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.” [John 20:24-25, NRSV]
As a kid, I had a recurring nightmare. My sisters and cousin (my usual playmates) were just outside our grandparents’ farm house, and I was a ways off, swinging on the swingset near the edge of the lawn, my back toward the large, disused field now overgrown with weeds and wild raspberries and criss-crossed by animals’ trails. In the dream, suddenly, everyone would go inside, and I was left out in the yard alone. I would leap off the swing, and start running to catch up — but, as childhood nightmares go, some terrifying monster I couldn’t even see had leapt out from those weeds and wild berries behind the barbed-wire fence, and was right on my heels as I found myself running but gaining no ground. And, apparently, I wasn’t missed by anyone.
As the baby of the family, I always hated being the odd one out or the one left behind; hence the recurring nightmare. I guess that’s my lens for yet another reading of this rich story of “Doubting Thomas.” I feel like he’s been maligned — at least in some circles — as if any of us would have just taken the other disciples’ word and can criticize St. Thomas for his “doubt.” (Especially in our scientifically-minded world, where empirical evidence is everything!) But put yourself in Thomas’ shoes: The risen Christ, who apparently can walk through a locked door, somehow can’t calculate when all his friends would be assembled together, and appear to them all? He had to pick the moment when Thomas was out?
Of course, I don’t know why Thomas wasn’t with the others, and the text doesn’t tell us. But maybe Thomas isn’t so much a skeptic here as a member of the group who feels slighted and wants to be included in this wonderful experience everybody else got to have except him. Did no one say to Jesus, “Hang on, Thomas isn’t here”?
Thomas isn’t actually chided for a lack of faith. Rather, Jesus honors his request. And that’s where we’re drawn into the story, because, well, we weren’t there either, were we? As he honors Thomas’ demand for a personal experience of the risen Christ, Jesus adds, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” [v. 29] Perhaps, with those words, Jesus is inviting us to demand of him our own “proof.” Be forewarned: the proof is an up-close and intimate inspection of his wounds. But as St. Ignatius of Loyola would remind us, that is a very safe place to be:
Within your wounds hide me; never let me be separated from you.
Don’t ever be afraid to make such demands of Jesus.
I wasn’t going to include a poem of my own with this meditation, but between the two themes of nightmares and scars, I can’t not share this one. The title, hopefully (a friend gave me the Latin all those years ago), means, “Remember to live,” or a reminder that you will live. It’s a play on momento mori, a reminder of death. From my 1998 book, When Midnight Comes Around:
The imprint of your eyes
has stained this thick, rough skin with shadow:
bled out of my emptiness
toward the epicenter of your touch.
This after-image of your presence
lingers: damage to my flesh;
but in my dream of you,
all pain dissolves in comfort;
And waking with a scar
Happy Second Sunday of Easter!