SERMON

Being a Good Doubter

John 20:19-31

Pastor Robyn Hogue April 12, 2015 Skyline Presbyterian Church

He was a man, like any man, woman or child. He was a person, who had many sides to him. All of us are conglomerates of anger and love, of joy and sadness, of hope and despair, of faith and doubt. And as a member of the human race, he was just like that: a person of many qualities, capable of many feelings, thoughts and expressions.

One time Jesus proposed to go to Bethany in Judea because His long-time friend, Lazarus, had died. His disciples tried to persuade Him not to go. After all, it hadn’t been that long since the people of that region had tried to stone Him. But Jesus was resolute, and so our man-of-many-sides stood up and announced: “Let us also go, that we may die with Him.” He was a loyal friend in the face of danger.

On another occasion, Jesus was teaching about His impending death. Of all those present, this same loyal friend was the one to interrupt and ask candidly: “Lord, we do not know where You are going; how can we know the way?” He wanted desperately to understand because he wanted to follow. This loyal friend was an honest questioner.

He was also a man of commitment. Throughout the first thirteen chapters of the book of Acts, we find his name among those who gathered in fellowship and prayer; among those gifted with the Holy Spirit and sent to preach. He was among those who, after Jesus’ resurrection, devoted the rest of their lives to teaching in Jesus’ name.

This loyal friend and honest questioner, this man of commitment was known by the name Thomas. I want to read to you from the book of John about Thomas. Read John 20:19-31

Yes, Thomas: loyal friend, honest questioner, man of commitment…and doubter. And we all know that it is that last label that has become his legacy. Mention the name of the disciple Thomas and a simple word association occurs—ah yes, Doubting Thomas, you mean. But why? We have already noted that Thomas, like any of us, is more than one-dimensional, more than any one label can describe. Why then, of all his good qualities, has he been painted with one word?

Perhaps it is because Christians in the West have been led to believe that doubt is not only wrong, but there is shame in it. Somewhere along the way we’ve been taught that a radical dichotomy exists between faith and doubt. Faith is good and doubt is bad. Faith builds up and doubt destroys. Faith nurtures and doubt stifles. Perhaps it is time that we ask if there can be any meaningful faith, any gutsy faith, where no doubt has participated in it. Can we really know, for instance, the exhilaration that comes from suddenly becoming aware of God’s presence in our lives without also knowing the torturous ache of God’s absence? Can faith take on radical depth and meaning without the honest wrestling that questions of doubt force upon us?

The time is long past for us to quit avoiding our doubts by flogging Thomas’ memory. Thomas is like us, and perhaps his story tells us more about faith than it does about doubt. Recall the story for a moment. Thomas was absent from the gathering of the disciples when Jesus first appeared to them following that first Easter sunrise. He had been a faithful follower during Jesus’ ministry. We can only guess where he was and what he was doing. But it is a safe guess to say he was off somewhere grieving. He had been captured by a vision of the new kingdom Jesus talked about. He had seen the miracles of healing; witnessed changed hearts and lives; taken an active role in the shaping of the dream. And it had been killed on a cross. Despair? Yes! Grief? Certainly. Doubt? Understandably.

Perhaps Thomas was out somewhere trying to make sense of the tragedy of Golgotha which had jarred every fiber of his being. There were doubts, for sure, and they were honest doubts. What happened to the dream? Was it all a big masquerade? How can this kingdom of peace come from the darkness of this night? Is it any wonder, then, that when he brought himself in the midst of his questions, grief and doubt to return to his friends, that he was totally unprepared for their excitement? “We have seen the Lord!” They shouted to him, and Thomas was rocked back on his heels. When he found his voice he could only respond: “Unless I see in His hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in His side, I will not believe.”

Is it any wonder? Who wants to be set-up twice for disappointment and hurt? Who wants to get one’s hopes up only to have them destroyed? Doubts? You bet! Honest doubts were born of believing with all one’s heart in someone, in a vision, and then seeing it cruelly shattered right before one’s eyes.

It was eight days after the resurrection. Jesus came to His followers again with His greeting: “Peace be with you.” And then, in that classic scene from scripture, Jesus turned to Thomas and gave him his chance to touch the wounds. Can we imagine the pathos of that moment? Thomas, in that moment of rising hope and rekindling of faith, responded with the highest confession we find in John’s gospel: “My Lord and my God!”

The highest confession in John’s gospel sprang from the deepest despair. Thomas is no culprit. He is not a rogue or a scoundrel. But rather he is like us. Out of the reality of doubt, the possibility for faith is born. And here we need a word of caution. Even the faith that is forged by despair and rises anew in the resurrection is not immune to doubt. We will always live with a mix of faith and doubt because we too are conglomerates of angst and love, of joy and sadness, of hope and despair, of faith and doubt.

Resurrection faith does not come to us like a package in the mail or a gift from grandma at Christmas. We can’t possess it as such, for one possesses things. Faith is not a thing; it is an experience. Like Thomas, when our experience with God is challenged, we long for proof to beat away the gnawing doubts. We want evidence, something we can cling to. Yet, faith always comes as a challenge, as venture, as risk and as such, can’t ever be totally captured for all times and all places in a single experience or a single moment.

Because so much of the Christian faith is shrouded in mystery and paradox, the decision to believe is one that entails risk. We are those who “have not seen and yet have believed.” We are those who live our lives in the midst of this doubt and faith, this death and resurrection dialectic and it is exactly in this mix that we learn what it means to walk with our God.

The issue for us is never, therefore, one of avoiding our doubts as if denying them will cure us of them. No, the issue for us is how to be good doubters; how to have a faith like Thomas’.