What might Thomas have thought?

I was sure of one thing – Jesus was dead. None of us disciples stayed to watch in case the High Priest, enjoying his success with Pilate, decided to try his luck with us. After all, we were well enough known, as Peter found out in that scary encounter with the High Priest’s servant. But even at a distance I could hear the thud of the hammer blows. You don’t come down from a cross until it has done its business and you don’t come back from the dead with your hands torn to shreds and a gaping hole in your side and your guts in a heap on the floor.

He was dead.

And he was buried. You don’t get more buried than in a cave with a rock rolled across the entrance.

Then came the rumour.
The women folk, who else, went looking for someone to move the stone back a bit so that they could get in to do what women do for their deceased loved ones, bless ‘em. Seems they saw angels and all sorts but found no body, only the shroud. Grave robbers? Pilate playing games? You tell me. Still, no Jesus.

That is until he appeared to the other disciples who had locked themselves, they hoped, safely away – bolts, padlock, the works. But, so the story goes, Jesus got in anyway.  ‘Shalom’, he said, then drew aside his cloak to reveal his scars. It seems they were all convinced and then he kind of breathed over them saying he was giving them a holy spirit or something.

Not long after, when I caught up with them, they filled in the details. Clearly, they were on a real high, but, as far as I could see, deluded. Dead men neither walk nor talk. I told them straight that I was going to believe none of it unless I could feel his scars with my own bare hands.

A week later, in he strode, came straight over to me, opened his garment, and said, ‘Thomas, put your hand here’. I did. They say seeing is believing, but touching is the thing. Appearances can be deceptive. It was the touching that sealed it for me and all my doubts fell away. He was my Jesus. But how?

All he said was, ‘Blessed are those who believe without seeing.’  Well, I grant you, that kind of faith is a gift. Sceptics like me need to see evidence to be sure. Too much store is put on the word of mouth without putting it to the test. Fake news is everywhere, always has been. Call me ‘Doubting Thomas’ if you like, but no one should pour scorn on anyone determined to simply find and confirm the truth.

Originally published in ‘The Lifeboat’, Edition no 108, Banbury United Reformed Church.

Photo: cast from Melbourne, Australia, production of  ‘Joseph’s and the Amazing Technicoloured Dreamcoat’.