Easter 2

Dominique Saponari has a certificate in her bedroom that proclaims she has sent her binky to Binky Land. It was a long time coming. When she was 5, Dominique had to visit the orthodontist, who announced that she had a serious malocclusion overbite caused by sucking on a pacifier, which molded her teeth around the binky and pushed the teeth forward and upward.

Her mother came up with a book idea. The 10-page book, The Story of Binky Land, written by William Post, chronicles the adventures of Binky Bonnie and Binky Bob and offers parents cool ways to nudge their child to a binky-free life.

I suppose that Jeanette & I should have procured that book for our son, Hamilton.  When he was age three, he still insisted on his binky at bedtime. If we tried to take his binky from him it would end up in a knockdown, drag-out rumble. It’s amazing how two little lungs could produce such incredible volume.

Now not all dentists are binky Nazis. Some argue that the comfort and emotional security gained far outweigh the potential dental problems.

But there are other problems with pacifiers. They can get lost and cause an emotional disturbance – or tantrum – until they’re found. They can be unsafe if the parts are not attached properly. Some binkies can be choking hazards. They can get dirty and should be cleaned regularly.

All of which makes us wonder about the pacifiers we adults are sucking on in our spiritual lives – that is, those things that make us feel pacific, peaceful, calm, safe and comforted. The stuff we cling to for security, especially when our faith is under duress.

Today’s Gospel from John says that, following Jesus’ death, the disciples were huddled together behind locked doors, rigid with fear that the powers who crucified Jesus would put an end to them, too. For some reason, Thomas was not with them. Maybe they drew straws to see who would go shopping and Thomas got the short straw. Perhaps he got tired of being cooped up with 10 fearful men in a small house, waiting for a clue of what to do next. Whatever the reason, Thomas was absent. Poor timing – like the guy stargazing who bends to tie his shoe at the very moment a meteor blazes across the sky.

Thomas returns and is immediately confronted by his companions, who declare they have seen the Lord.  But Thomas says, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (John 20:25). Without this kind of evidence, Thomas was an unbeliever.

Some folks can’t seem to think of anything nice to say about Thomas. 

            It does not matter that Thomas was no better and no worse than the average disciple who would not believe either.  It does not matter that tradition has him carrying the Gospel to India, where there still exists the Mar Thoma church, the Christians of St. Thomas of India.  Nor does it seem to matter that this same tradition has Thomas suffering martyrdom for the faith.  No-o-o-o, he will always be ‘Doubting Thomas.’  The disciple who opened his mouth only to change feet.  Thomas, the patron saint of all of those who are the last to know.

Have you ever had the experience of being on the outside looking in? When the whole group, except you, knows something you probably ought to know? It happens to kids all the time. Caught in the position of not knowing what you think you need to know, you have two options. One is to pretend that you know – fake it – with the hope that you catch on real soon. The other option, a bit more risky, is to call time out, stop the motion long enough for you to ask questions, challenge the process or do what you need to do to get on board. Of course, another option is simply to give up and go home, choosing to remain on the outside.

Thomas was on the outside looking in. Thomas was confronted with an empty tomb and the claims of a risen Lord Jesus, as we are every Sunday. His initial response earned him the name “Doubting Thomas.” His response may not be all that different from our response.

Thomas was a scientific rationalist who wanted empirical evidence.

Many of us are fascinated by scientific research that would seem to authenticate the claims of Scripture. Why else spend the millions of dollars that have been spent to search for Noah’s ark on Mt. Ararat in present-day Turkey? Granted, there is a valid archaeological interest here, but would the discovery of the ark really make our faith any stronger than it is right now? And if so, what does that say about our faith?

Years ago, many people were disappointed when carbon dating proved that the Shroud of Turin, thought to be the cloth that Jesus’ body was draped in after he was crucified, was only 800-some years old, not 2,000.

The discovery of the reputed ossuary of James the brother of Jesus caused a similar debate. Some argued that this was indisputable evidence of Jesus’ family. Other scholars are now saying, however, that the box is a fake.

From an archaeological standpoint, it matters. But does it matter from a faith perspective? Is our faith stronger or weaker when such things happen?

Some stumble in their life of faith, as did Thomas, because the empirical evidence is lacking. There is no proof for the existence of God, and there’s a lot that happens in the world that would seem to argue against a loving and powerful God. Thomas said he would remain an unbeliever. What do we say?

Others grab the pacifier of cultural respectability. Any faith journey that calls for a life of radical discipleship, a life that pits us against the world, that risks the ridicule of the chattering classes is not a life for us. We want our faith to be neat, clean, tidy, respectable and non-confrontational.

Some of us move on steadily in a life of faith, while for others faith is a lifelong struggle with doubt. Your neighbors may speak of an access to faith that seems unassailable, but you find yourself unconvinced, skeptical, saying the words but doubting their truth. Your academic training, professional expertise and life experience conspire to demand something solid to counter the doubt that refuses to go away.

The fact is, if you care enough to wonder, to question, to struggle for an authentic profession of faith, you may well be on the path to a life grounded in honest reliance upon God alone.

While we can condemn Thomas for much, we can applaud him for his intellectual integrity. He was honest, refusing to pretend to believe something that he really didn’t. He knew the claims being made about Jesus were of ultimate significance, and he cared enough to articulate his doubt, to challenge his friends.

This is a man who spent three years of his life as a disciple of Jesus. He was the one who dared to ask questions when he didn’t understand. Hounded by doubt, he nevertheless stayed the course. Where did his search lead him? Where will our search lead us? His willingness to follow his question led him to faith, a true and abiding faith that was formed in the depths of doubt. In other words, when he encountered the risen Lord Jesus, Thomas says, “My Lord and my God.”

But Jesus’ implication is that Thomas missed out on a greater blessing. The blessing is greater when we can come to faith when all the contrary signs suggest that such a faith is foolish.

In an age that demands solid evidence for everything, Thomas is certainly our brother. Authentic faith – binky-free living – is often born from a dance with doubt. This faith is a faith that rests finally on what cannot be seen but only believed. Sooner or later, we must drop the things that we rely on for security, those things that actually keep us from relying on God.

Here is the word of the Lord addressed to us in a postmodern, post-Christian age of technology: Blessed are they who do not see – but believe.

You’ve heard of WWJD, but how about FROG? It’s found on bumper stickers, necklaces, lapel pins, and bracelets. FROG has nothing to do with lily-pad-hopping amphibians. Instead, it stands for, “Fully Rely On God.”

And that’s what Jesus asks us to do.