Doubt it
Preacher: The Rt Revd Dr Helen-Ann Hartley, Bishop of Ripon
Readings: Acts 4:32-35; John 20:19-31
“There are, it seems, two muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realisation, who returns again and again to say, ‘It is yet more difficult than you thought.’ This is the muse of form. It may be there that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction, to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings”.
These are words of Wendell Berry, a North American poet and farmer. They speak about the importance of enquiry, of asking questions, of expressing an interest in people and their lives. They speak about endeavour, of persisting through challenge, of commitment to go the distance that we might in time, prevail and sing again. All of these qualities were present in the life of His Royal Highness The Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh whose death we mourn at this time. Thousands of young people, myself included tackled The Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme, and learnt so much about what it really meant to push ourselves to the limit, and celebrate achievement through resilience and challenge. Prince Philip’s unwavering support of Her Majesty the Queen serves as an example of outstanding service and dedication to duty, and we give thanks today for all that he was. It is timely perhaps that today we are invited to remember Thomas, one of the disciples whose own life modelled an enquiring mind, persistence, resolve, and commitment to duty.
If Wendell Berry is right about the importance of being baffled, then maybe we have got it all wrong with doubting Thomas? I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Thomas because history has consigned him to doubt, and doubt is not something we are told is good and positive. In fact one definition I came across defines doubt as ‘to have no confidence in someone or something’. This runs somewhat counter-culturally against the work of the modern University environment. It was 30 years ago this year that I arrived as a fresh-faced 18 year-old to read Divinity at St. Andrews. I was sharing this notable timeline with a small group of University friends on our WhatsApp recently. 30 years seems an age, it really does. But this is not a sermonic trip down memory lane, don’t worry. However there is one memory that comes to mind, not least because it involves the season of Easter that we are currently in. It was the time when Easter fell in the middle of term-time (yes, way back where there were terms and not semesters, now you’re thinking I really must be getting on a bit!). A programme of events was arranged by the University chaplaincy, including an Easter morning dawn service. Very early in the morning, a group of us approached another group huddled around a fire in the ruins of the Cathedral. It was a pretty wild day as I recall: howling wind and rain. We clung tightly to the script in our hands and thus began the dramatic reading:
My group: ‘hello’
Group round fire: silence
My group: a bit louder, ‘HELLO’
Group round fire: ‘What?’
My group: ‘H E L L O’
Group round fire: ‘who do you seek?’
My group: ‘we seek Christ crucified…’
Group round fire: ‘what?’
A period of silence due to weather conditions
Group round fire: ‘he’s not here’
My group: ‘what?’
Group round fire: ‘HE’S NOT HERE’
And with that, the wind caught hold of my script and off it was carried in the direction of the sea.
An encouraging start to Easter celebrations? I doubt it.
A realistic start to Easter celebrations? That’s more like it.
Thomas first speaks in John’s Gospel in chapter 11, in the context of the death of Lazarus. Jesus announces that they need to go to Lazarus because he is sleeping, but this being John’s Gospel there is far more going on in this narrative than meets the eye, or the ear (Lazarus is dead). Thomas says to his fellow disciples, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with him’ (is this a reference to Lazarus, or to Jesus? It’s not clear). I can feel Wendell Berry’s Muse of Realisation whispering at this point: follow Jesus, by all means, but ‘it is yet more difficult than you thought’. Thomas speaks again in chapter 14 where Jesus had been explaining that he was going away to prepare a heavenly home for his followers and one day they would join him there. And Thomas’ response: ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going; how can we know the way?’. That’s a fair point. It’s here that some insight from poet Malcolm Guite helps. He reckons that Thomas should be labelled with words like ‘honest’, ‘courageous’, and even ‘tenacious’.
Tenacious Thomas is that person in your lecture theatre who asks the question everyone wants to ask but dares not to. Honest Thomas tells it like it is. Courageous Thomas is prepared to accept whatever the fall-out might be. It’s not about doubt, rather it’s a gateway to revealing the truth of the matter. Because Thomas asks the awkward question, Jesus tells us that he is the Way, the Truth and the Life. We wouldn’t have that were it not for Thomas. By the time we encounter him in today’s reading, Thomas shows his belief: ‘My Lord and my God’. We don’t know if Thomas actually put his hands in to Jesus’ wounds. What we do get a sense of is Thomas leaping beyond the evidence to the confidence of declaring faith in who Jesus is. Lest we feel a degree of self-satisfaction at Jesus’ following words mind you, ‘happy are those who did not see and believed’; can we say to Jesus, ‘My Lord and my God’? Do I have the confidence to say that? By God’s grace and mercy, I hope so.
What happens then, if we look at the lens of our faith through the account of Thomas’ in our reading? It might help us reflect that while the confession of faith matters (we need to account for what we believe), the real work happens in the questions we are willing to ask of others, and especially the questions we ask on behalf of those who have no voice, or whose voice is ignored or suppressed. Speaking truth to power, in other words. You are in the midst of an election season in Scotland and not surprisingly perhaps it has attracted attention south of the border not least because the border is becoming a topic that commands questions around the topics of independence and nationalism. Now before you get nervous about a bishop in the Church of England sharing thoughts on matters outside my ken, my birth certificate will tell you that my roots lie northwards. Electioneering of whatever sort and in whatever context relies upon presenting a manifesto that offers a better vision for the future. It’s telling then that Jesus’ first words when he appears to Thomas and the rest of the disciples are: ‘peace be with you’. To seek peace requires tenacity, honesty and courage. To seek peace requires at times asking difficult questions not because you want to be annoying but because peace demands engagement that is truly for the common good. If you held up a mirror to much of the political discourse across the United Kingdom in recent years I wonder what that would tell us?
‘…when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey’. Wendell Berry’s words are a gloss on a narrative of hope that is that which lies beyond the cross to the resurrection. ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going, how can we know the way?’ Thomas asks. I dare say that there have probably been times in the last year when we’ve all wondered where next? Plans set aside, all sorts of hopes and dreams put out of reach. Disruption has been a word that has formed the very foundation of our lives. When I look to the end of that quote I have to ask a question: ‘the impeded stream is the one that sings’ – really? How? I think the answer lies somewhere in the tiny details of lives and community narratives that have both exposed the rawness of what it means to be human, and the potential for depths of compassion and kindness that are also part of our DNA.
A memory that stands out for me during a church service that took place when restrictions were less onerous in England was a Sunday morning parish visit. Unable to sing, the vicar taught us how to sign the chorus of a hymn. While a small socially distanced choir carried the words in tune, we all joined in with our hands, giving voice to words of praise.
‘My Lord, and my God’.
Amen. Thanks be to God.