“Now Thomas…” (John 20:24).

Who was Thomas? The synoptics only name him as one of the twelve. John alone gives us any picture of him, and apart from this instance, we have only two other episodes where we see him in action. It was Thomas, who when Jesus purposed to return to Judea, resolved, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (John 11:16). In the upper room, when Jesus was telling His disciples that He was going away, it was Thomas who said, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (John 14:5). Thomas has been dubbed “doubting Thomas.” Why not “loyal” or “devoted Thomas” or “honest Thomas.” How refreshing is it to meet a humble soul who can say, “we do not know”?
Thomas, for me, conjures up the image of C.S. Lewis’ gardener, Fred Paxford. Fred was the inspiration for one of the most beloved characters in Narnia, Puddleglum. Douglas Gresham, Lewis’ stepson, described Paxford as a “cheerful pessimist.” When Jill asked Puddleglum if he would help them find Prince Rilian, he answers:
“Well, I don’t know that you’d call it help. I don’t know that anyone can exactly help. It stands to reason we’re not likely to get very far on a journey to the North, not at this time of the year, with the winter coming on soon and all. And an early winter too, by the look of things. But you mustn’t let that make you downhearted. Very likely, what with enemies, and mountains, and rivers to cross, and losing our way, and next to nothing to eat, and sore feet, we’ll hardly notice the weather. And if we don’t get far enough to do any good, we may get far enough not to get back in a hurry.”
There’s a blunt honesty and a fierce loyalty intertwined with an infuriating pessimism that paradoxically makes Puddleglum all the more likable. All this to say that if you cannot appreciate Thomas, warts and all, you simply can’t appreciate Thomas, and thus you’ll miss the point of this text. Yet, it is true that his unbelief is striking, but only because it strikes us. Referring to him as “doubting Thomas” is unfair only if we make his doubt absolute, immutable, and unique. Thomas doubted, but it was nothing like that. We know Thomas.
We can doubt with Thomas, but can we confess with Him? Why do we not call him “confessing Thomas”? His doubts are common. His confession is exceptional. Why identify Thomas by what he shares with all humanity? Do you ever introduce someone saying, “This is my friend with two ears”? Perhaps this is why we do so: the doubts were all Thomas’; the faith was a gift. It is not human discovery, but divine grace that leads to his confession.
Perhaps then it is best that we refer to him as “doubting Thomas.” The problem is failing to see the doubting Thomas in all of us. Thomas was not exceptional in his doubt. You are meant to see his unbelief as common and to long to make such a vibrant confession. By these recorded words, you are meant to receive the same grace Thomas did (John 20:30–31).
There are many confessions throughout this gospel that speak to Jesus’ divinity, but none so baldly as Thomas’. “My Lord and my God!” This confession takes us back to the beginning of this gospel. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. …And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:1, 14). The Son, remaining what He was, became what He was not. Thomas looks at the incarnate and resurrected Christ and exclaims, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus has stooped, but He has not lessened. He put on the clothes of a servant, but He remains King. He put on the clothes of humanity, but without sacrificing His divinity. Thomas who doubted, by grace, confesses Jesus as divine.






