Doubting St Thomas!

Readings (from the NRSV):  

Ephesians 2:19–22 

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God,  built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.  In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord;  in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God. 

John 20:24–29 

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.  So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “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.”

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.”

Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”  Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” 

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There are moments in life when someone says your name in a certain tone, and you know you’re in trouble. For me, that tone is “Thomas…” Usually accompanied by a sigh and some level of disappointment. And I confess, it’s a name that has a bit of baggage. We Thomases have a reputation: “Doubting,” they call us—as if that’s the worst thing a person could be.

I rather like Thomas. Not just because we share a name, but because he’s honest. Gritty. He doesn’t do groupthink. While the rest of the disciples are insisting that they’ve seen a miracle – the risen Jesus, Thomas says what many of us are thinking: “Unless I see the mark of the nails… I will not believe.” That’s not unbelief. That’s just a refusal to fake it. He needs to know the truth for himself – not just receive, uncritically, the truth of others.

And let’s be honest: the Church has spent far too long faking it..  We’ve become experts at acting as though belief is something we can tick off like a shopping list—Trinity? Check. Resurrection? Check. Virgin birth, heaven, angels, miracles, final judgement? Check, check, check. But faith is not a checklist. It’s a relationship. And like any real relationship, it has its moments of doubt, frustration, miscommunication and—yes—even absence.

Thomas wasn’t there when Jesus appeared the first time. No one knows where he was. Maybe he was off getting food for the others. Maybe he was off on his own, trying to make sense of what had happened. But here’s what matters: when they told him “we’ve seen the Lord,” he didn’t pretend to go along with it. He told the truth of his heart. And when Jesus appeared again, a week later, it was not to scold him. It was not to shame him. It was to offer exactly what Thomas had asked for. Proof.

Now I know, Jesus says “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.” But I don’t think he’s rebuking Thomas. I think he’s blessing the rest of us. The ones who don’t get a private audience. The ones who wrestle with faith in the quiet corners of their lives, without visions or miracles or appearances behind locked doors. Jesus meets the doubter with grace. And he meets the rest of us too—with mystery.

And that’s where the reading from Ephesians comes in. Paul, never one for understatement, lifts our eyes with his thunderous prose... “You are no longer strangers and aliens, but citizens with the saints… built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ himself as the cornerstone.”

It’s tempting, especially today, to hear that and imagine a kind of spiritual fortress—strong, unshakable, closed to outsiders. But that’s not what Paul is saying. This isn’t about gatekeeping. This is about belonging. You are not strangers. You are not outsiders. You are part of the household. You belong. Doubts and all.

And so, dear friends, today we honour a saint who dared to doubt. A saint who didn’t settle for second-hand certainty. A saint who wrestled with the hardest truth of all: that death might not be the end. And—spoiler alert—he lost that wrestling match. Resurrection won. Life won. Love won.

Thomas may have doubted the resurrection, but when he finally saw the risen Christ, he didn’t just nod and say “OK, fair enough.” No. He fell to his knees and cried out the highest confession of faith in the whole Gospel: “My Lord and my God!” Thomas, the doubter, becomes Thomas, the believer—though not in the shallow sense of accepting doctrine. He becomes the one who knows, deeply and personally, who Jesus is. Not a ghost. Not a myth. But God-with-us.

Now, if I may, I want to say a word to Sandra, who begins, this week, her ministry as a priest. Sandra, do not fear the doubters. They are your allies. They will ask the hard questions that keep your theology honest. They will resist the easy answers that can so easily rot into slogans. And when you yourself have your moments of Thomas-like honesty—because you will—they will carry you. Because the Church is not built on certainty. It is built on grace.

And to the rest of us, let’s stop pretending that doubt is a problem to be solved. It is, more often than not, the sign of a living faith. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote, “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart… Try to love the questions themselves.” Thomas loved the questions. And Jesus loved Thomas.

So when people call us Doubting Thomases, let’s wear the name with pride. Because the world doesn’t need more people who pretend to know it all. It needs people brave enough to say: “I’m not sure. But I’m still here. Still hoping. Still reaching out.” Just like Thomas did.

Amen.