The Resurrection of Jesus: Faith and Doubt

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter

April 11, 2021

I was reflecting on so-called “Doubting Thomas,” and was wondering what the opposite of the Doubter might look like. I found this very charming story to help our reflection.

One night while babysitting, a grandfather passed his granddaughter’s room and overheard her repeating the alphabet in an oddly reverent fashion. “What on earth are you up to?” he asked.

“I’m saying my prayers,” explained the little girl. “But I can’t think of exactly the right words tonight, so I’m just saying all the letters. God will put them together for me, because he knows what I’m thinking.”

It makes me think of the day I made my First Communion. I was so excited that I woke up real early, and woke up my parents in the process. I just couldn’t wait to get to church so that I could receive Jesus. And now, I think about the many ways in which I have lost my innocence, complicated the truth, created sophisticated explanations, and built up a reasonably comfortable life that is not fully in keeping with what Jesus asked for.

At about the same time as my First Communion, my grandfather died. They had the wake in the house, so my parents thought it best if I slept at a neighbor’s house for the duration of the wake. I was brought over to say good-bye to grandpa, and to offer some prayers. I recall noting that several of the people there were crying, and wondering why. If heaven was as good as they said it was, and my grandfather was in heaven, why cry?

You see, like the little girl who trusted that God would finish her prayers, believing that Jesus had risen from the dead presented no problem for me when I was eight years old. Surely, I was one of those, as Jesus said in today’s gospel, who was blessed because I believed without seeing.

But of course, as we mature, our world, and the way we think about it, changes. We’re exposed to the scientific method in which the establishment of a fact requires more than somebody’s word for it. We require proof. When I was taking geometry in high school, we had to put QED, “quod erat demonstrandum”—“which was to have been proved” at the end of each problem we solved. The teacher wouldn’t simply take my word that I knew what I was doing. He required proof. And I remember learning somewhere along the way that Missouri is known as the “Show me State”—which means that the people of Missouri aren’t easily fooled. They require proof.

And when it comes to faith in God, even believing in the existence of God, there are experiences we have than can rock the foundation, and we’re not quite as accepting as when we were eight-year-olds. Difficult and painful things happen. Someone we love gets cancer and dies. A marriage falls apart. Innocent people, even children in their schools, get shot to death. The Jews were nearly exterminated in the Nazi death camps. So, in the face of so much misery and death, it becomes easy to wonder. And doubt. And from the depths of our souls we scream: If you exist, God, I need some proof here.

And so, I try to put myself in Thomas’s shoes. Can you imagine how he felt? The one he had put his life’s hopes in had let him down. The one he had believed to be Messiah and Lord had been condemned in a sham of a trial and cruelly put to death. Thomas was probably angry, numb, afraid, disillusioned, confused, depressed, and lost in an ocean of grief. And now his friends, those he had shared his life with, now they come forward with this crazy story, and he wants to know what they’ve been drinking.

Of course, we’ve just read the rest of the story, which records Thomas’s words of belief, calling Jesus “My Lord, and my God.” The story has a happy ending. But you know, Thomas is a lot like us. We know what it is to doubt. We know what it is to require proof. And I think this is precisely why the story of Thomas is recorded. Because he needed proof, that makes him a good, solid witness. He wasn’t gullible. He wasn’t walking around carrying Easter lilies and singing Kumbaya. Before he would become a witness to the Resurrection of Jesus from the dead, he needed proof, he required solid evidence.

And there is a further reason that makes Thomas’s witness compelling: in the end, he was willing to die a martyr’s death, still believing in the Resurrection. People are very seldom willing to die for a lie. But they will die clinging to the truth. And this is what Thomas did. He went to his grave believing in the Resurrection. He had his proof. And he has shared his testimony with us—and anyone who is willing to listen.

Throughout this Easter Season we will here other stories of how other disciples came to believe, how their belief changed their lives, and how they chose death rather than changing their story. And we will be asked, over and over again, in all the messiness and promise, all the misery and hope, all the challenges and joys of our lives: Do you believe, even though you have not seen?

You might also like

Father's Homilies

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

By Charlene Currie • May 7, 2026
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.