Contrary to what you might have heard, perhaps Thomas never doubted Jesus. As soon as he saw him, he fell to his knees and worshipped him: My Lord and my God!
Thomas may have had some doubts, on the other hand, about his fellow disciples. After all, Judas, who had been with them through all of the miracles, the storms, the prayers, the feasts, the threats, the revelations; Judas who had sat with them at supper as though butter wouldn’t melt; well, it didn’t bear repeating what Judas had done.
Of course, Judas was no longer with them, but what about James and John, competing for power, who’s the greatest, who’s the right hand man and who the left, vying for, jostling for position as Jesus’ favourite.
Even Peter – they all heard him in the courtyard of Caiaphas, swearing up and down that he had never even met Jesus before in his life.
No, it wasn’t Jesus that Thomas was doubting when they told him that Jesus had been and gone, and that he, Thomas, had missed him.
I’ve always loved this story, when Jesus came back just for Thomas. Like a shepherd leaving the ninety-nine to find the one stuck bleating on the hillside, Jesus would not let enough be enough, ten out of eleven. And this was the Jesus that Thomas knew – the one who would always, always come back for him, no matter what.
But Jesus didn’t come back only for Thomas. He had come back already for Peter, for James and for John, for the weary and frightened, the spiky and argumentative, the doubting and the doubtful. He came back for all of them, and his greeting was Peace.
His greeting was peace, and his gift was the breath of the Holy Spirit, the breath of life, the breath of forgiveness, the breath of reconciliation, making all things anew.
He spoke to them of forgiveness, of sins that need not be retained, but that could be set free, their debts paid by the economy of grace.
He came to those who most needed to hear it: those who had fled from the cross, those who had shut themselves off from their neighbours and their friends for fear, for fear of them. He came to Peter, the man who had disowned him, because he would not do the same in return, because he who retained the marks of the cross and the spear would not retain also the sins of his beloved friend. Because those had become the marks of a new life, not of punishment. Because Jesus had already forgiven them all, and more, from the cross.
Forgiveness is a complicated set of propositions, isn’t it? It is, it seems, essential not only to our life together but to our life with God. Over and over again, we see God’s forgiveness as the only way for us to return to relationship with the one who made us, who loves us, who has never left the relationship with us. Forgiveness is vital to our lives as Christians, as a forgiven and forgiving people.
At the same time, there were no Roman authorities in the room when Jesus appeared, no police presence from those who had conducted the arrest in the garden, tearing them away from their prayers in the peace of the olive grove. Jesus had forgiven even them from the cross, suggesting that they had forgotten what it was to be human, bound together by the image of God. They knew not what they were doing.
But I imagine that they would need to remember that humanity, that humility, to lay down their swords and clubs, to shed their armour and their allegiance to the forces of violence before they could enter that room filled with the peace of the breath of God. Forgiveness is one thing, can even be a one-sided thing; reconciliation, real healing, takes work from both sides.
In his book reflecting on the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission set up in the aftermath of apartheid in South Africa, Archbishop Desmond Tutu wrestled with these problems of forgiveness and reconciliation. Forgiveness is necessary, he asserted, because to withhold it, to become as vengeful and violent as those who have rendered harm, damages our own humanity. And yet, as another theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer has famously said, there is danger in cheap grace.
In No Future Without Forgiveness, Tutu wrote that forgiving is not forgetting the harm that has been done, nor condoning it, nor minimizing it. It is not saying that the crucifixion was fine because it led to the resurrected life of Christ. Forgiveness tells the truth; Jesus still carries the marks of the nails in his hands and his feet, and the soldiers and the scoffers cannot enter the space of peace while they are still carrying their hammers.
Still, forgiveness opens a window, a crack in a doorway to reconciliation, to repentance, to recognizing the shared humanity of sinner and sinned against. Forgiveness tells the truth, that love is stronger than death, and that Jesus will always come back for us, no matter what.
I think that Jesus was urging his disciples, wherever it is possible, to err on the side of grace. For the sake of their community, for the sake of peace, for the sake of his love.
Yes, Jesus came back for Thomas because he loved him, loved him to death and beyond, because he would never leave him hanging, wondering, or wandering. Thomas was right to trust him. Thomas was right about Jesus.
Jesus also came back to Thomas so that his relationship with his fellow disciples could be healed, so that their relationship could be made right; so that Jesus could demonstrate for Thomas and the other ten what it is to breathe peace, to embody forgiveness, to go forward with grace. To take the risk of loving not only God but one another, imperfect neighbours as we are, for the sake of the good news of the resurrection. To be peace in a profoundly troubled and troubling world; to overflow disarmingly with love and mercy.
You see? Jesus asked Thomas. Blessed are those who have not seen, but who believe, who forgive, who love, who bless abundantly, anyway.
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John 20:19-31
over the water 