St. Thomas the Apostle is very special to me. My
late father's name was Thomas, as was my grandfather's. My middle name is
Thomas. During the second grade I was called "Thomas" by my Roman Catholic
Dominican teacher. She preferred "Thomas" to my first name "Richard," because
she declared that there was no significant Saint named Richard.
I sympathize with Saint Thomas the Apostle!
Understandably he doubted his friends' outrageous claim that they had seen the
Risen Lord. I suspect that if I had been in Thomas's place, my initial response
would have been similar: "Unless I see him for myself, I will not
believe."
I envy Thomas! He had the opportunity to see the
Risen Christ first hand. He didn't have to accept his friends' word for more
than a short time. Thomas found faith by experiencing Christ face to face. Two
thousand years later, you and I cannot have the identical opportunity.
During my high school and college years I was
fascinated by the variety of beliefs held by people past and present. Moreover,
as a skeptical inquirer, I have always sought reasonable, justifiable
explanations of claims of truth, whether traditional doctrines, historical
reports, or scientific theories. One of my explorations was a study of the
Resurrection. I read scholarly commentaries and discovered a solid basis for
the historical first Easter. My college mentor and another professor helped me
to understand the event rationally and historically. Easter had occurred as a
decisive Event, which could have been video recorded if cameras had been on
hand. The Creator had intervened and raised the crucified Word of love. God had
judged and reversed the horror of the crucifixion and uniquely vindicated all
that Jesus disclosed. Indeed, Jesus was and is the Risen Lord and
Messiah.
One evening during my first year of seminary, I
was exposed to some scholarly commentaries of a different sort. In my darkened
room, lighted only by a floor lamp beside my recliner, I read that the
Resurrection was indeed no more than an inner psychological event within the
hearts and imaginations of the disciples. The first Easter was an interior
invention of sincere, grieving disciples who needed something to hold on to. It
is a story to help people feel comfortable in the world, especially during
difficult times. For us today, it is a wonderful metaphor for encouragement and
hopefulness.
Whatever book I was reading fell forward on my
lap. My mind raced. What if there had been no outward Resurrection? What if
this is just a folk tale invented by the early Church? Feeling emptied by such
a prospect, I wondered what would be the point of being in seminary, indeed, of
being a Christian, if we're only hearing human ingenuity? I certainly would not
choose to base my identity and entire life on a wonderful yarn, regardless of
how sincerely created or psychologically beneficial! Nor would I involve myself
with a naive group gathered only for emotional support (even in a magnificent
setting such a this)! In that darkened room I recalled St. Paul's
straightforward words in his First Letter to the Corinthians (15:14): "...if
Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your
faith has been in vain."
I realize that some honorable people regard the
Resurrection account (on which the entire New Testament is built) as poetic,
grounded solely as an internal event within the human psyche. They consider the
Resurrection as just a powerful metaphor for the various new beginnings that
may follow our own occasional personal sufferings and tragedies, our own lesser
Good Fridays. However, the Resurrection texts are written in an historical, not
an allegorical form of writing. Thomas was not touched by a folk tale or
some kind of inner enlightenment. He was moved by the actual, visible presence
of Christ.
A few years ago I was revising the science
chapter of an introductory philosophy textbook. An historian of science advised
me to clarify that adherence to a particular scientific model of reality is at
heart a matter of informed faith. Elsewhere I discovered an unsettling book
entitled Mathematics: The Loss of Certainty - written by one of the
nation's most distinguished mathematicians. Here, too, was a recognition of
competent faith as the starting point of all mathematical systems. What a
surprise it was to realize that discerning faith is at the bases of all science
and mathematics!
With my questioning predisposition intact, I
remain a skeptical inquirer. I accept the inevitability of intelligent faith as
the foundation of virtually all areas of an examined life. Moreover, I admit to
more than one learned explanation of most issues. Perhaps only God knows for
sure the absolute certainties of religion, morality, economics, psychology,
history, physics, and everything else! The question becomes: at what point am I
sufficiently informed and persuaded to declare "I believe"?
During a church seminar, I mentioned some of
these very points. I turned to a couple celebrating their 50th Anniversary.
With the sensitivity of a task-oriented philosopher, I remarked
(tongue-in-cheek), "You don't know for sure, with absolute certainty, that you
love each other. Perhaps it's been a pretense for mutual convenience." To the
husband, I said, "Maybe she's just been taking you for a ride for all these
years!" Without engaging in academic debate, but with confidence in their
common history, he took her hand and warmly countered, "In any case, I've
really enjoyed the ride."
We may engage sincerely and constructively in
worthwhile academic discussion about every issue and relationship. A thorough
examination of the Resurrection would go well beyond my few words from this
pulpit. Nonetheless, while rejecting gullibility, we eventually come to moments
when some relationships are experienced as trustworthy (without absolute
certainties or future guarantees). We become sufficiently informed about a
testimony or an assertion that we are persuaded to believe. Indeed, there are
times to turn on the lights without fully understanding electricity. There are
occasions to play the music without fully comprehending the composer's intent.
If we wait to have the certainties known to God alone, we shall remain lonely,
in the dark, without the music, and with life never begun. If, godlike, we
claim to know for sure those certainties, we are guilty of arrogant
blasphemy.
I don't know the physics or the mechanics of the
first Easter. I'm somewhere in between Thomas's initial demand for first hand
evidence and his face-to-face experience of the Risen Lord. Nonetheless, I am
persuaded that an external, transforming Event took place among some ancient
friends. I trust their testimony about the Resurrection. I also trust the many
wonderful effects of the Resurrection that show forth in our lives individually
and as a Church. I believe that with faith-filled confidence we can in some
sense join St. Thomas, exclaiming joyfully and with awe, "My Lord and my
God."