Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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In the past, I saw this story differently. I saw Thomas, one of the twelve, with doubts about the resurrection, and the risen Christ coming back to shame him into faith. "See my hands," Thomas. "See these holes!" "Put your finger here, put your hand here." "Now, for heaven's sake," Thomas, "get with the program. Believe!" And I read John's great summary sentence, "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe" as a warning: Don't lose faith just because you can no longer see me and touch me.

But if we focus on Jesus, and not on Thomas, we see here not so much a shaming and a warning as a wonderful story about God's grace. Thomas had been absent from the group when the risen Christ appeared to them, on that first Easter night. Why? Where was he? Was he so thoroughly discouraged by the crucifixion as to have left, to have already started home, only to hear rumors along the road that Christ had been seen. Or had just being with the others, staring all day Saturday at that empty chair, proven too painful -- like a first Christmas after a loved one has died? When he did come back, they told him, "We have seen the Lord," and he (protecting himself from further hurt) replied, "Show me. I'll need to see."

So, one week later, Jesus (full of grace and love) came again and gave Thomas what he needed for faith. One lamb was missing from the flock, was hurting, was having trouble coming to faith, and Jesus (like a good shepherd) came back to find him and restore him to the fold. Faith is a struggle. It's not apple pie. True faith (like true love) calls us not only to believe in things we cannot see. (That, perhaps, is the easy part.) True faith calls us to step forward and act on things unseen. It calls us to go out on a limb, to risk our lives and (more relevant) to risk our fragile, vulnerable selves -- our hearts and feelings. Why should we get our hopes up only to have them dashed? Why not take the easy road, and be cynical? Why not build up a hard shell to protect us from disappointment? If we never love anything, never believe in anything, never trust anything or anybody, we'll never be hurt. True. But, we'll never really live either.

Jesus is the subject of this story, the actor. Thomas is the object, the one acted upon. And is it not so with us? As we struggle to keep faith alive, to hold on to hope, to be courageous in our good doing (in a cynical world where doubt is considered the only wisdom), is it not the risen Christ who comes, in various ways and at different times, and renews our faith? Who knows how it happens! A word from scripture, an ancient ritual, a hymn, a word of encouragement from a fellow Christian, and a faltering faith comes alive again, is "resurrected", is "renewed", is "born again" -- the Bible has many ways of talking about this miracle. We remember the rebirth of Thomas' faith because it happened so dramatically, so beautifully, but (in truth) it was like all rebirth. The risen Christ comes, gives us what we need for faith, and makes us new.

As John is writing this story, the last of the eye-witnesses are dying. John's Gospel was written late in New Testament times, and very few were left who had actually seen the risen Christ. It had become not, "I saw", but, "I once talked to a man who said he saw" John wants to assure his readers that the full blessing and power of the risen Christ is available also to those who weren't there. Christ transcends time. This Person, who walks through walls and locked doors to meet his disciples -- this Person, this Word, who, as I told you, was with God from the beginning of time, is still where he always was. His presence is just as real now, for us, as it was for those who saw him and handled him, when, for a brief time, he was flesh and dwelt among us. Were it not so, the faith would fade with each generation. But, instead, faith grew. The church grew. And continues to grow.

For centuries our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters have expressed this mystery (the continuing presence and power of Christ) in the Eucharist, in communion -- insisting that whenever the Mass is said, and the elements are offered to God, the bread and wine are transformed into the actual body and blood of Christ. If that is a statement about physical matter, we Protestants must protest. (For one thing, it attributes too much power to the church, and to the priest.) But suppose it is not a statement about matter. Suppose it is a faith statement. Suppose Catholics mean to say, "We feel Christ present with us is such a real way, when we take communion, that we dare to say his actual body and blood are here. Which means he is here. Our new Methodist communion ritual takes a small step toward Catholicism on this point, when the minister, praying over the bread and wine, says, "Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ." Why not? We believe Christ could make the blind see and the lame walk, and turn water into wine.

Why do we not believable that Christ might present himself (make himself present) to us in communion?

"You believed, Thomas, because you got to see and touch. Blessed are those (poor souls) who don't have that advantage, but are still able to eek out a meager faith as the centuries carry them further and further from the real me." No! That's not what the story means. It means, "Thomas, in your hurting and disappointment, you needed to touch and see me before you could believe. And I have given you your need. But others will also be blessed, equally blessed, wonderfully blessed, others who cannot see and touch me. For I transcend time and space. When I say, 'Wheresoever two or three are gathered in my name, there I will be in the midst of them,' that's not pretty talk. I will be there. When I say to my church, 'Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the earth.' I don't say that for show. I am alive and will bless future Christians with my presence even as I have blessed you.

When I was a boy, the choir would open the service each Sunday by singing,
Jesus, stand among us, in thy risen power.
Let this time of worship be a hallowed hour.

He came and stood among his disciples (the first church) in his risen power, didn't he. In that locked room. He stood among them in their sin and confusion, and renewed their faith. And they, such ordinary people, did marvelous things in his name. In his risen power, he also comes and stands among us. When we gather he is always a guest among us. He gives us the power to do marvelous things, and he renews our faith.