Feast of St. Thomas: John 20:24-29
Whenever we, in our own time, ponder the Gospel accounts of the appearances of the Risen Lord, we may wonder what they were like. We may even feel a touch of envy for people like Peter and Mary Magdalene and Paul, who saw the Risen Lord Jesus. We may say to ourselves, “Well, they saw him; we don’t. They had an advantage over us”. Or so we believe. Going further, we read in the Acts of the Apostles how faith in the presence of the Risen Lord enabled the apostles (and others) to preach, heal, and face great dangers out of love for the Lord. We may wonder how we can encounter the presence and power of the Risen Lord in our own lives.
A closer look at the resurrection appearances in the Gospels will help us greatly. These accounts were written not only to show how the Risen Lord appeared to these first believers; they are also written to give future believers, those who have not seen Jesus, clues as to how they, too, can encounter the Risen Lord. The story of Jesus’ appearance to Thomas is certainly one that can be read on both levels.
Let us look briefly at various ways in which these first Christians encountered the Risen Lord Jesus and how these stories also reveal how we, too, encounter him.
We begin with Mary Magdalene. She has come to the tomb of Jesus on the first day of the week. The stone is rolled away. Jesus’ body is gone. She is weeping near the tomb. Then she feels a presence. Someone is there. She doesn’t know who he is at first. She mistakes him for the gardener. Since Jesus is the new Adam, the one who tends the garden of this world rightly, she is not far from the truth. But she does not know, until Jesus speaks her name. He knows her. Hearing her name, she now recognizes Jesus. No one could speak to her heart and call her by her true name like Jesus did. We, too, encounter the Risen Lord Jesus in this way. We may have a sense that something, or someone, is calling us in some way. We may not recognize the voice immediately. However, we know that the One who calls knows our name and has every right to expect a response. We, too, experience Jesus as the One who knows us intimately, better than we know ourselves. He knows our truest, deepest name. As soon as we hear or feel it, we know that it is our name. Our calling. Our vocation. Thus do we sometimes encounter the Risen Lord even today.
Now, to the disciples on the road to Emmaus. They, too, are distraught. With the crucifixion of Jesus, their hopes have been shattered. They are leaving Jerusalem. They are on the point of giving up. Even though they have heard that some people saw Jesus risen, they cannot believe. Not yet. Once again, they find a presence. Someone has joined them. They don’t know who he is. This new arrival asks them what their fuss and distress is all about. They are stunned. Who is this yahoo, anyway? Is he the only one who doesn’t know what just happened in Jerusalem? So, they explain to him what has happened to Jesus and to them. He then speaks to them, telling them that they have misunderstood the Scriptures. All that happened to Jesus happened according to the Scriptures. They are now listening. They are intrigued. Their hearts are now burning inside of them. They invite this stranger to stay with them once they reach their home. He does. Then he takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them. Then, they recognize him. In the same way, the various pressures and failures of our own lives can leave us distraught. We find it hard to believe in all that Jesus has taught us. Then someone explains the Scriptures to us, and we see connections with our lives that we never noticed before. Things begin to make sense in a way we never thought possible. Then we are fed by the Eucharist, the sacrament that is blessed, broken, and shared with us. We encounter the presence of the Risen Lord Jesus, then, in Word (Scripture) and Sacrament (especially the Eucharist). Once again, the presence of the Risen Lord is revealed to us, even today.
Finally, we look at Thomas. His story is the most intriguing of all. When the Risen Lord first appears to the disciples in the upper room, Thomas is not there. We aren’t told why he is absent, so it does us no good to try to come up with reasons. He is simply not there. When Thomas rejoins the others, they tell him that they have seen the Lord. Thomas is unconvinced, even by the word of his fellow apostles. He will only believe under one condition, he tells them. And what is that condition? This is what is so fascinating about this story. We are so familiar with it that we fail to see how odd it is. What would convince someone today? To actually see the Risen Jesus themselves? To see some great sign or miracle? To have him feed thousands with a few loaves of bread, or walk on water, or calm a hurricane? Thomas doesn’t demand such a sign. He doesn’t seek a miracle at all. He says he will only believe if he can both see and touch the wounds of Jesus. Thomas isn’t seeking a sign of power, but a sign of weakness, if you will. A sign of vulnerability. Then he will believe.
Well, the next Sunday, the disciples are gathered together again, and Thomas is now with them. Jesus comes to them, as before. He then calls to Thomas. He doesn’t take Thomas to task for seeking a sign. Instead, he invites Thomas to come and see his wounds and to touch them. Jesus seems to approve of Thomas’ request. What might this tell us about how we encounter the Risen Lord in our own lives?
Each one of us has our gifts and talents. Each one of us is good at something. Each one of our gifts, when used well, has brought into the world a bit of goodness and beauty that it would not have enjoyed otherwise. In the same way, we tend to approach God in prayer (at least at first) through our gifts and strengths. We pray in ways that seem to fit our personalities. We offer God the best of what we have and are. We want to look our best and be at our best for those we love, and in a way, for God as well. All of this is perfectly good. We have to start somewhere in prayer. Gratitude for the gifts we have received is always an excellent beginning.
Nevertheless, when we look at our lives, is it not true that the Lord has often blessed us in more powerful ways in our moments of weakness, woundedness and desperation than in our strong or “together” moments? We see this in the Scriptures. The martyrdom of Stephen and the subsequent persecution of the first Christians, which might seem to be a disaster at first, becomes the occasion for thousands more people to hear the Word and believe in the Lord Jesus. Paul’s constant troubles often lead to his going to places he would not have gone so that people might hear of Jesus and be saved. In the history of the Church, we find many more times when a seeming disaster or grave difficulty became a moment of grace, a time of unexpected blessing, that changed our history for the better.
So it is with us. Have we not found that the Lord has been more powerfully at work in us in our trials and sufferings than in our comfortable times? Do not our wounds, in some true way, link us with the wounds of Christ? If we suffer with Christ, as Paul tells us, will we not rise to new life with him?
This is what Thomas was seeking, even if he himself might not have been able to put it that way at the time. All the disciples were deeply wounded by the suffering and death of Jesus. If this was truly Jesus risen from the dead, he would not forget their wounds. That is why Thomas wanted to see the wounds in Jesus’ body. Only the true Lord could be open enough and humble enough to appear to the disciples in a still-wounded body, still carrying the scars of that most degrading of deaths, crucifixion. Only the true Lord would then show these wounds as a sign that his power comes to us mainly in and through our own wounds. Only the true Lord would then be a merciful and compassionate high priest, knowing what we suffer and then interceding for us before the Father. Any impostor would try to look good. Any impostor would be in it only for himself. Jesus is in it for his Father and for us. It is no wonder that Thomas would then cry out, “My Lord and my God!” Who else but God would be so open and humble? Who else but God could be so compassionate?
So, we encounter the power of the Risen Lord through our wounds and weaknesses, as well as the wounds and weaknesses of others. Do not the wounds of others make us, in our compassion, more like the Lord than we thought possible? Do not our own wounds, as painful as they may be at times, make us more humble and open to grace than we thought possible? Behold our Lord and our God!