By Reverend Laurie DeMott

Yet every time I have played this game, whether it is with friends and family, or with the youth group, there are inevitably players who are congenitally unable to strike this balance. There are some who sit quietly throughout the hand, never opening their mouths to doubt anything. Another player could say, "I'm putting down seven kings", and the first would remain silent refusing to challenge even the most ludicrous of claims. On the other hand, there are those who are compelled to doubt everyone and everything, yelling out "I doubt it!" before the other players can even put their cards on the table. These chronic skeptics need to see the evidence with their own eyes, and would rather hold all of the cards in their own hand then let some remain a mystery on the table even if in so doing it means they will lose the game.

As goes the card game, so goes our lives. We know people who are so gullible that you could claim you were abducted by aliens on the way to church this morning and they would run home to start preparing for intergalactic war. And then there are the chronically skeptical who would not only doubt the alien abduction but who would need to see your car with their own eyes if you said you drove to church. Now, often non-church goers assume that it is only the gullible who would be found in church on a Sunday morning because they assume that faith and doubt are opposite attributes but those of us who are long-time church goers know that this sanctuary is no different from the rest of the world. Sitting here in these pews are the gullible and the skeptics, the trusting and the wary, the believers and the doubters. Moreover, sometimes the believers and the doubters are not just sitting next to each other; they can be found in a single heart. We go through periods in our lives when we it is easy to accept the claims of Christianity and we snuggle down into their comforting assurances like children nestled with a parent, but then there are other dark times of the soul when our faith turns to dust and everything feels suspect. Like the frightened father who cried out to Jesus, "I believe, help my unbelief!" we too struggle to master our doubts so that faith may triumph within us.

In John 20, Jesus appears to the disciples and gives them the good news of his resurrection. He shows them the marks of the nails in his flesh so that they will know that this is not just a ghostly appearance but that he is really alive and present with them. Thomas, however, misses out on Jesus' first visit. He had stayed home to watch the baseball playoffs and it isn't until the next day, when bleary-eyed and a little grumpy from staying up too late, he expresses his now famous doubt about the miraculous story of Jesus' resurrection the others are telling him. "I'll believe it when I see it," he says, and then grumbles, "In fact, I'm not going to believe it until I can touch those wounds with my own fingertips!"

Thomas's skepticism has been berated by preachers for 2000 years and has become part of our religious jargon. "Don't be such a doubting Thomas," we say with a scowl to the hesitant and the wary as if Thomas' doubt is as bad as Judas' betrayal, or Peter's denial. We read the story of Thomas as a warning against ever expressing a moment of uncertainty, and his story has become a prohibition against questioning any doctrine of faith or associating with those who challenge the traditions of the church, as if Thomas' doubt might be as contagious as the swine flu.

But listen once again to this story of Thomas in the end of the gospel of John and ask youself, "Am I really hearing any condemnation in Jesus' voice?"

"Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”

This is nothing in this passage suggesting that Jesus berated Thomas for his doubt. He could have said, "Thomas, why won't you believe what the others have told you?" or "Thomas, you're a faithless cynical sorry excuse for a disciple." He could have uttered that phrase that has come out of the mouth of every frustrated parent, "Thomas, I'm so disappointed in you." Instead, Jesus simply accepts Thomas' doubt and proceeds to show him what Thomas needs to see in order to believe. Jesus knows that one day people will have to accept the resurrection without being able to touch his wounds with their own hands but as long as there is a possibility to test the claims of faith, Jesus allows it. He even encourages it.

The story of Thomas isn't telling us that we should not have doubts. The story of Thomas is telling us that we must develop a healthy balance between doubt and trust. When Thomas hears what are some incredible claims from his fellow disciples, he doesn't just jump on the train and say, "Take me with you wherever you are going even if it is to La-La Land." He does what he can to test the claims of faith. But after he has considered the evidence, he doesn't continue to cling to his skepticism with curmudgeonly arrogance, but admits that his doubts were unfounded and he stands ready now to believe. There is no stronger evidence he can desire than the evidence of the wounds of Christ's love before his very eyes, and Thomas accepts that love into his heart.

This is a story not about erasing doubt from our lives but it is a story about making sure we have the right kind of doubt and the right kind of faith.

Martin Luther nailed 95 doubts to the door of the Catholic church and launched a reformation that resulted in Protestant churches like this one. Abolitionists questioned the Biblical interpretations of slave-holding preachers and helped win freedom for African-Americans. I am standing in this pulpit today because there have been church people who have been skeptical of the tradition that says only men can be ordained pastors. And the battles today over the relevance of sexual orientation to one's salvation is being led by those willing to express their distrust over the traditional pronouncements of the church. Martin Luther once said, “Only God and certain madmen have no doubts.” It is in fact, the willingness of people to question, to be skeptical, to express their misgivings and their doubts, that have kept the church alive to the living presence of Christ instead of allowing the church to become an artifact of our personal prejudices and dislikes. Thomas bypassed the claims of his fellow disciples to try to go right to the source of truth, and his insistence on seeking Christ's word for himself resulted in a deepening of his faith and ultimately ours in the fullness of the resurrected Christ.

Good doubt is the doubt that leads to social justice for others and to a more compassionate church but what about personal doubt? What good can you find in the doubts that creep over your heart in the dead of night and feel as cold as ice? What about your niggling worry that there is no heaven, that there is nothing awaiting you but the sleep of the grave? What about the times you question whether there is really anyone out there hearing your prayers? What about the doubts that you quickly cover up when your children ask why bad things happen to good people, or your unspoken fear that when all is said and done, you are nothing but a speck in an uncaring universe? Surely these doubts must be bad doubts; surely to allow such fundamental doubts into my heart must make me a poor Christian.

And yet these are the doubts that plagued Thomas. Thomas wasn't arguing with the other disciples about doctrine; Thomas was in pain. His friend and teacher was dead, killed in the must brutal form of execution devised by the human mind. Everything Thomas had lived for, everything he had hoped for, everything he believed and loved and wanted, had died on that cross with Jesus and his dreams had turned to ash. Thomas' doubt did not arise from a cynical mind but from a broken heart, and these are the same doubts that strike us down. When we ask whether anyone is listening to our prayers, we are not asking a theological question; we are crying out in our agony, "I can't do this alone and I need to believe you are with me, God. Is anyone listening? I believe, help my unbelief!"

This was the doubt that drove Thomas but what made even this doubt good doubt was that Thomas let that doubt drive him toward Jesus, not away from Jesus. He sought out the company of the other disciples even though he questioned everything they were telling him. He continued in their fellowship and kept returning to the place where he had once known the love of his friend and teacher, hoping that he might find there again something to heal his broken heart, even while doubting that there was anything in all creation that could help. And because Thomas let his doubt drive him toward Christ instead of away from Christ, he was in the room when Jesus appeared and Jesus opened his wounded arms to Thomas and welcomed him back into his presence. "Touch my wounds if it will help you to believe," Jesus said with deep compassion. "because I am not afraid of your doubt. Nothing, not my death nor your doubt, nothing in all of creation will be able to separate you from my love."

C.S. Lewis said, “... We should be unafraid to doubt. If doubt is eventually justified then we were believing that which was not worth believing, but if doubt is answered, our faith has grown stronger, it knows God more certainly, and can enjoy God more deeply.”

Do not be afraid to doubt but let your doubt always drive you toward Christ. Seek him where you have found him before. Search him out in the company of the faithful. Question and listen until you discover his arms open before you again ready to heal your broken heart.