I have a celestial question for you. How many of you have seen Halley’s comet? How many believe it’s really out there? As you might guess, today’s reflection Is not about comets; but it is about seeing and believing. However, it’s not a matter of seeing and then believing. Rather it’s a question of: what do I believe without seeing? Or more specifically, what do I believe about an empty tomb and the man it once held.
Last Sunday, Easter Sunday, the gospel reading was about that empty tomb. Now, currently, it’s a week later, but our gospel reading for today begins on the evening of Easter Sunday when the disciples were gathered together, frightened, confused, excited. You might close your eyes and imagine what it was like back then.
Can you feel the tension in the air? Some of the women said they saw Jesus this morning. Yet maybe, they didn’t see him. It’s true the tomb is empty. Anyone can see that. But where is his body? Who could have taken it? What about that story Cleopas told us: how Jesus met the two of them on the way to Emmaus, but they didn’t recognize him until he had broken bread with them. How would you react if suddenly in the midst of this confusion, Jesus stood there and said: “Shalom, peace be with you”?
But you weren’t there: and neither was I. And neither was Thomas. That is really what our reflection is to be about today: what does Thomas have to tell me about who I am and, more importantly, who I am called to be? What can I learn from Thomas about courage and about belief? Usually Thomas is referred to as “doubting” Thomas, a name with a very negative image. Yet, I see Thomas in a more positive light. In fact, there are times when I wish I were more like Thomas. Why do I say that? Well, let’s take a closer look at him.
In the first place, Thomas could not be forced into believing. He could not be told by others what to think! Thomas stood up for his own beliefs. It took courage for him to stand up to the other disciples and not accept what they had told him. After all, they had been friends for many months now. They had seen the master perform many wonders. Wouldn’t it have been easier for Thomas to agree that the Lord was risen? Surely, Thomas should have accepted what his friends told him. After all, don’t I accept whatever my friends tell me!
Unlike Thomas, how many times am I afraid to say what I really believe for fear of not being accepted, for fear of being rejected? How many times do I allow things to happen I know are wrong, because I lack the courage to speak out? How often am I afraid to express my opinion, because it is not the same as what my friends say? How often do I even fail to make a decision, because I don’t want to annoy others? Even in small things. Karen asks me whether I want to go to a Mexican or a Chinese restaurant and I say “I don’t care. Whatever you want is fine.”
How easy it is to remain silent when I hear people putting someone down in a joke, because of their race or sex or age. How easy It is not to say anything about how something should be done until after it’s done and then become annoyed because it wasn’t done my way. Yes, there are many times I wish I were more like Thomas who had the courage to tell his closest friends: “I cannot accept what you are saying just because it is you who say it.”
There is another time when Thomas also showed his courage. The very first time we hear him speak in John’s gospel. And it was on a similar occasion. He was with Jesus and the other disciples when they heard the devastating news that Lazarus was sick unto death. Before they left for Bethany to go to Mary and Martha and Lazarus, there had been a heated discussion about the meaning of the journey. The other disciples didn’t want Jesus to go near Jerusalem for fear the Jews would kill him. But finally, Jesus told them that Lazarus was dead and that he must go back for their
sakes so that the disciples, themselves, would believe in him.
It was at that moment that “… Thomas said to his fellow disciples, let us go along, to die with him.” It’s this response that makes me think that Thomas had the courage of his convictions at all times. It’s also this story about Lazarus that prepares us for what happens in today’s gospel reading when Thomas finally did see Jesus. And that is the most Important part of today’ s story. Thomas has much to tell us about belief as well as about courage.
Thomas, along with the other disciples, had already seen someone raised from the dead. Thomas had seen Jesus call Lazarus from the tomb. For Thomas, there should have been no difficulty in accepting that Jesus, too, had returned from the dead. Yet, Thomas did hold back. Somehow, he seemed to sense that if Jesus had returned, it was not quite like what had happened to Lazarus. Thomas had seen the nails being driven into those hands and the lance piercing the side of his friend. He said he wanted to probe those holes with his own finger, with his own hand. Now, he was being given the opportunity to do just that, to poke his own finger into the holes, to thrust his hand into the hole made by the lance. But he did not! Instead, when he saw Jesus he cried out: “My Lord and my God.”
The story we heard today is not about a doubting Thomas, but rather about a believing Thomas. We do not know what the other disciples said or what they believed when they saw the risen Jesus, but we do know exactly what Thomas said and what he believed. This was no re-animated corpse returned from a tomb. This man was not like Lazarus. For Thomas, the person he experienced could be described only as “My Lord and my God.”
Perhaps it was at that moment that Thomas remembered what his friend had told him during the last meal they had shared. You see, there are three times when Thomas speaks in John’s gospel. One of those times occurred during the last supper. Jesus had just told them: “In my father’s house there are many dwelling places … I am indeed going to prepare a place for you, and then I shall come back to take you with me, that were I am you also may be. You know the way that leads where I go.” “Lord”, said Thomas, “We do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus told him: “I am the way. And the truth. And the life. No one comes to the Father but through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father also. From this point on you know him: you have seen him.”
Could it be that upon seeing Jesus in that room, Thomas remembered his words and was able to cry out in his total belief: “My Lord and my God.” For me, Thomas is not the doubter but the true believer. Yet, he is more than that. Thomas is always called “the twin”. This raises the question: who is his twin? Who is the other part of Thomas? I believe each of us is the twin. I am his twin. You are his twin. Perhaps each of us needs to be more like our twin. Perhaps, like Thomas, I need to remember how I have experienced his presence. For while it is true that I have not seen him with my eyes, I have experienced him in my life, in those around me, and in my self.
Like Thomas, I continue to seek. To ask questions. And also like Thomas, I need to recognize I must go beyond the facts, beyond the holes I want to probe so I can reach the signs, themselves. I must see beyond the appearance of bread and wine to reach his body and blood. I must see beyond the rags of the poor and the wounds of the suffering to reach the Christ within each person.
I have not seen Halley’s comet: yet I accept that it is there. I will not be able to see it the next time it comes: yet, I accept that it will return. If I can accept all this on the word of others and of my own understanding of nature, is it not also possible for me to accept the words of others and my understanding of God? Within my heart, can I not see the empty tomb and know that he is, risen. That he is with me now? Questions about comets are less important than a final question: What does it take for us to cry out with Thomas, the believer: “My Lord and my God!”?
Second Sunday of Easter; April 6, 1986
Acts 5:12-16; Rev 1:9-11, 12-13, 17-19; Jn 20:19-31