Transformed Thomas

Text: John 20:19-31 Easter: April 15, 2007

Preacher: Vicar Anna Rudberg

It seems to me that Thomas has gotten pretty rough treatment through history. This passage in John has forever gotten him labeled as a man crazy about empirical proof, a man of shallow faith. His name has even come down through history as almost a caricature—Doubting Thomas—a name to describe the unimaginative one, the naysayer, the one who stubbornly sticks to only those things he can hold or touch, unable to make that “leap of faith.” But I’m not so sure that’s who Thomas really is. I think he’s actually a much richer character. And in fact, he has as much to teach us about believing as fearing, loving as mistrusting.

To begin with, Thomas is not the only one in the story who is having trouble completely buying what is happening. Pastor Tim described last week the other disciples’ reaction to the women’s discovery of the empty tomb. Are they overjoyed to hear the news? No, Luke says they dismiss the women’s story as an “idle tale.” Mark goes so far as to say even those at the tomb are so full of “terror and amazement” that “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” And you have to admit, it’s a pretty logical response—resurrection is not something we’re accustomed to dealing with. Only days before the disciples have seen Jesus die, even helped lay him in the tomb, and now they’re not only hearing he’s alive, they’re actually seeing it. Basically, I think the disciples are not quite sure what to do, and it’s frightening.

It’s ironic actually; in the midst of Easter, the season of our greatest hope, of renewal, of life bursting forward, we find the disciples in this passage scared and alone. They are huddled together in the Upper Room, fearful to so much as open a window, let alone believe that any Good News that is filtering through to them.

While I think Thomas joins the disciples in their understandable fear, I also wonder if there isn’t another reason for his hesitancy to believe. I think Thomas is not only unsure of what is happening, he is also nervous to trust, to give hope a chance. I suspect we’ve all experienced something like that in our lives. Something we’ve wanted so badly that when it happens, it is too frightening to believe. Or maybe, like the disciples, we’ve lost something we care deeply about and when it returns we aren’t quite able to admit it’s real. Worst of all, is that we might be tempted to shut ourselves off completely, too scared to let ourselves be vulnerable out of fear that we’ll be hurt again.

I remember when I was younger we once had a bedraggled little puppy wander onto our farm. Now if that little guy wasn’t the most unfriendly little thing—it wouldn’t let you hold it or even get too close, but preferred to just stare back with a wary eye from a safe distance. Each day my brother and I would lay out a pan of kitchen scraps and try to entice him closer, but the pup wouldn’t even look twice at it. In the morning, though, the plate would be licked clean. It took weeks for that puppy to learn to trust us, but ever so slowly he did, until eventually he grew to become our loyal dog, Nicky, sweet and affectionate.

Loving someone means being vulnerable and that’s frightening. It’s tempting to want to protect ourselves against that. I’m sure Shadow had had a tough puppy-hood and wasn’t about to let some fickle owners hurt him again. I think of how easy it can be to never take that step to love again, to never make yourself vulnerable. With that in mind, I try to imagine how Jesus’ disciples have just been feeling—their greatest hope, their hero and teacher, their MESSIAH, has been KILLED. This man in whom they had so many hopes, so much trust, is suddenly gone. They must feel abandoned, lost, and frightened. Reaching out to Jesus means opening up to be vulnerable again.

In that sense, Thomas models a powerful transformation. In the face of great pain, having just lost the leader he loves, he at first hesitates, chooses to doubt. But then, he reconsiders, he squares his shoulders and makes himself vulnerable by trusting again. With this act he embodies, OUR part, as follower’s, of the Easter story. Jesus has lived into his part the Easter promise, and now he waits for us to live into our response. Just as Jesus is resurrected from death into new life, Thomas is resurrected from disbelief into new hope. For what is the resurrection if it is not responded to, if it is not believed, accepted, rejoiced? But this takes trust, it means living into the vulnerability to love again. In this pivotal moment, Thomas reaches out to love his Lord in a new way, as a Christ who is both present and yet not of this world. What a powerful thing that is, to make that decision to believe. It is only appropriate then that Thomas’ cry is one of truest and rawest proclamations in all the Bible “My Lord and my God!”

And this cry moves us to the third resurrection of the story. It is the rebirth of a new kind of church. Up until this point the “church,” or what will become the church, has essentially been a group of people who are in constant contact with their charismatic leader, Jesus. They hear him preach, they witness miracles, they are cured or know people who are cured. They are able to see Jesus, touch him, hear him—just as Thomas wishes to do. Jesus realizes, though, that this is all about to change. He will soon leave them and they will have to go on alone, building a church based on his teachings and on faith, but without his physical presence. From now on, they will have to speak of their experience of Jesus to a people who never met him. And in a matter of 50 years, even those who had met Jesus in person also will be gone. The church is about to become those Jesus speaks of, who “have not seen and yet have come to believe”.

Thomas models just how difficult that transition is going to be, and Jesus realizes it. It is not easy to believe without physical proof. How daunting for this fledging church to reach out to people who will have to believe without seeing. Even worse, Jesus knows he’s going to be depending on these disciples, the very ones who themselves have trouble believing without seeing. How can they expect others make this decision when they can hardly decide for themselves?

But Jesus doesn’t make them do it alone. He doesn’t berate Thomas for his disbelief, but he meets him where he’s at. Jesus doesn’t leave his disciples stranded but gives them the tools with which to do it. He breathes on them... He strengthens them with his spirit. He gives them the mandate and the confidence to speak his message for him—to forgive sins, to preach the good news. Although Jesus command for them is challenging, he does not abandon them.

And that is the church that we’ve inherited. A church that follows a God that challenges, but also gives the tools to overcome those challenges. A church based on a promise but not physical proof. Unlike Thomas, we don’t ever get to see the incarnate Christ. When we gather together as a Christian body, as we do today, we hold little hope that Jesus will walk in in physical form to speak and counsel and heal. But even if we don’t see him in “in the flesh,” we still see Jesus in the world, don’t we? And I think this is one of the most powerful parts of the Thomas story. I mean, did you ever stop to wonder why Thomas asks to touch Jesus wounds? Why not ask to shake his hand or maybe to embrace him? Perhaps it is because it is through these very wounds that Thomas feels the closest to Jesus. Just as Thomas is suffering, so is his Lord, and perhaps this is where Thomas feels the greatest empathy, the greatest sense of connection. And is it not the same for us today? That sometimes the most profound way that we’re able to reach out to God is through the wounds of the world? When we reach out in love to others, when we respond to those in need, stand with those who are lonely or forgotten, are we not also reaching out to God ourselves? When we dare to speak out against injustice or take up the voice of the unheard, is that not our own cry to God? When I consider my own life, it is at these times of reaching out that I most strongly feel in harmony with what Jesus calls us to do. It is at these times that I most clearly feel the presence of God.

Just as in this passage Thomas is resurrected through the wounds of Christ from disbelief to hope and love, so too are we. In the face of all the pain and hurt and abandonment—Christ’s wounds in this world—we are called not to retreat, not to huddle in our Upper Room. Instead we are called to know those wounds; to not be afraid to touch them, to feel them. We are called to feel the breath of Christ and be strengthened. To reach out towards our broken world and see in it what Thomas sees, “my Lord and my God.”