My namesake

Most years, the gospel for the 2nd Sunday of Easter features my patron saint. My mom made sure I always knew I'd been named for "doubting Thomas," and it's true that I've followed his example a bit more than I'd like to admit.

But I've also had a lot of opportunity to reflect on my patron. His dubiousness toward his peers' reports of Jesus' resurrection isn't his only unique mention in Scripture, and I can't help but believe that an earlier story provides a helpful insight into Thomas' skepticism.

Not long before, Jesus was readying his followers to return to Bethany, so he could raise his friend Lazarus from the dead. The disciples objected, reminding Jesus that "they'd" tried to stone him the last time he was near Jerusalem. Yet once Jesus made his determination clear, it was Thomas who seemed to rally the other apostles: "Let's go die with him." Yet subsequent events revealed that this may have been mostly mere bravado. When Jesus was arrested, the apostles abandoned him. It must have been humiliating for all of them to consider, but especially for Thomas and Peter, who'd both so clearly declared their willingness to die with the Lord.

So I believe it was a totally crushed man who first received his friends' remarkable news of this miraculous event - which they'd witnessed for themselves but he had not, and in which he could not dare invest his hope. Our greatest personal devastation comes when we know we've failed those we love; it is multiplied beyond bearing when we've done so after foolhardily declaring our intention to stand firm, and in plain view. "Even if Jesus were somehow alive, surely he wouldn't still want anything to do with me . . . ," he might have thought. That Jesus would have appeared to the rest of them in his absence might have further confirmed this thinking. Better to disbelieve them than further consider the implications if it were true.

When we think we've committed ourselves completely to someone we love, only to fall so pitifully short - and in the clear sight of everyone we respect - it takes something truly remarkable to restore us. But once that happens, we are stronger and more whole than we were before.

Only a personal, undeniable encounter with the risen Christ could restore Thomas to himself. I think that's often the only way we can be restored, too. Few of us today have a physical encounter with our risen Savior, but He still reveals Himself to us through the Holy Spirit. He will do so, if we ask Him to. He is always willing to meet us where we are, if we're only willing to be open to Him when He does.