I was sitting on a folding chair about 5 rows back from the pulpit, listening to the general hubbub that served as pre-worship white noise. The musicians began to warm up and I was just enjoying being a part of this new church development, when I heard the rustle of movement in the row behind me. Turning around I saw 3 guests—a mother and 2 teenage daughters. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Mari Lyn. Welcome to Grace Presbyterian.” Breathless—from corralling her 2 teenagers on a Sunday evening? from hurrying in because she did not want to be late? out of anxiety about worshiping in a place that looked like anything but a church? (We worshiped in a converted garage.)—breathless, the mother responded, “Hi, I’m Anna Mae.” Clutching a piece of newspaper, she continued, “and I’m here because this says—here—it’s okay to have questions and doubts.” In her hand was our newspaper ad. In a large font, it read “Bring Your Doubts and Fears.” She asked, “Can I really do that here? Can I come here even if I’m not sure I believe? Can I come here even if I’m afraid of some of what I read in the Bible?” I nodded. “Yes, you can. You’re in good company here. We are all questioning and searching—together.”
Bring your doubts and fears. Anna Mae was in good company—not just with those of us who called Grace Presbyterian Fellowship our church family, but also with Christians throughout the ages—and with the disciples in today’s scripture.
According to John’s gospel, as today’s text begins, it is evening of the 1st Easter. Many of Jesus’ followers—including most of the disciples—are together, in a closed room, behind locked doors. They are hiding. Perhaps fearful that they too might be arrested and tortured, they are hiding from the Jewish authorities who were behind Jesus’ arrest, conviction, and death. Then again, maybe they are hiding in shame. For earlier in the day, 2 disciples had gone to the tomb and found it empty. Later Mary Magdalene had brought them news she had seen the risen Lord. “Jesus is alive!” . . . All the more reason for the disciples to hide. How could they face him after running away when he was arrested? How could they face him after denying him when he was tried? How could they face him after hiding while he was crucified on the cross?
Locked in a room, they hide in fear from the ones they hate—the religious and political authorities. Locked in a room, they hide in shame from the One they loved and served—Jesus the Christ. Locked in a room, they cower in a mental, emotional, and spiritual darkness. Then, Jesus enters the room and stands among them. A glimmer of light cuts through the darkness. He speaks, “Peace be with you,” and rays of light shine in the room as their hearts begin to stir. Jesus comes to them. He offers his body for them to see. “Here are my hands; here is my side. These are my wounds from the cross.”
Sturdy walls cannot keep him out. Deadbolts do not stop him. Jesus comes to them in their fear and shame and offers himself to them. “Peace be with you,” he says again. And into these dead men—men dead to their hopes, men dead to a loving relationship with their teacher—into these dead men Jesus breathes new life. He breathes his Spirit into them and charges them to carry his message of forgiveness into the world. “As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.” No longer disciples—ones who follow, they are now empowered to be apostles—ones who are sent out. Jesus comes to them—he meets them in their fear; forgives them for abandoning him; and offers himself—his own breath—to revitalize, to re-create them. Jesus comes to them. Their paralyzing fear does not stop him. Jesus comes to them.
But Thomas, one of the disciples, misses this encounter with Jesus. He declares he will not, he cannot believe unless he sees the risen Christ and touches his crucifixion wounds. And our text continues. A week later, we find them all behind locked doors . . . again—letting fear get the best of them . . . again . . . and Jesus comes to them . . . again. Sturdy walls cannot keep him out. Deadbolts do not stop him. He enters the room and offers his peace . . . yet again. He turns to Thomas and offers himself—“Come, touch your finger to the holes that the nails pierced in my hands. Come, place your hand where the spear pierced my side. Look and see; come and touch; no more unbelieving. For here I am. Believe.” Jesus comes to Thomas. Sturdy walls cannot keep him out. Deadbolts do not stop him. Doubt does not chase him away.
Anna Mae came to the people who are Grace Presbyterian—clutching our newspaper ad that invited her to bring her doubts and fears. She asked, “Can I really do that here? Can I come here even if I’m not sure I believe? Can I come here even if I’m afraid of some of what I read in the Bible?” And we responded, “Yes, you can. You’re in good company here. We are all questioning and searching—together.”
I wonder about us, the people who are 1st Presbyterian Church of Paola, Kansas. Are we a congregation who invites people to bring their doubts and fears with them?
Are we ready to listen to others’ doubts and fears, not rushing to fill the questioning spaces with our answers, but willing to wait and ponder together? Are we ready to admit to our own fears, to voice our own doubts, to ask the questions that sometimes haunt us?
“Most believers experience different kinds of doubt over time.”[1] Its form varies with the stage of life we’re in. Doubt follows our faith, stalking it with questions and uncertainties.[2] Just as Jesus refused to be stopped by sturdy walls or dead bolts when reaching out to his fearful and doubting disciples, he will stop at nothing to reach us. Doubt may poke at the soft spots of our beliefs. Doubt may stir up the still waters we want our faith to float on.[3] But determined to reach even the stalwart skeptic[4], “Jesus refuses to let [anything] block the movement of [his] love toward the one who lacks faith.”[5]
And that is the real point of this gospel story—that God comes to us, again and again, wherever we might be, however we might be. Like Thomas and the other disciples, in the darkness of doubt, in the shadows of shame, or in the fog of fear, we may not recognize Jesus at first. When he comes to find us in our doubt-filled or fear-full wanderings, his appearance probably will not be in logical arguments answering our questions of faith. Instead we experience a surprising proclamation of peace, an unanticipated assurance of forgiveness, or an astonishing touch of love. And then we realize we are not alone but have been, in fact, already, always found.[6] We realize we are in God’s presence. “When doubt [or fear] crowds our hope, we can be confident that Jesus will come to meet us where we are, even if it is out on the far edge of a faith that has forgotten how to believe.”[7] Jesus comes to us. We do not have to go in search of him, for he will find us.
We ask God, “Can I bring my doubts and fears?” and God responds, “Bring ‘em on!” And I will offer you my peace.”
[1] Serene Jones, “John 20: 19 – 31—Theological Perspective.” Feasting on the Word, Year B. vol. 2. Edited by David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008. p. 400.
[2] Serene Jones, 402.
[3] Serene Jones, 402.
[4] Serene Jones, 402.
[5] Serene Jones, 402.
[6] Serene Jones, 404.
[7] Serene Jones, 402.
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