Throughout his gospel John gives us sign after sign of the power of God working through Christ. He sums it up at the end of the gospel. "Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book," he explains. "But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through believing you may have life in his name." John presents us with carefully chosen signs from the life of Christ to help us come to faith. We see Nicodemus move from darkness to light. We have our thirst quenched at the well in Samaria. We witness the turning of water into wine at the marriage feast. We go to Bethany for the raising of Lazarus. We follow the way of the cross. We are witnesses of the empty tomb. We are with the disciples as they meet the risen Lord.

What do we believe anyway? Why do we believe? What difference does it make? What is the difference between the kind of believing we did when we were children and kind of belief system we are called to as adults? When we were children we believed without question. We believed in Santa Claus. We knew that if we were good little boys and girls and went right off to sleep that Santa would come and leave us a wonderful toy under the tree. We believed in the tooth fairy. We believed in the Easter Bunny. We believed in Tinker Bell.

Now we are called to believe in vaResurrection. It should be the same thing – shouldn't it? Believe it hard enough, live a good life and we'll be rewarded in the end. And what a reward it will be – eternal life! Isn't that worth putting all doubts aside and simply trusting that it is so?

I remember in my first year of Philosophy reading something that Aristotle said of faith. It must have resonated at some deep level for me to remember it still. "That which is probable and impossible is better to believe than that which is possible and improbable." Somehow or other we must be able to come to a sense of reasoned, reasonable faith. To go on blind faith is to remain a child in one's spiritual journey. Yet somehow we must choose to believe in what Coleridge calls a "willing suspension of unbelief." It is a faith that comes through allowing ourselves to see the signs of resurrection around us.

That is certainly the purpose of the resurrection accounts in the gospels. It is the evening on the first day of the week. The disciples except for Thomas are gathered together behind locked doors. Confusion reigns. They have heard conflicting stories. No one knows quite what to believe. Then Jesus is there with them. "Peace be with you!" he says to them in that familiar way of his. He commissions them, breathing his life-giving spirit into them.

Suddenly they have a sense of purpose. They want to share the good news. They share it with Thomas. "We have seen the Lord!" But he is skeptical. "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."

They should not have been surprised that he did not just respond and believe what they were telling him. They had all been through more than anyone should have to bear. How could he accept what they were saying only to have his hopes dashed? It was too much to ask. He felt betrayed. Hurt. He simply could no longer risk hoping.

We are all like Thomas at least some of the time in our faith journey. We can no longer risk believing simply to have our hopes dashed. Sometimes we have been hurt too much by life. How can we go on hoping when we see such problems in our world? What kind of a God goes on allowing such terrible things to happen? If there really is a God why doesn’t God simply stop terrible tragedies from happening? What kind of a God lets little children go hungry? What kind of a God allows suffering?

Or we may have been let down by the church. It has not always been the safe refuge that it should be. The place that should be the healer has often been the abuser. We go to church expecting to find a loving and caring community. Instead we find people bickering and arguing. We find cliques that won't make room for us. We expect to be affirmed and find that there is no place for our talents. No one asks us to do anything. We are not made to feel welcome. We don't feel as if we belong. It is not the church it used to be. There are strange liturgies. We cannot cope with the changes.

Or we may have been let down by our profession. We have coped with downsizing but now the plant is closing. We have to start all over again. We feel helpless, out of control, useless. How can we keep faith when nothing is going the way it should? Doesn't being a Christian mean that everything is supposed to work out for good? What is the point of having faith if it does not help to solve life's problems?

Or we may have been let down by our health. We try to live well, to do the things that we think are good for us. We still face sickness and pain. Yes! We have all met Thomas. We may meet him each time we look in the mirror. Like Thomas we need to see in order to believe. What can increase our faith?

When we think of faith I suspect that we often think in terms of seeing some miracle that will dispel all sense of doubt. "God," we cry out. "Show me in some tangible way. I want to be certain."

Such a story has been circulating on the Internet recently. I don't know if it is true. But it is probable. A young man had attended a Bible Study at his church where the pastor had discussed listening to God and obeying God's voice. He kept thinking, "Does God still speak to people?"

Driving home, he began to pray, "God... If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."

Suddenly he had the strangest thought: "Stop and buy a gallon of milk." He shook his head and said out loud, "God, is that you?" Getting no recognizable reply he continued, "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." He stopped at a convenience store, purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.

He had an urge to turn down a street. "This is crazy," he thought, but he turned just the same. He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. Again, he sensed something: "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."

He worried that if they were asleep they might be pretty angry at being awakened. But he felt like he should go and give the milk to the people in the house.

He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice yelled out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. A man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. He had a strange look on his face, and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep.

"What is it?" he asked.

The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you." The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish.

Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying.

The man had tears streaming down his face as he turned to his unexpected visitor. The man began speaking and half-crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."

His wife in the kitchen called out, "I asked God to send an angel with some. Are you an angel?"

The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had with him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back to his car, with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew that God still answers prayers, and that God still speaks to His people.

We don't all get clear guidance like the young man in the story. We don't all need it! Or we may not be attuned to it. I am always amazed at how God guides me when I keep the channels of communication open. A lot of occurrences that we may think of as coincidental are surely God at work in our lives. A few weeks ago I stopped to help a woman on the street struggling with a broken bag full of groceries. I drove her home, and because I found her to be somewhat disoriented I followed up on it. I didn't have her name, but from my description people in this parish knew whom I was talking about. I located her daughter who lives in a small town east of Toronto. I spoke to them on my cell phone before a meeting and when I said their name, one of the people in the meeting recognized the name as her good neighbour. Coincidence? More like 'God-incidence'!