John 20: 19-31

Right here at the start, I want to say that I've come here this morning to "set the record straight" -- but not just for personal reasons. I mean, I haven’t come to "clear my name" or anything like that.

It isn't pleasant, of course, to go down in history as "Doubting Thomas," or to be known as "the man who wasn't there," the one who was AWOL when the risen Christ appeared to his closest disciples. But I learned long ago that people are going to think what people are going to think, and there's no use trying to change their opinions of you. Just keep on doing your best. Some people will see eventually--the rest you couldn't change anyway.

Besides, I WAS a doubter of sorts. In fact, in a way, I was even more of a doubter than some people know. But I wasn't what many people have made me out to be. And for their own good, people need to know what happened -- you know, during those 8 days from the first Easter to the Sunday after.

[Draws a deep breath and begins his story]

It’s true, of course, that I was not there when Jesus appeared to the disciples on the evening of the day of Resurrection.

People have said -- I don't know how often I've heard this -- that my grief must have been so great that I was off grieving somewhere -- and that if only I’d been with the other disciples, as I should have been, I would have seen Jesus with them. I was evidently a real sensitive soul, they say.

Baloney! [Substitute suitable expletive of your culture and choice here] I'll tell you what really happened. . . . . . Jesus' death shocked all of us, but it hit some harder than others. Me—I saw it coming. We were across the Jordan River, where John the Baptist had first baptized, when we got word that Lazarus was sick. Real sick. When Jesus didn't go right away, I figured he was being wise. You see, Lazarus lived in Bethany not far from Jerusalem, where the authorities hated Jesus and were just itching to get him in their sights. I figured that the whole area of Judea was a good place to stay away from.

But then, a couple of days later, Jesus said, "OK, now let's go back to Judaea." I didn't know why he had decided to go, but I knew what it meant. And I was the one—you can check it out in the book (John 11:16)—I was the one who said, "Fellows, let's go die with him."

I knew that's what it would come to, if we went back to Judea. I knew the authorities were out to get him. And I know something about real life. My mother died giving birth. Then, when I was 12, my brother died. We were twins, did I tell you that? Pretty close, too—not much alike, but pretty close. But he was the good one, really, and I couldn’t figure out why it was him that died and not me. I used to ask God, "Why? Why him and not me?" Never did get an answer. I figured God's silence was just God’s way of telling me it was a question that had no answer— that that's just the way life was, that's all. So I stopped asking. And I learned that that IS the way life is.

Funny thing: even after my brother died, I was known as “the Twin.” There was another boy named Thomas in the town, and that's how they told us apart. He was just plain Thomas, I was Thomas Didymas -- Thomas the Twin, or usually just “The Twin” -- even though I wasn't a twin anymore.

Anyway, I started to say that, I know something about real life. I know that the good guys don't always win. And I know that wishful thinking is a waste of time -- and so is poring over the past, torturing yourself with “what might have been.” I also know that if you look and listen and pay attention, you’ll see what makes people tick. And I'd seen enough of people like Herod and Pilate to know what made them tick. And to know what they were capable of doing. And when Jesus said, "Let's go to Judea," I could see what was coming.

That doesn't mean I wasn't affected when they killed him. Even if you're expecting it, it’s a shocking thing to see people in power just throw away a life the way they threw Jesus away. You're never really prepared for something like that, and it cut me to the quick. But it wasn’t like I'd never thought anything like that could happen. In fact, I think a part of me probably always suspected it might.

But the other disciples -- well, they didn't go to pieces, exactly, but they were scared. That was natural -- I'm not putting ‘em down; I'm just saying what happened. All of a sudden, we didn't have a leader, and they kept saying, "Do you think the mob is still in a violent mood? Do you think the auth-or-i-ties might decide that it isn't enough to get Jesus -- and that they'll come looking for us next?" And they ended up scaring each other all the more, I think, like kids telling each other ghost stories in the dark.

So they decided to go to this one place where they knew we could stay, and lock themselves in, but I held back. They said, "Come on, Thomas, let’s go where we'll be safe." I said, "Nuts to that! Pilate and Herod have got all the blood they want today. And if they do want more blood, they can have mine -- if they don’t mind spilling some of their own to get it. Besides I didn't join up with you all to be safe, and I'm not gonna start hiding behind locked doors now."

So they went one direction, and I went the other.

Where did I go? Nowhere—I just walked. I didn't really have any idea where to go. And it wasn’t that I wanted to be alone, either. I didn’t care about that. I just didn't want to be around the others at the moment, you know? —didn't want to be around their fear. I thought that to give in to fear that way was an insult to Jesus and what he meant to us.

What can I tell you about Jesus? I didn't always understand him. When he started talking about going away -- dying -- he said something about we couldn’t follow him now, but we would later and that we knew the way so we could get there. I said, “We don’t know the way." (You can look that up, too: John 14:5). I figure if you don't know some-thing, you ask. If it made me look stupid, that’s OK. When I get the answer, I won't be stupid anymore. I'd rather look stupid for a minute than stay stupid because I was afraid to look stupid.

I didn't always understand him or exactly what he was about. But I did understand that HE understood— that he knew exactly what he was about, and where he was going, and who he was. He had a real sense of mission.

And nobody controlled him. I liked that about him. Whether he was hugged or hated made no difference to him. He had a mission, and he would carry it out, regardless. I don't mean he was unresponsive to people, or uncaring. Some leaders don’t really care about people at all, and others, it’s like they have to have people’s approval, so they’ll do whatever they think people want. But with Jesus, it was like, he cared too much about people to let himself be influenced by what they thought of him from one moment to the next.

And, I don't know how to say it, but there was God about him. I've always been kind of in-dependent, and not the type to put my life in somebody else’s hands. Even a religious guru. I think some of the others would have followed anybody who stood up and said, "God has spoken to me." But I've seen so much stupid stuff in the name of religion, that I tend to shy away from people who come on like that.

But Jesus -- Jesus rang true -- know what I mean? The man had absolute integrity. He wasn’t in it for himself. He didn't always have much of a bedside manner, but you could tell that he was for people. Above all, he had this sense of mission -- this unshakable sense of being sent by God, and led by God -- of God being with him, in him. And I could believe that God was leading him. So I followed.

I was surprised that he asked me to join up with him. I mean, I was not what you'd call a real church goer. It's not like I didn't believe at all, but, I don’t know, everything seemed so cut-and-dried. And there didn’t seem to be much room for someone like me. The rabbis and others always seemed so sure of themselves and what they were talking about, and I just couldn't relate to that. So I didn't go much, and I wouldn't have figured I'd be on anybody's list of people to ask to be disciples.

I was surprised when he asked -- and half surprised at myself for saying Yes. Like I said, I'm not the sort to attach myself to any leader. (And if I’d been a few years younger or older, maybe I wouldn't have said Yes. If I'd been younger, I might not have seen in him what I did see in him. And if I'd been older, I might have figured it was too late for me to do anything like that. But as it was, though I didn't know exactly what his mission was, whatever it was, I found myself wanting to be a part of it. And I remember thinking at one point, after I’d followed him awhile, that I'd rather die with this man, if that's what it came to, than succeed at anything else.

That's why I was half-disgusted with the other disciples when they wanted to lock themselves in and wring their hands. Maybe they were just being prudent, but I didn't want to be a part of it. So I went out walking. For hours. Finally -- I couldn't tell you now what time it was -- I went back. That's when they told me how Jesus had appeared to them.

I couldn't believe it, that's true. But it wasn't because I was too grief-stricken. It was just that in my life I'd heard about one happy-ending story too many. And when they said Jesus had appeared to them, it sounded like they were saying, "Hey, Thomas, guess what? Jesus is alive and well again. He appeared to us and said, "Peace! Pass it on." You know, "Everything is OK again." And I just couldn’t stomach that.

The reason I followed Jesus to start with -- me, who follows nobody -- is that I sensed that he knew what life was like, same as me. He didn't have any illusions. Even when he was crucified, he wasn't surprised. Didn't cry, "Poor me!" He knew what life was like. But he also believed in God. Was in contact with God. God was as real to him as all the rotten stuff. More real.

And I wanted to learn his secret -- wanted to learn how to see God in all this stuff ... how to be in contact with God, even in a world that's the way this one is sometimes ... how to have his kind of peace. And maybe even play a part in teaching others the secret, somehow.

He died before I could learn his secret, it seemed. But I had known him long enough to be sure of one thing: that if the other disciples had seen some "phantom Jesus” who went around sprinkling fairy dust and saying, "Peace to you! Peace to you! Peace to you!" -- that that Jesus was in no way related to the real Jesus, who was far more in touch with reality than that.

And I told 'em so. I said, "I’d let any one of you guys date my sister before I’d believe what you just told me. I think you guys have been sitting around here filling each others heads with all kinds of stuff, letting your imaginations run away with you. Whatever heavenly figure you saw, or dreamed up, or whatever, may be enough for you. But I’m not about to believe in a Christ who is less real than the Jesus I knew -- I’m not about to believe in a Christ who doesn't have any wounds, who doesn't know anything about innocent suffering, who doesn't know anything about injustice. Who doesn't know anything about how stupid and painful life can be. Who doesn't know about all the stuff that I know about because I've seen it."

"Thomas," they said, "When Jesus appeared to us, he did have nailprints in his hands, and the wound in his side."

That took me back a bit. I mean, it's not the kind of detail you’d just make up. But still I couldn't tell if they meant it -- or if they were saying what they thought I wanted to hear -- or if their imaginations were just still at work (so that when I said, "Did he have the wounds?" they said, "Oh, yes, we remember now; yes, he still had the wounds").

I just couldn't take their word for it, you see? And I told them: Don't just tell me of visions you’ve seen, and wonderful experiences you’ve had. Show me -- show me a Christ who is more real than the worst I know. Don't just talk. Show me.

Then, a week later, the next Sunday, I was shown. And believe me, the risen Christ I witnessed was no figment of anybody's imagination.

Everybody asks me, did you actually touch him? You may think this is crazy, but I don't remember. Knowing me, I probably did. On the other hand, he was so real that it wasn't really necessary.

They tell me that I cried out, "My lord and my God." I don't remember saying that, either. But I remember feeling it. Me, who had never bowed before to anybody. It was not the usual sort of thing for me to say. But then again, it was, too -- because I've always said what I thought was true, whether it seemed stupid or whatever.

I've heard some people say that they envy me -- that they would never doubt again, if they could just see Jesus, and hear his voice, and touch his "ruined hands" like I did. It's understandable that some folks would feel that way -- but I hope you don't. Because what Jesus said to me is absolutely true -- that although I believed in him because I saw, and so knew that it was the same Jesus I had known, those who believe without seeing are just as blessed.

It is possible to believe without seeing. John did. When he and Peter ran to the tomb and looked in, and found it empty, with the grave cloths just lying there, Peter didn't know what to make of it, but John -- having seen no more than that -- believed Jesus was the Christ. People in your own time have believed without seeing, too -- Mother Theresa and Billy Graham and Martin Luther King and untold thousands of others -- including some of your parents, I’ll bet. They have believed just as much as any of us who saw Jesus firsthand.

It is possible to believe without seeing because the most important things about Jesus are things that you cannot see. I know what Jesus looked like, and what his voice sounded like. But those things are not important: what is most important about Jesus cannot be seen with the eye, or touched with the hand.

When it comes to seeing what is most important about Jesus, you are in as good a position as any of us who saw him in the flesh. In fact, you’re in a better position in some ways. You’re farther away in time, but sometimes being farther away means you can see more clearly than those who are up close. Think of all the people who saw him up close but never saw anything of God about him. You have had the benefit of 2000 years of thinking and learning about Jesus.

At any rate, you have all you need to believe with a faith that is as real as the faith of any of us who walked with him. Those who have seen God at work in Jesus’ words, and deeds, and life, and death — which you know about because of what John and others wrote -- those who have seen God at work in Jesus before the crucifixion -- have all they need to believe he was raised by God to be Lord and Christ after the crucifixion, too -- even without seeing him. You have the witness of those of us who did see. And you have the inner voice of the Spirit.

You do not have to see to believe. And those who do believe without seeing are just as blessed, just as close to the Risen Christ and his power as we ever were -- because now his light and his power are everywhere. It’s like John wrote at the very start of his Gospel -- the light that was in him -- the light that he was and is -- is the same light and power that was there at the creation, the same light and power that radiates from God all the time now, every day.

And the way he lived on earth is the way we were all born to live. He is the life. And the important thing is not whether you’ve seen him¸ but whether you have his life in you. If you have his life in you, then, believe me, you know him -- even if you've never seen him.

Well, that's about it. I hadn't really intended to go on this long. But like I said, there’ve been many things said that aren't necessarily true, and I figured that people needed to know for their own good how things really were..... and how things really are.

So now you know. And I guess I'll be on my way.

[Turns and takes a full step or two away from the microphone -- then stops, as if remembering something, and returns to microphone.]

Oh -- I almost forget. He gave us one other word that I wanted to pass on to you, too. The word that he gave to those who were there on Resurrection Day, was the same word that he gave to those of us who showed up a week later, and the same word that he gave to those who showed up 100 years later, and the same word he gives to those of you who have shown up 2000 years later: “Peace … peace be with you,” he said to us again and again and again. “Deep peace, my peace, God’s peace dwell with you.”

Comments to Mike at johnmike@juno.com.)