I’m Thomas. You probably know me as “Doubting Thomas,” which is really unfair. Sure, I doubted sometimes. I asked questions. But I shouldn’t be branded by that. I shouldn’t have to wear a scarlet D on my chest as if doubt were some unforgivable sin.
Here’s the thing – I asked a lot of questions. I’m a curious, inquisitive kind of person. And when Jesus is your teacher, you’d better make the most of that opportunity. Our friend Mary understood this. She sat at the rabbi’s feet to learn from her even though men in our society and even her own sister scolded her for this behavior. But Jesus said that she knew what was best – learning from him – and that he would not take that from her.
I did the same – I committed myself to being Jesus’ student. Part of being a good student is asking questions.
For example, when Jesus told us that there was a place prepared for us and that we knew the way there, my friends muttered amongst themselves. “What is he talking about?” “Do you know the way?” “Where is this place he speaks of?”
I rolled my eyes at my friends’ timidity and spoke up. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” And Jesus explained that he is the way. He wasn’t referring to a physical path, but to himself, his position, his character.
Of course, what I’m most known for is the whole post-resurrection episode.
Now, be fair. Imagine that you had witnessed your teacher be sentenced to death. You had mourned your loss. You had seen the empty tomb. And then your friends come and tell you that he’s actually still alive. Would you believe them? No, of course not. I even wondered whether they had stolen the body to pull an elaborate prank on me, but I couldn’t imagine them doing that. They were upset about Jesus’ death too, obviously, so I didn’t think they’d make a prank out of it.
So, in my anger at the injustice of the world, I bitterly spat at my companions, “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.” Your typical “I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it” response.
Thankfully, even when I was short-sighted and short-tempered, Jesus was faithful. A week later, while hanging out with those same friends, Jesus just appeared in our closed and locked room. He greeted us in joy and peace. Naturally, I shrank back, feeling confused, amazed, and embarrassed all at once. Jesus is the kind of guy that just knows stuff (which makes sense once you understand that he’s God), so I knew that he would know what I had said.
But he made a point of coming over to see me. “Put your finger here; see my hands,” he said, reaching out his injured hands toward me. I slid my finger into the holes in his palms – gaping holes that were completely clean. “Reach out your hand and put it into my side.” His side, too, was clean and there was no trace of blood. Then the rabbi took my hands in his, looked me in the eye and said, “Stop doubting and believe.”
That’s when I realized that Jesus is God.
If Jesus had punished me for my doubt and questioning, I never would have understood. I would have wallowed in my doubt until it consumed me and I turned away from Jesus and his teachings.
But God can handle our questions. He wants us to be his students, to bring our doubts to him so that he can address them. So that he can teach us the truth.
Doubting is not an unforgivable sin. It’s just part of faith.
John 14 and 20
Neglected Word 