I have the pleasure of being involved in North Cleveland Church of God's Easter production. It is mainly a choral presentation, interspersed with narration and documentary-style reccollections by the disciples John and Thomas, and Mary, the mother of Christ. I am playing the role of Thomas, and I've developed a relationship with him.
My entire presentation on stage is that of anxiety and cynicism. Thomas recounts the tumultous feelings he was experiencing upon entering Jerusalem the week before Christ's execution. His first line is "We were reaching the point of no return, and I knew it." I can almost imagine the thoughts that were going through his head as he began to hear the shouts of "Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!" Up to this point, Christ had been saying some very revolutionary things, yet His ultimate work was still a bit of a mystery to the men who had pledged their lives to Him. Think about it. Was Christ really the Messiah, as He had told them, and if so, was their march into Jerusalem to be that of mighty conquerors? If so, why was Christ so adament about riding in on a donkey? What exactly was Peter planning on doing with that sword? How were thirteen men supposed to stand against a Roman legion?
Days later, they sit down to partake in the Passover, only Christ has some peculiar things to say about their meal. What did He really mean when He said things like "body," "broken," and "blood?" What was all this talk of a betrayer? Then He takes them to Gethsemane, and it starts to click. I can imagine Thomas looking at Christ and seeing the beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. A far-off gaze in His eyes. Christ was as human as the you or I, do not doubt that for one second. He experienced the same joys and heartaches we have. Thomas realized that all thoughts of overthrow were all but fairy tales. Christ was preparing to hand Himself over to the Jewish authorities, and when the reality of it all set in, when Thomas looked into the eyes of his brother and watched him betray their Master, when the ear fell to the ground, I believe that was when the doubt began to form. He was the Christ! Where was the legion of angels? Where was the glorious reckoning? Who was this man telling Judas to do what he came to do?
Thomas stood there and watched his Master die at the hands of the very people He was supposed to defeat, and like the temple veil, his heart was rent in two. Was this the end? Was he watching everything he knew to be good and true perish before him?
24 hours. 48 hours. 72 hours passed since they rolled the stone over the tomb in Joseph's garden. I imagine Thomas wondering why they were still hiding. What was it all for? What was the point? Christ was gone, and had taken the last three years of Thomas' life with Him. And then John burst through the door and exclaimed "He is alive!!!" The rest of the remaining disciples cried shouts of joy, but Thomas remained in his seat, scoffing the optimists still looking for a shred of hope. I can see him looking John in the eye with a shot of condescension. "You show me the marks in His hands! Let me touch His side, and we'll see."
I imagine dinner that evening was quiet. Not a word was spoken except perhaps Matthew whispering in agony for God to show them what to do now, or Peter begging for forgiveness for his cowardice three nights before. Thomas kept to himself. Each bite of bread seeming to take hours. And then, a familiar voice. "Peace be with you."
And even in the presence of his Master, the skepticism still held Thomas' heart in a vice. Only after running his fingers slowly over Christ's hands did Thomas finally believe. His hope had been restored, but at the cost of his faith.
I am that man. I beg for flashing neon signs directing me to Christ's presence while the John's that surround me are ready to put everything on the line for what they believe. My faith is so easily shaken, so easily stirred by the skepticism, the questions, the doubts. I find myself able to come to Christ only after He was taken the time to show me the nail marks in my own life, and more often than not, they haven't been the proof I had in mind.
It wasn't the empty tomb that caused John to believe. His sprint to the tomb was merely a reaction to what Mary had already told him. John was told the good news, and that was enough for him. To be that man. It's why I admire someone like Kurt Wise. In an autobiographical passage, Dr. Wise explains that even if someone handed him irrefutable evidence of the nonexistence of God, he would still continue in his faith because it is what the Bible has told him to do.
That, my friends, is unshakable faith.
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