Reflection for the Second Sunday of Easter, April 24th 2022 By Fr Brian Maher OMI
There is, for me, always a slight sense of anti-climax in the days immediately after Easter. It is probably inevitable given the emotions of the previous days. The starkness of Jesus’ suffering and death, the betrayals and denials, the grief of his mother standing under his cross, and the despair and hopelessness of his apostles and other disciples are all highly emotional scenes, played out for us in the liturgies of Holy Thursday and Good Friday.
…And then, early on Sunday morning, out of nowhere, come reports that his body is gone – his empty tomb seen and verified – and even more strange, stories of a living Jesus recognised by some of those who knew him and were trustworthy, Mary Magdalene being the first to say that she had recognised him when he spoke her name.
Can any of us even try to imagine the levels of confusion there must have been on that first Easter Sunday morning and the days following? When we gather to celebrate the Easter Vigil Mass on Holy Saturday night, we are presented with the Risen Lord, bursting triumphantly from his tomb, “the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end…”, passion, death, and resurrection all neatly packaged with two thousand years of theology, reflection, and prayer.
But Peter, James, John, Mary, and the others had no such background to support them. At a time when they were as low as they could possibly be – in shock, dazed, alone, afraid, floundering around trying to make sense of the reality that Jesus was gone, forever – comes Mary Magdalene, babbling that the tomb was empty, the body gone, that she had met a gardener who she suddenly recognised as Jesus when he spoke her name.
It is too easy to imagine Peter and John dashing to the tomb, discovering that it was as she said, and believing that he had Risen. Remember, Mary was not telling them that Jesus had recovered from Covid or from cancer or some other potentially deadly disease. No, Mary was talking about a person they had seen die in the cruellest of circumstances, a person they had laid in a tomb, sealed for two days, now alive and talking, first mistaken for a gardener, and then recognised as Jesus.
The confusion must have been beyond thinking. Imagine the rumours and Chinese whispers rippling out to his followers and enemies alike. Some of the apostles had already fled Jerusalem for Galilee. How long did it take for the reports to reach them and what strange versions of Mary’s story would they have heard? What additions would there have been? What new details added?
You see, as each one of us reflects on the mystery of Easter, we must do so, not with our nicely worded Creed in mind, but trying to understand and walk with those first followers of Jesus who had to imagine the unimaginable, conceive the inconceivable, believe the unbelievable.
I think it is within this context of confusion and shattered hopes that we must encounter Thomas in today’s Gospel. Of all the appearances of Jesus after the Resurrection I find the story of Thomas the most beautiful, the most real, and the most profound.
We refer to him as ‘doubting’ Thomas, which of course is true from the text. But it is probably unfair to single out poor Thomas alone for this title. Of all the emotions bubbling around the places where Jesus’ followers were gathered on that Easter Sunday morning, doubt and disbelief must have been central for all of them. It couldn’t be otherwise.
Thomas, therefore, represents for me what each of the disciples felt. And isn’t it wonderful that the Gospels don’t try to hide it or pretend it wasn’t there? At all times the Gospels are happy to let us see those first believers as human and weak – Judas betrays him; Peter denies him again and again; the apostles abandon him, leaving him to face death with just a few brave followers supporting him; Thomas doubts; Mary, at first, fails to recognise him; …and on and on it goes… no pride or arrogance, no attempt to sugar-coat reality. We meet each character in this incredible drama exactly as they are.
I don’t know about you, but I am much more comfortable with the Peter who denies Jesus and the Thomas who doubts him…… because so do I, all too often! And the Gospels seem to say, “It’s OK to be human, to doubt and deny, to run and hide; Jesus will find us there too and he will understand and forgive.” Isn’t this exactly what ‘Divine Mercy’ is?
Of course, Thomas ‘doubts’, but when I reflect on this story, I see something more than doubting at play within him. I don’t think ‘doubting’ even begins to describe what is happening to him.
For a few seconds, imagine the story as it is told to us: He returns from wherever he was to his friends. Remember, they were not mere acquaintances; these were men and women he had been with for three years; he shared dreams and hopes with them; he trusted them, and they trusted him.
They tell him, “We have seen the Lord.” They are sharing with him an experience they have had while he was out.
His reaction seems to me to be way over the top! Listen to him speak. He’s not just doubting, he’s angry. He is almost aggressive and confrontational, not doubting but “refusing to believe”, which is much stronger.
He comes across to me as a man spoiling for a fight. “If you want me to believe you…”, he seems to say, “…then I need to see the marks the nails left in his hands…. wait! more than that, I want to put my finger into each of those nail marks… and… and I need more than that again. I want to put my whole hand into his side. I want all of that and until I get it, I just refuse to believe!” (There is something almost juvenile in his words. I can almost imagine him stamping his foot as he yells it!)
For me, these are the words, not of a man who doubts, but of a man who has reached the end of tether, who is broken, lashing out at those he is closest to, demanding more and more with each breath.
What is happening to Thomas? When I close my eyes and imagine this scene, I see a man who, like the others, left everything to follow Jesus. He pinned his hopes and dreams on what Jesus said and did, and suddenly, in the space of twenty-four hours one of his own friends betrayed him and he was savagely and unjustly taken and killed…gone…all of it for nothing! Three years of trusting, hoping, dreaming, believing … and all for nothing!
I see, not a doubter, but a man who has given everything and is now utterly exhausted.
Might what we call his ‘doubts’ simply be a window to his brokenness? Might his angry words be saying to those who are his close friends, “I trusted once, I lived a dream for three wonderful years with all of you, and had it destroyed in horror and cruelty. I don’t have the strength to go through that again. Oh, how I would love to start again, trust again, hope again but I just can’t…I don’t have the strength…”
Not ‘doubting Thomas’ but ‘broken Thomas’; not a cynical man but a man who wants nothing more than to believe but who is physically and emotionally drained, who has reached rock bottom, and no longer dares even to hope.
The words of Jesus, when he speaks to him, are frequently presented as critical of Thomas, or even slightly mocking him, rubbing salt in the wounds of his outburst by using his own words back to him. I don’t see any of that.
The impression I get is that Jesus comes just to see Thomas; he speaks to no one else but Thomas. Only Thomas matters. Jesus is there only for him, and his opening words are “Peace be with you.” – No criticism, no condemnation, just “Peace…be with you.”
When Jesus then speaks, he does so gently and with compassion. He does not make demands of Thomas, rather he guides him towards a renewed belief. “…Look, Thomas, here are my hands. Give me your hand, let me help you touch my wounds….” There is a beautiful tenderness in what Jesus is doing.
In this encounter Jesus sees beyond the stroppy, combative Thomas, who demands evidence and proof and then more proof, to the Thomas who is broken and who is afraid to hope again, who doesn’t have the strength to trust even his closest friends.
Jesus understands brokenness. On his cross he was broken himself. On his cross he reached rock bottom. On his cross he felt abandoned and without hope. On his way to Calvary he fell, repeatedly, so exhausted that he couldn’t even carry his cross.
In coming to Thomas, I can hear Jesus saying, “Thomas, I understand where you are. I understand your brokenness and I know you don’t feel you have the strength to hope again. I’ve been there – where you are now. A few short days ago I had no more strength to go on, no more strength to even hope. But look Thomas, I am here, alive and with you. Touch me, I’m real. You can trust again, and you do have the strength to hope again.”
The response of Thomas is, I think, indicative of who he truly is. There is no delay in making his proclamation of faith. It is immediate, certain, and strong. In fact, this is the only undeniable and explicit statement in the Gospels of the divinity of Jesus, and it is placed in the mouth of Thomas, not a doubter but a man who was broken and who was gently and compassionately restored by the Risen Lord.
Interestingly, this is also where John’s Gospel originally ended, as is obvious in the last few verses of today’s Gospel.
What comes last is always important because it is often what we best remember. It is not accidental, I think, that John chooses to end his Gospel with the appearance of Jesus to Thomas. John wants to leave us with Thomas, the broken one, restored to life and faith by the Risen Lord.
Let us continue to savour the mystery of love and forgiveness which is Easter. Let us pray that we, like the first disciples of Jesus, may discover within ourselves the strength and boundless hope of the Resurrection.Many thanks,
Brian.
If you have any comments, questions or thoughts on this scripture reflection you would like to share, I would be delighted to hear from you – please feel free to email me at b.maher@oblates.ie
Gospel | John 20:19-31 © |
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Eight days later, Jesus came again and stood among them
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