March 30 -- Second Sunday of Easter

Passages: Acts 2:14, 22-32, Psalm 16, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31

I think it’s easy to read John 20.29, when Jesus tells Thomas, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed,” as a direct message to the reader, who is presumably deciding whether to trust this account of Jesus’ life. Thomas is a historical disciple who actually got to see the Resurrected Christ – and feel his wounds – and we are those who have not. But I think we all have more in common with Thomas than is readily apparent. I know that, at times, I have felt the blessings of God very concretely in my life; there have been times when Christ’s presence has been easily recognizable. Like Thomas, at these moments – when we feel God’s presence tangibly and plainly – it is easy to put our trust in God. But, even though there have been times in my life when God’s presence was comprehensibly manifest, there have been many others that were far more mysterious and full of doubt. We are never permanently in the condition of Thomas feeling Jesus, nor are we permanently in a state of disbelief and doubt he felt before the appearance of Jesus.

This process has revealed itself to me in my life before. When I was an adolescent, a head injury sparked a muscle movement disorder. For three years – with varying degrees of intensity – my arms would jerk suddenly and my eyes would rapidly and uncontrollably blink. I had difficulty reading, writing and some days could barely perform simple tasks like getting dressed. Doctor’s struggled to find a diagnosis, and other teens at school often teased me and claimed I was faking my condition. But, as difficult and traumatic as the ordeal was, and as much as I would kick and scream if I was told I had to go back to those years, they have shaped my character and faith in a powerful and positive way. I do not look on those years with regret, wishing that I was able to have a “normal” high school experience (I have had many friends recount their high school years, and so far I’ve failed to meet someone with a “normal” adolescence – the age is almost defined by awkwardness). In the pain, and in the struggle, it was hard to see God at work. But I see it now. In fact, as I recount almost all of my trials in life, each one has its own redemption. Although they were far from crucifixions, the Easter story reminds us that great tragedy is followed by profound victory and renewal.

Yet, although I have seen this pattern in the life of Jesus – and to a smaller extent my own life – there continue to be times where I feel like Thomas; full of doubt and unable to believe in the redemption during the saddest of times. Although not as severe or debilitating as my high school head injury, this past week has also been a time of great trial and sadness (fittingly around Easter). In this situation, it is very hard for me to see what is necessary or redeeming about it – to have faith that there is a purpose to it. Friends and family of mine, whose opinions I respect and admire, have reminded me of the goodness, and indeed victory, that will come out of the situation. But part of me pushes against that, thinking I’ll only trust that good can come of this when it unambiguously reveals itself to me.

The words that Jesus tells Thomas, then, carry different meaning to me now. He says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” In a way, this can be read as blessed are those who can, in the midst of doubt, confusion and even tragedy – the times where God’s work is mysterious and difficult to see – put their faith in God and the redemption that comes through the Lord. In the Greek, the word “blessed” is also easily translated as “happy” and “fortunate.” When a person can have faith that the trial they endure – and the loss that they feel – will be transformed and Resurrected, even before this event clearly appears, they are indeed fortunate. It’s not always easy to recognize God’s work in the world. Thankfully, the alive and Resurrected Christ is willing to bare his wounds, and proclaim his victory.