Eastertide stretches over 50 days. When we read through the Bible, we see the disciples and other followers of Jesus meet Him in unexpected ways.

Imagine, if you will, what it was like to engage with Jesus after Tomb Day. After Resurrection’s glory.

With my sacred imagination, I wondered what it might have been like to be Thomas.

Here I share my ponderings.

May they be a place of invitation to go yet deeper with Jesus, deeper into your own heart, and deeper into prayerful conversations, as it was for me.

 

 

 

I stand befuddled behind this thick wall of disbelief. 

I doubt. 

I feel alone, alienated from the others because I don’t believe. 

Yet I must be honest. 

I don’t trust easily. 

I want to see things for myself: tactile, visual, relational, in person connecting. 

These brothers of mine—hardy men—are not prone to lying.

Still, I want to see Jesus with my own set of eyes, my own heart, not secondhand reports. 

I am not out to discredit the other disciples, rather, I want it proven to me. 

I’ve been crazy wild and all-in about Jesus since He first broke through my walls.

We rambled across a few years together. 

Then the Cross and its horror, after which He vanished. 

Others claim to have been in His Presence.

Yet for me, in the sting of what feels like abandonment, I doubt. 

Unless I can see the nail-made holes in those hands and the gap of a scar in His side, I’ll wrestle with what it is I believe.

***

“Peace be upon you.”

A shiver runs down my spine. The bright heat of tears pool up in my eyes. 

Oh, I’d know that voice anywhere. 

It is the voice of Jesus. 

 

You gaze into my eyes, a slight grin on Your face. 

You’re up to something, I can tell. 

I’ve seen that glint in those eyes of love before.

I feel awe in Your presence, Jesus. 

 

“Thomas, put your finger here. Look, here are My hands.”

“Give me your hand, Thomas. Put it here into My side.” 

 

  

Eight days ago, I said these very words in this very sequence to the other guys.

They squirmed at my doubts. 

My throat tightened. Breathing shallowed. My neck and ears felt hot.

I knew my doubts deeply.

They hunkered down in my gut.

I owned those doubts or perhaps they owned me. 

So, here’s Jesus echoing my very words. 

That’s just typical of Him, for sure: always upping the ante.

 

Chills prickle my arms and legs, not from weather but from wonder.

 

“Do not be unbelieving anymore, Thomas, but believe.”

 

Jesus, how did You know I didn’t believe? 

I bite my lip, gulping for air.

I ache at the weight of my doubt yet feel affectionate towards Jesus.

These doubts cannot override the reality of the look of love from Jesus.

In the middle of these long empty nights since the Cross, sleep disappeared, too.

Yet, here You are, Jesus. 

You assuage doubts.

They’ve trampled my heart into the unknown darkness, knocking down all past belief.

I am so tired, Jesus. I am so tired of my doubts. 

 

I touch Your side, feeling the indented marks.

Let me cling to You when my heart is assaulted on every side. 

 

Tears moisten my face. 

You place Your scar-marked hands on my cheeks.

For a moment, time halts in Your intentional intimate actions.

 

“My Lord and my God!” I whisper.

 

The darkness of my heart shatters in the bright light of Your smile of love. 

 

“Because you, Thomas, have seen Me, you have believed…”

All blurs but Your voice, Your hands upon my shoulders.

 

Peace infuses me. Blessed be me as I stand here in Your very Presence.

Then the music starts up which only we two hear and we dance, embracing glory.

 

 

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Featured photos are courtesy of Jack O’Rourke and Raimond Klavins on Unsplash.