that comes with doubt-- that comes with the admission “we know we do not know.” There is something about the vulnerability that
accompanies that experience of “the dark night of the soul” that allows room for
something other than one’s own certainty.
If we barrel through life, certain at all times that we know everything
there is to know, where does that leave room for God or for our faith to
transform us?
I have a theory that the reason why there are so many stories
of doubtful disciples in the gospel, and the reason why so many of the early
church fathers and mothers emphasized the importance of doubt so much, is
because doubt has this ability to open
up these little cracks in our exterior, to make a little more room for God to
break through. Furthermore, to have that
experience, to enter into that dark night of the soul, opens up one’s own sense
of compassion towards others who are also struggling to make sense of life’s
difficulties.
Perhaps that’s what happened to those original disciples. They truly did experience a dark night of the
soul— a period in which they thought all hope was lost and were ready to throw
in the towel and give up. Perhaps it was
exactly that experience which gave them the kind of compassion and empathy
needed to create this radical and inclusive community of love.
The vulnerability that doubt creates in us makes us more open
and compassionate towards others. It
also makes us more open to experiencing God.
Christian activist and preacher Pauli Murray has written that “the
Crisis of doubt is inseparable from our human condition.” “However,” she says, “God is never closer to
us than when we are in greatest doubt.
When all our human efforts have failed and we acknowledge our
helplessness and defeat; when our lives are wrenched apart by devastating loss
and we are numb with grief, when our bodies are filled with pain and weakness
and we are compelled to face the inevitability of death. In our inability to solve the problems of
evil and suffering, in our deep despair, we learn that our ultimate support and
strength comes from God, who loves us, accepts us with all our weakness and
doubts, and enters into our suffering with us.
In the major crises of our lives we abandon all illusions of
self-sufficiency and find refuge in God’s infinite mercy and grace.”
And so perhaps the most important lesson we learn from our
gospel reading this morning is that that even in the midst of great doubt, God
comes to us. God reaches out to us in
our most
vulnerable moments undeterred by dead bolts or locked doors. In the words of theologian Serene Jones, “when
doubt threatens to crowd out hope, we can be comforted that Jesus will come to
meet us exactly where we are, even if it is out on the far edge of faith that
has forgotten how to believe.”
Even when we repeatedly hold onto our doubt and fear, God
still comes to us. The disciples
probably didn’t deserve that second visit from Jesus. After all, they supposedly knew this moment
would come. They had the testimony of
Mary and the other women and they had that first encounter with Jesus himself. Yet still, they persisted in their doubt. But God didn’t give up on them. And that is perhaps the most crucial part of
the story. God did not give up on them. And God will not give up on us.
Doubt is not the opposite of belief and it is not an obstacle
to belief. It is part of what it means
to seek God. It is part of how we come
to real faith. Maybe there are things in
the Christian story that you wrestle with.
Maybe you have some questions. Maybe
there are some things you aren’t sure about.
God isn’t going to disappear because you have some doubts. In fact, it may just be, that in those very questions,
God has something God wants to tell you.
And that’s probably the best news of all.
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