One can only imagine the disciples all that week. Incessantly badgering Thomas they tell him the same story over and over only to be rebuffed by a scoff and a sigh. Private confrontations with Peter grabbing him by the shoulders and almost shouting “He is risen,” group interventions with John leading a more balanced, reasoning attack resulting in the now too common “We have seen the Lord,” nothing worked until at last in utter exasperation Thomas blurts out, “”Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” Hearing this response Peter turned away in some disgust muttering none too quietly about stiff necked and obstinate people.
After Thomas’ outburst the disciples saw relatively little of Thomas and when they did words were sparse. For the disciples that week was abuzz with a confused excitement. Jesus had been raised! He was alive! But what did it all mean? Peter would at times clam up and become unusually quiet and reflective. John, the only other disciple could only guess at Peter’s thoughts as he had helped Peter gain admittance to the courtyard of Caiaphas that fateful night. And ever since Peter had seemed different; of course the boisterous and bullish man was still there, but now at times the bull would become an old cow. Subdued and melancholy, as if weighed down by memories he would rather live without.
Thomas was a different case. The refusal to believe the resurrection had forced him to retain a since of grief over Jesus’ passing. But with the disciples seemingly ludicrous claims that Jesus had risen his grief was now mingled with a sense of anger and frustration. For Thomas was now dealing not only with the loss of Jesus but also with the loss of the others. At this fundamental point their roads diverged. They were caught by a delusion, a delusion that was consuming their time and energy, a wasted pursuit that would only end in failure and disappointment a second time. Thomas was no fool and he felt justified in his obstinate refusal. It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t believe people could be raised. He knew that they could. Shoot, Lazarus was sitting across the room from him. But who was going to raise Jesus, when Jesus was dead?
So then eight days later Thomas relented from his solitude and joined the disciples for a meal. After the meal they sat around and talked quietly together, attempting to make small talk about the week without talking about the event of the week. The door was locked as over the entire group remained the fear that the authorities would come again, arresting the disciples with trumped up charges of grave robbing. Irony may make for good stories, said James but it doesn’t do when your death is the irony in the story. The others couldn’t have agreed more. A few candles burning from tables created islands of light in the corners of the room, and the fractured spaces between the boards of the window and the door allowed peninsulas of light of shoot into the room giving some dim light. Suddenly, Thomas jumped because suddenly there in the midst of them He was. Thomas jumped and looked first toward the door but it was still bolted securely. Then turning back towards the man in the middle of the room he met the gaze of Jesus. His eyes spoke a gentle word, a word both of reprimand and assurance. Words of invitation, words of proof, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” For Thomas all need for proof was gone. The foolish, self serving claims were swept away. Doubt gave way to faith, self- confidence relented to the force of trust, denial broke down in the presence of a risen Savior. And with a breathless gasp all the pent up struggle of the past week burst out in one exclamation, “My Lord and my God!”
C512 