Good morning, everyone. If you don’t know me, my name is Elliot Davey, and I am the community coordinator here at First Churches. If you don’t know me, you may also not know that this is my first time preaching, ever. When Sarah said last fall, “hey, Elliot, why don’t you preach the Sunday after Easter?” I nearly had a heart attack, but I care about y’all so I didn’t sprint out of the building to never return. Instead, I asked, “umm… do you think I’ll be ready for that by April?”

She said “Of course you’ll be ready!” And, although I have so much gratitude for Sarah’s faith in me, and that of all of you who have given me such kind words of encouragement over the past weeks, I have come to the conclusion that there may be no such thing as “ready,” and that this may have always been a “throw Elliot into the deep end” moment. So, thank you all very much for being here with me today on this journey as we figure out together if I can indeed swim.

With that disclaimer, let’s get into it.

Last week, after our Good Friday service, a woman who had been in attendance said to me: “God, how awful it must have been for the disciples of Jesus to not know what comes next. I can’t imagine how that would feel.”

In today’s story, we encounter our merry band locked away in fear for their lives. Well, all locked away except for Thomas, but we’ll get to that. Their fear is justified; they have just seen their friend and teacher killed in an act of state violence for his beliefs, beliefs they have professed to share. They know that if they leave the safety of their hiding place, they might meet the same fate. All they can do is sit in the grief of their loss, and the guilt that, on his darkest day, they left Jesus behind. Of course, they have heard news of the empty tomb, and even of Jesus’ appearance to Mary Magdalene. Yet, they remain despondent and out of sight.

And so, when I picture these disciples locked away, I see grieving, fearful people, deeply uncertain of where to turn in the wake of tragedy and oppression. They do not know the ending of their own story.

“I can’t imagine how that would feel,” said the woman on Good Friday 

But, can’t we? 

For we too live in dark times. We too are grieving amidst rising authoritarianism and unsure what comes next for us. And I think that many of us, myself included, experience the temptation now and again to lock ourselves away and shut out the world for a while, until the ground under our feet feels solid and we know the exact right next step to take. 

I believe that there is something about the story of the disciples and of “Doubting Thomas” that is deeply revealing about our human instincts during times of turmoil, and the tension between those instincts and the behaviors that God calls us towards. So, I want to take a little bit of time to talk about what we know of Thomas, and why he is a more complicated figure than he seems at first glance.

Other than in today’s story, Thomas is only featured in one other story in John, and is only found in other gospels among lists of names of the disciples. But we are told he is someone in Jesus’ inner circle of twelve. We know he has a twin, which I think is probably not relevant here, although I am open to your arguments at coffee hour. 

We also know that Thomas appears to be curiously brave, compared to the other disciples. His one other appearance, which we read a few weeks ago, comes in the story of the resurrection of Lazarus. In this story, the disciples protest Jesus’ decision to return to Judea, to visit with his dear friends Mary and Martha, and raise their brother Lazarus from the tomb. “It’s too dangerous,” they urge. “The leaders in Judea will have you stoned.”

But Thomas takes a different tone: “Let us also go, so that we may die with him.”

What an odd, brave, pessimistic thing to say, Thomas.

Similarly, when Jesus appears to his disciples in today’s story, Thomas is curiously not with them. We are not told what Thomas is up to, but unlike the others, he does not seem to be hiding himself away. He is at as much risk of persecution as any of them, but he does not appear to fear it in the same way as the others.

The final mystery of Thomas, again that we can infer from the story of Lazarus, is that he has witnessed resurrection prior to the return of Jesus. The idea of someone being raised from the dead to him is not a truly unbelievable concept.

Which begs the question: Why is Thomas so quick to deny the experience of his chosen family, who have witnessed Jesus’ return? What’s up with this guy?

“God, how awful it must have been for the disciples, to not know what comes next. I can’t imagine how that would feel.”

I am going to go off on a little bit of a tangent, but I need you all to trust me, okay? 

Many of you may not know this about me, but when I was in my final semesters of college, I became immersed in the academic world of political psychology, a subfield of political science which attempts to explain why people think the way they do about politics. This field first arose as a way for academics, especially those of Jewish descent, to make sense of the horrors of the holocaust, and to this day much of political psychology still focuses on how people are pulled into accepting and validating violent, authoritarian regimes. It’s not just about understanding why leaders might do horrific things, it’s understanding how the rest of us can sit back and let it happen.

After decades of research into political extremism on both the left and right, political scientists have identified a psychological factor that seems to have a substantial amount of influence over how we think and behave, especially in more turbulent political moments… And that is our tolerance for uncertainty. 

Many of us have a high internal drive to find certainty and meaning in the world around us. I know that I do. Certainty feels safe. And, there is nothing inherently wrong with certainty. Some things are just true. 

Where problems arise is when our tolerance for uncertainty becomes so low that we are driven to create certainty where none exists. I am especially fascinated by our human tendency to prefer being certain that something awful will occur to the uncertainty that it might all work out for the best. On its surface, this line of thinking makes very little sense, yet so many of us are prone to it.

Which brings us back to Thomas. See, I promised you we’d get back to the point. I find myself asking: Is Thomas truly brave, or has he simply chosen to accept his fate? When he says “Let us also go, that we may die with him,” is that the moment where he chooses that psychological safety of certainty? And when he does so, does that come at the expense of hope?

I think that many of us in this room have friends, family, and loved ones who profess a belief that things are not going to get better. People who have pulled out of every process to create change, because nothing will ever change. The posts online telling us that marching, protesting, raising our voices loud will make no difference, because no one will ever listen.

“So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But Thomas 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.’”

This is a man who has witnessed the resurrection of Lazarus. But, in spite of that I wonder if that resurrection was not enough to fundamentally challenge Thomas’ worldview that he and his beloved friends are all doomed. Despite the brave face he shows to us, I think deep down there is a fear that is tearing him apart. 

Which is why, when Jesus appears to Thomas, I cannot help but read a tenderness there. Jesus recognizes this pain and doubt in Thomas, for he felt it himself as he died on the cross. Jesus cries out: “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In his final moments, filled with suffering, even Jesus doubts that God is walking alongside him. So, at this moment, Jesus knows what it is like to doubt, and he knows that he himself has been proven wrong. God is faithful. So, although many read this conversation between Jesus and Thomas as Jesus rebuking him for a lack of faith, that doesn’t quite line up with what I see in the scripture today. 

Jesus appears gently. “Peace be with you,” he reassures. Before anything else, he gives Thomas what he needs to feel safe and loved. He offers compassion and empathy. There is an intimacy and vulnerability in this passage, as Thomas reaches out and puts his hands in the wounds of his beloved Rabbi. 

Thomas, you are a man who has convinced yourself that you are to perish within the week, because your certainty, fabricated by a fearful mind, can at least steady the ground on which you walk. Thomas, you are now thoroughly de-stabilized by the appearance of your Lord and your God. 

Resurrection joyfully flips every one of us on our heads. When our fundamental assumptions about even the most basic matters of life and death are challenged in the way that Jesus always loves to challenge us, we are thrust out of our own heads and into the mystery of the divine. Although many of us, just like Thomas, have written ourselves stories that provide stability and certainty, there is rarely room in those stories for the joy of miracles. 

I invite you to imagine this scene between Jesus and Thomas as if you are watching it on a movie screen. When Jesus states, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe," I cannot help but envision him staring directly into the camera as he speaks. I do believe that this is the intent of our gospel writer here, writing for an audience of early Christians being persecuted by the Roman empire just like these disciples. And he writes to us, here today, who are also filled with grief and fear.

Jesus invites us into the mystery and glory that is uncertainty. He knows our human tendency to seek certainty and stability over all else, and how damaging that instinct can be to our souls over time. For it is a fundamental truth that hope and faith inherently lie in the realm of the uncertain.

“God, how awful it must have been for the disciples of Jesus to not know what comes next.”

Beloved ones, we do not know what comes next. Just like the disciples, some days all we see is the pain and suffering that comes hand in hand with authoritarianism. 

But Jesus appears to his dearest friends not just with empathy for their fear, but with a commission to keep faith, keep hope, and to keep his work alive. And that message is passed down through each generation to all of us, called on to embrace the uncertain and live life with the faith that a better world is possible. For as it has always been, it is in the realm of mystery where the kingdom of heaven resides. 

Amen