JOHN 20.19-31
©Suzanne Grimmett
And after the empty tomb
when they told me He lived, had spoken to Magdalen,
told me that though he had passed through the door like a ghost
He had breathed on them the breath of a living man—
even then when hope tried with a flutter of wings to lift me—
still, alone with myself, my heavy cry was the same:
Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.
This is a portion of the poem, St Thomas Didymus by 20th century poet Denise Levertov. I love that in the week after celebrating resurrection faith we move directly to doubt. It is typical of John’s Gospel that we are led by the skilful ordering of the resurrection narratives to a place where there is no binary separation- not between spirit and matter, or life and death or faith and doubt.
All belong together.
John’s Gospel does take some careful reading with background commentary, and the text makes clear that wisdom is a long journey and that life, and human experience, is complex. Scholars believe John was written sometime between 98 and 105 CE, most likely in Ephesus. It was a Gospel seeded in the soil of St Paul’s teaching and the lived practice of the earliest Christians, and is the only Gospel written in the context of communities separated from Judaism in their self-understanding. They were resurrection people following a universal Christ. Depthed in the teachings of the apostle Paul, they proclaimed that all were one in Christ Jesus- men and women, Jew and Greek, slave and free. No one is excluded; so we need to read with care the repeated expression, “for fear of the Jews”, recognising this was a specific historical tension arising from the actions towards Christians of some Roman and Jewish authorities. We ‘read with care’ because it has been used through history to generate antisemitic sentiment. I have left a footnote for further reading on this in the sermon notes. [1]
This story of Thomas, though, is the story of us and of anyone who can relate to the cry, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.” We live in a rational scientistic age, where hard evidence seems to be the only valid metric. We have been trained to think in certain ways. Neuroscientist Iain McGilchrist would say that the model we use to understand something determines what we find. I get the feeling that Thomas had a revelation in that enclosed room that showed him his entire framework of understanding could not help him with the revelation that was standing before him in the resurrected Christ and that he was asking the wrong questions entirely.
We should have a sense that our current paradigms will be inadequate for this story already. The doors are shut and yet Jesus appears amongst the disciples. Before our brains can confidently categorise Jesus as some kind of luminous ghost we have him presenting the nail holes in his hands and the wound in his side and inviting Thomas to touch and to recognise his very physical presence. There is something completely new that has happened in resurrection. These narratives disrupt our attempts to assert our understanding and claim knowledge. Listen to how Denise Levertov narrates the experience in the voice of Thomas;
I needed blood to tell me the truth,
the touch of blood.
Even my sight of the dark crust of it round the nailholes
didn’t thrust its meaning all the way through to that manifold knot in me
that willed to possess all knowledge,
refusing to loosen unless that insistence won the battle I fought with life.
‘That manifold knot in me that willed to possess all knowledge.’ Thomas, of course, is all of us. Thomas is us wherever we strive to contain the mystery of God in our own understanding of the way things are and how we should be in this world. The opposite of faith is not doubt- faith needs doubt as its constant companion. The opposite of faith certitude. Faith is unwound by our need for possession and control – a belief that we can get to a place where we will know all things and be able to exercise our will in accord with our vast and comprehensive understanding. This tight knot and will to possess closes our hearts and our minds to the kind of encounter with the living God that can lead us into the very peace being offered when faith becomes a different kind of seeing…a different kind of knowing.
Thomas is also us in seeking a rational understanding of the terrible suffering Christ has endured, that humanity endures and that each of us bears. This is why it is so important that Jesus appears amongst them still bearing the scars. There is no forgetting what happened on Good Friday when the wounds are so evident. We do not arrive at this joyful Eastertide being forgetful of what happened on Good Friday- the joy comes because the same Christ who was rejected, betrayed and abandoned to death has risen. And the resurrected body of Jesus is not forgetful either but will always carry the marks of his passion. We celebrate this resurrection season as people marked by suffering in different forms, by all kinds of griefs and losses which are formative in our lives and sometimes even necessary parts of our journey. Our marks, too, are still there, though so often invisible to others or concealed our efforts to pretend they are behind us. One of the great miracles of resurrection is that every part of our selves is taken with
Christ through death and every part is raised to life as something new. We don’t transcend our wounds- they are redeemed.
What if not only our scars but also our unbelief can become part of the unfolding design. What if this is the work of a great gardener, bringing all things to bloom in their right time and infusing all with colour and life. When the vastness of this life with all its terror and wonder is glimpsed, we might recognise that we cannot make our way in the isolation of our own minds but need to step out in trust, acknowledging that we do not have all the answers in our possession. We might begin to see in this wondrous garden of creation that there is a deep unity that connects us to it all, even if we cannot see the whole.
To see with the eyes of faith, instead of carefully weighed evidence, is to believe in the promise and mystery of life, trusting in the one who weaves all our wounds, our questions and our insights into a rich tapestry of grace that looks to life’s eternal horizon where everything is included and everyone belongs. Denise Levertov imagines Thomas coming to such an understanding in the closing stanza of her poem;
But when my hand led by His hand’s firm clasp entered the unhealed wound,
my fingers encountering rib-bone and pulsing heat,
what I felt was not scalding pain, shame for my obstinate need,
but light, light streaming into me, over me,
filling the room as if I had lived till then in a cold cave,
and now coming forth for the first time,
the knot that bound me unravelling,
I witnessed all things quicken to colour, to form,
my question not answered but given its part
in a vast unfolding design lit by a risen sun.
‘My question not answered, but given its part in the vast unfolding design lit by a risen sun’. This is peace, and it is peace that the risen Christ brings to those fearful disciples in a locked room and to all our fearful questions and confinements in the locked places of our lives. There is no judgement of Thomas’ doubt in Jesus’ words; only understanding as wide as the sea and deep compassion.
When we receive such forgiveness and expansive love, it gives us the courage to move beyond our fear and isolation, beyond our need to know and our need to control. The non-anxious presence of the resurrected Christ shows us the way to release our clenched hold on all we think we possess on our own and open ourselves to the mystery of unity and the joy of belonging.
Peace, after all, is a way, not a destination; a path of love and courage.
Let us take it together this Eastertide.
Peace be with you.
[1] This may seem not to be the case when we hear the language of ‘the Jews” used very negatively in John’s Gospel. It is important to provide clarification on this as these texts have been used in antisemitic ways. First, there is the obvious fact that Jesus was a Jew, as was John. In the decades after Jesus’ death, many of the earliest followers of Jesus had been driven out of synagogues by Jewish authorities, causing great trauma, and it is this experience that influences the Gospel text. Many Bible translations now say “Jewish authorities” rather than “the Jews” because of the legacy of antisemitism left by those who cannot see the complexity of human experience and relationships of different tribal groups but instead blanket all in one human group with characteristics that incite hatred and violence. Such religious vilification has meant Jews continue to face terrible prejudice and violence around the world today and this should never be tolerated. However, legitimate criticism of the current state of Israel for the way it has conducted and is continuing the war on Gaza, killing tens of thousands of innocent civilians, including so many children, is not an example of antisemitism. These actions, however, are not the responsibility of all Jewish people or institutions. There is the need to speak out for justice today but never lose sight of the role Christianity has played throughout history in allowing antisemitism to flourish.