Jn 20:19-31
27 April 2003
2nd Sunday of Easter
“See the Wounds”
Thinking about today’s gospel reading in John, I feel almost compelled to relate to you a frequent occurrence in my childhood. It involves my mother and a quote that I realize is not original to her. Often when I would express disbelief at something she had said, even when it was clearly absurd, her reply would usually be that I was a “doubting Thomas”—a reply, by the way, that did little to answer my questions!
When I was very young, I had no idea what that meant. I figured Thomas was some guy she had known who was always contradicting people. In time, though, I found out about the apostle Thomas and the well-known prefix to his name. It seemed like a bit of an overreaction. All the disciples had doubted Jesus at one time or another. It seemed a little unfair to stick Thomas with that label. But I know—I’m arguing against the weight of centuries of tradition!
One of my favorite writers, the Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran, in his book Jesus: The Son of Man, writes about Thomas, the doubter. He puts these words in the mouth of Thomas:[1]
My grandfather who was a lawyer once said, “Let us observe truth, but only when truth is made manifest unto us.”…
When [Jesus] spoke and the others were swayed like branches in the wind, I listened immovable. Yet I loved Him.
Three years ago He left us, a scattered company to sing His name, and to be witnesses unto the nations.
At that time I was called Thomas the Doubter. The shadow of my grandfather was still upon me, and always I would have truth made manifest.
I would even put my hand in my own wound to feel the blood [before] I would believe in my pain.…
I doubted Jesus until He made Himself manifest to me, and thrust my own hand into His very wounds.
Then indeed I believed, and after that I was rid of my yesterday and the yesterdays of my forefathers.
The dead in me buried their dead; and the living shall live for the Anointed King, even for Him who was the Son of Man.
Yesterday they told me that I must go and utter his name among the Persians and the Hindus.
I shall go. And from this day to my last day, at dawn and eventide, I shall see my Lord rising in majesty and I shall hear Him speak.
In his poem, our friend Kahlil throws in a line about Thomas going to the Persians and Hindus. He’s reflecting the belief that Thomas carried the gospel to Iran and India. In fact, in India there are communities of believers who call themselves St. Thomas Christians, calling attention to the apostle said to have planted churches there. According to tradition, Thomas traveled throughout southern India, preaching the gospel and doing miracles. And it’s also in India where he was martyred, put to death by being run through with four spears.
Today’s scripture reading picks up where last week’s left off. It is now the evening of the first Easter. It’s the evening of the day in which Mary Magdalene’s report of the risen Christ has not been believed. We read in verse 19 that the disciples had locked the doors of the house they were in “for fear of the Jews.” It might be better to say “for fear of the Jewish leaders”: after all, the first disciples are Jews themselves. Scriptures like this have been used as an excuse for anti-Jewish hatred throughout the centuries.
In any event, the disciples’ little party gets broken up by someone for whom a locked door poses no problem—the risen Christ. As you might guess, they’re a little freaked out by this sudden intrusion, especially by someone they think is dead. To allay their fears, Jesus gives them the customary greeting, “Peace be with you,” and backs that up by showing them the scars in his hands and side. Only after seeing for themselves that it really is Jesus, and not some ghost, are they able to let their fear be turned into happiness.
We’re denied access to his personal calendar, so we don’t know why Thomas wasn’t with them at the time. Perhaps he had some prior engagement! What we do know is that when the others tell him that they had a surprise visit from Jesus, Thomas expresses the doubt for which he’s become famous. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (v. 25). He can’t make it any plainer. He’s telling them, I don’t want to hear any more about it, all right?
Actually, Thomas’ feelings aren’t so unusual. We know for ourselves how important it can be, when dealing with the death of a friend or family member, to have some visual confirmation. We need to see it to believe it. The tendency can be to deny it, maybe believe that some terrible mistake has been made. The situation with Thomas is a little different—he knows that Jesus died. But who can say what one would do in the case of a reported resurrection?
It does seem hard to blame Thomas. There’s this talk of Jesus’ body having vanished, disappeared, from the tomb. And his friends claim that they’ve seen him alive, that they’ve spoken with him. Well, that’s just not good enough. This is too important to trust to hearsay. Thomas isn’t willing to play those kind of games with his mind and emotions. He wants the evidence, as his would-be grandfather in Kahlil Gibran’s poem had taught him to demand.
That’s how things go until the following week, the next Sunday, what we now call the second Sunday of Easter. The scene is basically the same as last week: the disciples are together, and all the doors are securely shut. And once again, Jesus doesn’t let things like doors and walls stop him. But there’s one difference this time—Thomas is in the house!
Jesus gets right to it. He invites Thomas to go ahead, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.” And he adds, “Do not doubt but believe” (v. 27). The text doesn’t say if Thomas takes him up on the offer. We don’t know if he actually makes contact with the scars left by nails and spear. We only know his response, one so filled with power and meaning that it’s often considered to be the climactic moment of the entire book: “My Lord and my God!” (v. 28).
All doubt has melted away. Thomas believes. He now understands what the others do. His Lord hasn’t simply disappeared, but Jesus is standing right before him. And somehow, he is alive.
I wonder if the disciples, Thomas included, would have had less trouble believing if the Lord had appeared to them enshrouded in celestial light or accompanied by a host of angels—angels who could testify, “Yes, this is Jesus!” But we have none of that: no lights, no angels…only wounds.
The wounds of the risen Christ present us both a comfort and a challenge. They’re a comfort in that the vast majority of us have precious little experience with things as grandiose as lights and angels but plenty of experience with wounds. It’s yet one more way in which our God shows love for the world by becoming incarnate—by becoming one of us. We have a God who, in Jesus, has suffered the pain of injury.
Still, the wounds of the risen Christ also present us with a challenge. We live in a culture that works hard at hiding wounds and wounded people. (Unless of course, they’re trotted out, Jerry Springer-style, for the purpose of trashy entertainment!) We especially avoid wounds that make us feel vulnerable. We probably wouldn’t have too much trouble with crucifixion wounds, were we to ever encounter such a thing! That’s obviously a case of getting that person to the hospital—and fast! But other wounds aren’t so easy to deal with: the wounds of depression, of addiction, of economic loss, of loneliness, of abuse, of prejudice, and many other private hells.
The good news is that the same Jesus who shares our wounds also empowers us to heal. Verses 21 to 23 tell us that Jesus sends his disciples into the world, and he gives them the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is God with them (and us) in ways even greater than the man Jesus could be. They’re even empowered to extend forgiveness of sin in the name of Christ, just as we do every Sunday.
The question is: will we be like Thomas, who insists on seeing the wounds prior to belief—prior to acting in faith? Or will we be more…proactive, being those who take the first step toward healing and reconciliation—and not being dragged, as we so often are, kicking and screaming?
John ends the chapter by saying that Jesus did all kinds of stuff that’s “not written in this book.” But he’s included what he has so that the reader “may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God.” It is through belief in his name—with his authority, as his representative—that we “may have life” (vv. 30-31). That’s life that makes what we experience now seem like a coma.
And of that, there is no doubt!