The Gift Of Doubting

Yesterday at church, the New Testament reading was from John 20, where Jesus appears to the disciples on Sunday evening, the day of his resurrection.

For some reason, Thomas wasn’t with the other disciples when this happened.  When the disciples told him they’d seen the resurrected Jesus, Thomas didn’t believe them.

“Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe,” Thomas famously insisted.

The following week, Jesus appeared to the disciples again.  This time, Thomas was with them.

John writes that Jesus focused his attention on Thomas and said,

“Take your finger and examine my hands. Take your hand and stick it in my side. Don’t be unbelieving. Believe.”

 Thomas said, “My Master! My God!”

To be honest, Thomas is one of my favorite disciples.  I’ve heard lots of preachers talk about how they identified with Peter, the foot-in-the-mouth, hasty, impulsive, flawed, outspoken follower of Jesus.  As a soft-spoken, deep-thinking skeptic, I’ve never seen myself as Peter.  But I deeply identify with Thomas.

Thomas is loyal.  In John 11, when Jesus says he’s going to a town near Jerusalem (where religious leaders are waiting to kill him) to raise Lazarus from the dead, Thomas says to the other disciples, “Let’s go with Jesus to Jerusalem so we can die with him.”

In John 14, when Jesus tells the disciples that he’ll so be going to the Father, Thomas wants so badly to be reunited with Jesus that he asks Jesus, “How will we where to find you if you don’t tell us where you’re going?”

All Thomas wants is to be with Jesus.   He’s so loyal, he’d rather die with Jesus than let Jesus travel into dangerous places alone.

When Jesus went to the cross and was crucified alone, Thomas must have been devastated.  Because he wasn’t there.  He didn’t accompany Jesus through the trial, through the conviction, through the torture that led to Jesus’ death.

As an Enneagram 6, I know the torture of disloyalty and emotional separation can be worse than the pain of death.  The loss of a deeply-felt connection is absolutely devastating.

My personal theory is that Thomas wasn’t present with the other disciples when Jesus first appeared to them because Thomas was too devastated to show up.  That first appearance happened on Sunday night, less than three days after the Friday crucifixion.  Those of us who crave connection and prize loyalty take separation and loss like a kick to the gut.  We can’t speak.  We can’t even breathe, let alone get dressed, wash our faces, and show up to a gathering.

When the disciples tell Thomas they’ve seen a risen Jesus, it isn’t any wonder that Thomas is skeptical.  Not because he’s cynical, but because he’s terrified to get his hopes up.  From my perspective, he’s not Doubting Thomas, he’s Devastated Thomas who feels the loss of his rabbi and friend deeper than he could ever say.

So he guards his heart.  He protects his emotions.  He practices self-protection because he knows he’s already fallen to pieces and, if he’s disappointed even deeper, he’ll never be able to put the pieces together again.

So he comes up with the ultimate burden of proof:  putting his own fingers in the nail prints and spear hole in Jesus’ resurrected body.

When Jesus shows up a week later, Thomas has finally been able to get himself out of bed, finally been able to summon the emotional and physical energy to attend a meeting.

Jesus doesn’t chastise Thomas.  He doesn’t cluck his tongue or shake his head or roll his eyes at this devastated doubter.

Instead, Jesus issues Thomas an intimate invitation.  He holds out his nail-pierced hands and, in the famous Caravaggio painting, opens his robe so Thomas can probe his spear-pierced side.

Thomas gasps.

I can only imagine the emotional reunion when he realizes that what he was too terrified to hope for is actually true: his rabbi, his master, his friend has been brought back to life.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Christian history says that Thomas went all the way to India to spread the Gospel.  And there, he gave his life for the story he’d once been to devastated to believe was true.  He gave his life for the resurrected Jesus whose nail prints and spear mark he’d touched with his own hands.

Thomas’ devastation led to his doubt.  But, when met with proof, his doubt led to determination to carry the story far — farther than any of the other disciples, actually.  And it led to ultimate devotion — becoming a martyr for the story he’d once thought was too good to be true.

Doubt is often criticized and mocked.  But in actuality, doubt is often directly proportional to how much our hearts long to believe something — but are too afraid to believe it because of how devastated we’ll be if, after we’ve put all our faith in it, find out it isn’t true.

Doubt isn’t cynicism.  It’s not a default posture we take toward everyone and everything.

Doubt is a gift.

It guards our heart.  It leads us to ask deep and important questions.  It insists on understanding.  It gives us courage to explore.

And, when met with proof, doubt turns to absolute devotion, as we become confident enough to stake our lives on the Love we once thought was too good to be true.