6 mins
Seeing is believing
Photos: iStock
IN John Irving’s 20th century masterpiece of a novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany, the narrator John has a number of conversations with Owen Meany about the meaning of belief. In one scene in a school playground, Owen illustrates his faith in God by pointing to a grey granite statue of Mary Magdalen as twilight falls. When it has become so dark that the statue is no longer visible, Owen asks John if he knows that the statue is still there. John says that of course he knows, but Owen keeps pushing:
“You have no doubt she’s there?” Owen nagged me.
“Of course I have no doubt!” I said.
“But you can’t see her – you could be wrong.” He said.
“No, I’m not wrong – she’s there, I know she’s there!” I yelled at him.
“You absolutely know she’s there – even though you can’t see her?” he asked me. “Yes,” I screamed.
“Well, now you know how I feel about God,” said Owen Meany. “I can’t see Him – but I absolutely know He is there!” Not being able to see, but still believing. It could have been taken straight from the Easter-tide story about the Apostle Thomas. Not so much doubting Thomas, but honest Thomas, questioning Thomas, courageous Thomas, searching Thomas, asking not so much for proof but for reassurance.
If ever there was to be a patron saint for our modern, secular age, it would be Thomas. We know little about him. He may have been a twin, but we don’t know who his twin was. He wasn’t one of the closest disciples like Peter and Andrew, or James and John. Thomas is with Jesus in Bethany when Lazarus died, and said he was willing to go with Jesus, and face death with Him if he must. He was there in the upper room when Jesus talked about death, and it is to Thomas’ question about where Jesus was going that Jesus responded: “I am the way and the truth and the life.” But in the time after the resurrection, Thomas was not present when Jesus came to His followers. It was then that Thomas spoke his questioning words; and then a whole week passed. Only then Jesus did appear again, and Thomas, without touching the wounds he’d asked to see, confessed in front of everyone, “My Lord, and my God!” In later years, legend has it that Thomas the Apostle left the Holy Land and travelled through the Middle East, and got as far as India, where he was martyred for his faith.
It is important to note that this honest man, rather than this doubting man, is allowed to share his story in the Bible. In the world we live in today when so many people seek their certainties and their incontrovertible truths and their evidenced proof, Thomas isn’t hushed up or glossed over and air-brushed out. He speaks honestly about what he knows and what he does not know, and Jesus does not scold him, or shut him out.
For most of us hardly a day goes by without doubt creeping in. Doubt, that insidious, unsettling, confidence-sapping coolness that drains hopefulness and faithfulness. In John’s gospel it is the Sunday after the resurrection that the Thomas story is told. The resurrection that Thomas missed. That low Sunday when Jesus appeared to him and to the others. It is good to realise that Jesus appears not only on the high days and holy days of life. The days when the sparkle has gone off life a little. The humdrum days with nothing much to commend them. The drudge days when we simply get through the hours as best we can.
It is good to realise that Jesus appears not only on the feast days when our faith is strong and bright and positive, but also on the darker days when doubts gnaw at us, and disappointment, fear and pain are not far away. Is it the case that on those days, those dull or dark days, that Jesus’ presence is even more important? Days when through the tears or the hurt or the anger or the loss the presence of Jesus unshakeably, unmistakeably shines through the broken places of life.
Last year on Maundy Thursday the journalist Lyra Mckee was gunned down in Londonderry by a masked gunman from the New IRA. At that time people wondered with real fear that the bad old days of the Troubles were returning. Until Father Martin Magill spoke at Lyra’s funeral where people from all communities gathered. The priest thanked the politicians from all sides for attending and then said: “Why in God’s name does it take the death of a 29-yearold woman with her whole life in front of her to get to this point?” He barely got the words out before the congregation rose to its feet and applauded. The congregation behind the politicians clapped so loudly that nervous political leaders shifted uneasily in their seats, began to clap, and eventually got to their feet. In the wake of the wasted, unfulfilled life of a young woman, God came, and the commitment to life and peace was reaffirmed. Through the presence of ordinary people not willing to bow to the mindless violence of a misguided minority, God came. To quell the doubts and uncertainties, and by God’s presence, bring reassurance and hope in the face of fear and doubt.
God comes, even our wounded God comes, to stand in our midst and show us what love will do so that resolve may be strengthened, hope might come, and we might gasp, with Thomas, “My Lord and my God!” In our churches, and communities, and country and planet there will be people whose worlds will be turned cruelly upside down. A bereavement here, a health diagnosis there, a relationship foundering, a heart breaking, a hope snuffed out, a promise shattered. The Easter God comes and stands in the midst; with us in our doubt and fear, and offers hope.
For all that we hear about the sophistication and cynicism of postmodern people, they are much more willing to believe that Jesus was raised from the dead and standing with them when they see other ordinary people modelling the Jesus-kindness, the Jesus-love, the Jesus-courage in the places where we work, in the good neighbourliness that we show, and in the compassion we offer to strangers. When doubts are real, authenticity becomes the quest. Is there anything authentic about our worshipping communities that bear witness to Jesus’ death and resurrection? Is there anything real in what we profess about our faith in our words and our actions that make a difference to those who need hope and forgiveness and healing and love in our communities and world?
People won’t start looking for Jesus if they can’t see Jesus in us and the kind of faith-full people that we can be. They won’t see Jesus unless they see Jesus’ kindness and compassion and generosity and inclusion and graciousness in us. Seeing is believing, and when they see us, and how we live out our faith, then they are more likely to wonder about believing in the Jesus we follow.
The Very Rev Dr Derek Browning is minister at Edinburgh: Morningside.
“It is good to realise that Jesus appears not only on the feast days when our faith is strong and bright and positive, but also on the darker days when doubts gnaw at us, and disappointment, fear and pain are not far away.
This article appears in the April 2020 Issue of Life and Work
If you would like to view other issues of Life and Work, you can see the full archive
here.