Easter 2: “Thomas Speaks”

John 20.19-31

April 15, 2007

Our special guest this morning is the apostle Thomas.

I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. I say what I think, and I don’t much care what anybody else says. I guess that’s partly because I’ve had to look out for my own interests all my life. You see, I was born a twin, and right from the beginning, I found that people didn’t want to treat me as an individual. I was a curiosity, just one half of a set of brothers. And I learned right away that if people were going to take me seriously as a person, I couldn’t let my identity be overrun by my brother. So I learned to be frank, honest, straight-forward, and very vocal about my needs, my opinions and thoughts.

So you see, I’ve always been my own man. Never depended on anybody else—that’s just not my nature. I don’t know why Jesus ever chose me to follow him. If I’d been doing the picking, I’d be the last person I’d ever choose to run around the countryside with Jesus. Some of those others, I can see—Simon Peter, that yes-man, always jumping to do whatever Jesus said. Or the other Simon, the one they call the Zealot, ready to enlist his mobster friends to help Jesus fight the Romans. Or James and John, those overly ambitious brothers, anxious to do anything for Jesus as long as they get their reward. But why me? I’ve often wondered that! Even more, I’ve wondered why on earth I ever said yes when he said “Follow me.” I’m not exactly the following type, you know? But there was something there, something I didn’t quite understand, something that made me believe in him in spite of my better judgment. Sometimes I think he chose me because all those others were such addle-brained dreamers, he needed at least one disciple with his feet firmly planted on the ground!

Like the time when he was talking to us about the future. “I’m going to prepare a place for you,” he said. “And you know the way where I’m going.” Now none of us had the foggiest idea what he was talking about, but there was Peter and the rest, nodding, pretending they understood, acting like it was all clear to them. Baloney! I wasn’t about to pretend. “Lord,” I said to him, “We don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?” And he looked at me and said, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father but by me.” And for the first time, I think all of us began to understand who this man really was.

To tell you the truth, I was a little frightened. If he really was the Messiah, as he seemed to be saying, I knew he’d be killed. Everyone else seemed to think that we’d just march into Jerusalem and everything would fall into place. James and John were really snowed—they kept asking Jesus to let them sit at his right and left hand when he sat on the throne of Israel! What a joke that was! Why, if he’d said yes, they would have immediately started fighting about which one got the right hand and which one the left! And the others were no better; my goodness, they actually believed the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the High Priest, to say nothing of the Romans, would just step aside and let Jesus take over. Well, I knew better. When we started for Jerusalem, I told them all. “Let’s go with him,” I said, “so we can all die with him.” But they just made fun of me and told me I was always the pessimist. They found out who was right!

Let me tell you, after it was all over, I really felt lousy. I guess I got a little carried away with the events. I mean, I knew he was going to be killed, but he was so fearless, so confident. That night when we ate the Passover supper, he wasn’t the least bit afraid. He washed our feet, he told us how much he loved us, he urged us to love one another. And even as he talked, that traitor Judas was plotting with his enemies. I was there in the Garden when he went off to pray. I was there when the guards came and seized him. I was there when Peter drew his sword, and when Jesus told him to put it away. I watched them take him away. I watched from the fringes as they took him before Pilate and Herod. I saw him crucified. I saw him die.

And then I couldn’t take it. I ran away. What was the use? There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. It was all over, it was finished. To be perfectly honest with you, I really couldn’t stomach sticking around with Simon Peter and the rest of the boys. They all sneaked back to that room we had shared with Jesus, but I didn’t see any point in that. They all felt so sorry—not for Jesus, but for themselves! Their precious dreams of greatness were over, and they were heartbroken! What a bunch of losers!—that’s what I was thinking. Who needs them any more? And besides . . . I had to be alone. After all, I had given three years of my life to Jesus of Nazareth. He was my closest friend in the world, my only friend, really. Now he was dead. I needed to work some things out for myself. I needed to think about the future. I did not need to sit around moping with a bunch of ne’er-do-well fishermen!

But do you think they’d leave me alone? Of course not. It wasn’t but three days later and they came to find me. “Thomas,” they said, “you must come with us. We have seen the Lord.” You can imagine what I thought of that! Poor Peter, James, John and the rest—their minds had snapped under the pressure. I told them they were crazy, but they insisted. They had been in the room, they said, with the door locked and bolted for fear of the Jews. And suddenly Jesus was standing among them, bidding them Peace. They knew it was Jesus, they said, because they saw the nail prints in his hands and the wound in his side.

“Well,” I said, “this is foolishness! I don’t believe it, and I won’t believe it unless I not only see those marks in his hands and side, but touch them, hold them, put my fingers in them. Then maybe—maybe—I’ll believe you!” What amazed me is that they still insisted it was true! Usually a few sarcastic words from me, and the others melted away in humiliation—but for some reason this time they were absolutely insistent. “Come back with us,” they said. “Come and see for yourself.”

And so I went. I didn’t believe it, I was sure they were hallucinating. But I went back with them, and I stayed with them for a week. Nothing happened. At least nothing happened with Jesus. What surprised me was that these erstwhile disciples were so calm and serene. They seemed to have a presence with them, a spirit about them, that was completely unlike anything I’d seen in them before. I expected them to be upset, agitated, fearful—but there was none of that. They were almost as calm and assured as Jesus had been the night before his death.

And then on Sunday, it happened. We were in the room, the doors were locked, and all of a sudden I looked up and saw the Lord. “Peace be with you,” he said. And then he turned right to me, and looked me right in the eye, and said, “Thomas, put your finger here and look at my hands; then reach out your hand and put it in my side. Stop your doubting, and believe.” I can’t tell you what I felt at that moment. I only know that I suddenly did believe. And there was no need to touch his wounds, no need to see for myself. Somehow just by hearing his voice I knew it was he himself, and that he was alive. And so I fell on my knees before him. “My Lord and my God,” I cried.

Since that day, I have spent every waking hour telling people about Jesus Christ. And I’m enough of an egotist to think that perhaps some will listen to me who wouldn’t listen to the others. Because I didn’t want to believe it. I was the skeptic, I was the doubter. But when I heard his voice and saw his face, all my doubts melted. I believe that it was because of my doubts that Jesus chose me; for through my doubting, perhaps others who doubt may come to believe.

But let me tell you one more thing. From that day on, I never again went off by myself and cut myself off from the other disciples. In spite of all the things I’ve said about them, I came to understand at last that Jesus needed them, with all their faults and weaknesses, just as much as he needed me. And I began to see that if I wanted to continue to know Jesus, continue to see him face to face, I had to stay in the fellowship of others who loved him. For it is when his people meet together that he has promised, “There I am, in your midst.” He is not a God of solitude and loneliness, but a God of fellowship and sharing. When we gather together in his name, our risen Lord stands in our midst and says to us, “Peace be with you.” It is only then that we feel the strength and power that keeps us going through dangers, toils and snares. It is only then that we receive God’s grace in such measure that we can overcome our usual selfish, private selves, and find ourselves filled with his love. And so I’ve come to your gathering here today, to tell you that Christ is risen—and that Christ is here, now, with you. And while you may not see him with your eyes, look up! You will see him with your hearts! You will see him as you share with each other. You will see him as you give of yourselves. You will see him in the faces and lives of those who gather here with you. So stop your doubting, and believe in him. And the peace of Christ, a peace which surpasses all understanding, be with you all.