So today our Easter story is the story of doubting Thomas. I’ve always had a special regard for Thomas, maybe in part because the first church I had charge of as a young curate was dedicated in his name. He gets labelled as “Doubting Thomas”, but I can’t help but think that’s a bit unfair. It wasn’t that Thomas couldn’t believe so much as that he was determined not to. When he says “I will not believe,” he uses the strong version of the verb. He’s not saying “I can’t”, he’s saying “I won’t” - so why is that, we might ask.
You see, Thomas wasn’t lacking in chutzpah or courage. It was Thomas who said, “Let us go also, that we may die there with him.” That was when Jesus decided to return to Judaea after hearing of the illness of Lazarus. Judaea was a very dangerous place for Jesus to go, people there wanted to do him harm - so Thomas doesn’t come across as a man lacking in faith or courage. It might even be that the absence of Thomas when Jesus appeared to his disciples on Easter Day was because he’d been out on the Jerusalem streets, rather than hiding behind locked doors like the other disciples.
So here’s what I think. Thomas wanted so much for his Lord to be risen and alive; and when at last he did see Jesus, he didn’t for a moment need to actually do what Jesus told him to do – place his finger in the marks of the nails and his hand into the wound in his side. His trust in Jesus was so sure and complete that he straight away falls before him and hails him as “My Lord and my God.” But his longing for Jesus to be alive was such that he dared not trust anyone else’s word for it - even that of his friends. What if they were wrong, what if it was all an illusion? That would be a disappointment too much to bear, and Thomas was not prepared to take that risk. His faith remained strong, and he wanted so much for it all to be true, but he didn’t dare take the risk of believing.
That’s what I think. For me, we do Thomas a disservice when we label him as a weak and wobbly doubter. Thomas would go on to travel half a world to take the Gospel to India, and to die a martyr’s death, or so the tradition goes. But his initial refusal to believe allows Jesus to say to us “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe.”
So what about us who have not seen? What is the ground of our faith to be? I can only speak for myself. My own Easter faith rests firstly in the existence of the Church itself, built as it is on the foundation of apostles and martyrs. Had there not been people who knew Jesus and who knew that this man had been dead but had risen from the dead, it’s hard to see how the message of Jesus could have survived, or how the Church could have been built. His people should have been defeated, downcast, disillusioned, but something happened to make them lose their fear, and to fill them with joyful courage.
Secondly, my faith rests on the examples of people in whose lives the light of Christ has shone. Some of them I’ve known, others are people I’ve heard about, some of whom bear the title ‘saint’. Some have directly ministered to me, some have taught me, all have inspired me.
But thirdly, I find faith simply in the living of my own life. It may be that I am mistaken and full of illusion; not everyone I know s going to be convinced, but my own sense, from a life that’s managed to contain thus far some pretty impressive highs and lows, is of there being point and purpose and direction to my life’s journey, which leads me to have a personal sense of God’s call and challenge. I’m not a very holy or pious person. I’m not very good at praying, I don’t read scripture as much as I should. Why God should want me, I don’t know. But my sense is that he does.
You may not be convinced. Where’s your proof, you might ask. I have friends and family members who do not believe in God, and I’ve not managed so far to get them to see things my way.
But that’s the point I suppose. There is no proof, or perhaps I should say there is no empirical proof. There are perhaps two kinds of proof: empirical proof, the proof that scientists seek and work from, where you do the same experiment, you get always the same result, wherever and whenever you do it. But there is also what I would call experiential proof. It’s not repeatable for every different person and in every different place; it’s highly subjective, it’s to do with living relationship rather than scientific law – but it works for me.
Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe. Faced with empirical proof, you have no choice but to believe, unless you work really hard at continuing to believe in, say, the earth being flat, the moon being made of cheese, or Mars being inhabited by little green men who build canals. But experiential proof isn’t transferable; so how do we pass on the flame of faith to others?
The clue is in the phrase I just used – the flame of faith. Our faith needs to be a flame, something we pass on by our own burning. People won’t believe Jesus is alive unless they see him alive in us. People won’t believe that Jesus can be their good news unless it’s obvious that he’s our good news. And every little bit helps. Desmond Tutu said: “Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” The Easter message of Jesus risen and alive should overwhelm the world - what good news it is that love is stronger than death, and that within that saving love you and I are known and loved and treasured. So do we have, and can we share, that flame of faith?
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