Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Slouched against the wall, jaw belligerently set, Thomas watched the ruckus with a jaundiced eye. They were all talking. Every. Single. One of them. Had been from the moment they burst through the door. Every mouth moving at top speed. Every voice box tuned to the highest decibel level. He wanted to quiet them, sort out their stories. Would have done just that, in fact, if he believed there was any truth in them. 

He didn’t. Believe, that is. Thomas didn’t believe their tale was true. He’d been there. He’d seen it. He’d watched through a blur of tears as Jesus was crucified. The scene was so demented and depraved he wanted to close his eyes, to turn away, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horrifying scene. He’d witnessed every moment. Torture. Crucifixion. Taunting. Death. Chest tight with emotion and pain, he’d watched them haul away the lifeless body of his Lord. He’d seen it all with his own eyes. He knew it was true. But these newly reported events he hadn’t seen. He hadn’t gone to the tomb to pay his respects. And Jesus hadn’t appeared to Thomas. So how, exactly, was he supposed to believe something he hadn’t seen?

Alone when the rest of the disciples arrived, Thomas was immediately overwhelmed by the chatter and retelling of earlier events. According to the men he’d spent the last three years of his life with, Jesus had risen from the dead and visited them. Not just them, either. He’d spoken with Mary when she went to the tomb. As unbelievable as it sounded, there was no reason to believe they lied. There was no indication they were mistaken. The accounts did actually sound like something Jesus would do. But his heart. His heart couldn’t take another beating. It couldn’t stand another disappointment. It couldn’t handle the dashing of denied hope. Thomas simply couldn’t allow himself to believe in something he couldn’t see. 

So, as the clamor around him continued at riot pitch, as one by one his spiritual brothers gave their accounts of Jesus’ visit, Thomas held himself aloof, apart. Although their stories rang true and their conviction was strong, he hadn’t seen it himself. Wouldn’t believe it until he did. He said just that, “I will not believe unless I see His nail-scarred hands and spear-riven side, unless I touch those wounds with my own hands.” (John 20:25)

If Thomas was expecting the door to fly open and Jesus to stride through at his declaration, he was mightily disappointed. The sky didn’t split open revealing the Savior enthroned in splendor. Lightning didn’t flash across the sky, delivering a risen Christ to Thomas’ side. No whirlwind swept through, blowing off the thatched roof of their hiding place and dropping a previously crucified, now-risen Jesus into their midst. In fact, it would be eight days of unbelief before Thomas would find how treacherously low his faith was. (John 20:26)

Eight days of listening to the other disciples retell their tale. Eight days of wishing he hadn’t missed it. Eight days of wondering why Jesus hadn’t come to him too. Eight days of the evil one hammering at his soul, chipping away at his confidence in God, throwing cold water on the last vestiges of his depleted faith. Eight days of harping questions, destructive insinuations, and nagging doubts echoing straight from the pit of hell. One hundred ninety-two hours of relentless fighting against the ruler of the darkness of this world. (Ephesians 6:12) 

The badgering would have been hellacious. Didn’t Jesus love him? Is that why he had been excluded from that visit? Had he done something, committed some unknown sin, been shut out because he wasn’t good enough, brave enough, faithful enough? Had he not done enough to merit a visit? He’d been so confused by Jesus’ declaration that He was going away, so worried at the concept of life without Jesus physically beside him, so desperately in need of the assurance Jesus gave him, “I am the way.” Perhaps he’d been too needy. Perhaps he’d been deemed a liability. Perhaps he was determined to be less important. Maybe he was no longer useful or necessary to the mission of the Kingdom. Perhaps his run, wonderful as it had been, was over. Surely one of these was the reason Jesus had failed to visit Thomas, too. (John 14:1-6)

Inflamed by the tricks of the evil one, Thomas’ human insecurities warred with this faith and all he knew to be true about Jesus and God. At the end of his rope, spiritually and mentally exhausted, Thomas regretted the conversation his wavering heart realized must soon be coming. A conversation about how their roads were splitting. Their numbers weren’t even anymore. They only needed ten to go out in groups of two. He was superfluous to requirement. His inability to accept their account of Jesus’ resurrection would surely sign his discipleship pink slip. 

Solemnly gathered together for what might be the last time, the disciples sat shuttered away from the certain coming persecution. They had decisions to make. Futures to decide. Ministries to plan. As they spoke quietly among themselves, attempting to make sense of their next steps, Jesus appeared. Silently. No doors creaked open. No window shutters slid. No voice from Heaven announced His presence. He simply appeared. And, although His greeting of peace was meant for all of them, His mission was for only one. Thomas. 

Locking loving eyes directly onto Thomas’ surprised ones, Jesus held out his hand, inviting Thomas not just to look, but to touch. Wounds. Ridges of puckered, healed flesh. Unmistakable nail scars. The sight of His marred hands was likely enough, but Jesus wasn’t done. Turning to the side, He offered more evidence. Another wound. A bigger scar. The mark where a spear had sliced through skin and flesh and muscle. Undeniable proof. The account Thomas heard was correct. Jesus had died. He knew it. Had seen it. But He hadn’t stayed dead. The proof stood not just in an empty tomb or secondhand accounts. It was right in front of him. Jesus had risen. Just as He said. (John 20:19-27; Matthew 28:6)

Sin was defeated. Eternal death was no longer the only option. Heaven had triumphed over all the forces of Hell. Victory over the nagging, haranguing, browbeating voice of the enemy was possible, because Jesus’ resurrection means the evil one has forever been defeated! For Thomas then. For you and me now. His ugly, demeaning words are meaningless. His harping accusations are empty. His carefully aimed arrows of doubt and unbelief, questions and insinuations, guilt and fear have been rendered eternally pointless. Jesus’ resurrection means that we are covered by the prayers of our Advocate, continually interceding on our behalf. It means everything Jesus did in person is available to us through the Holy Spirit. It means our faith-meager, wilted, defective though it may be-is not misplaced. Jesus rose to give us life. Eternal life in the end, yes, but also abundant spiritual life in the interim. Just like He said. (John 10:10; I John 2:1; Romans 8:34; Hebrews 7:25) 

In a world where seeing is believing, Christ calls us to believe in what we cannot, have not seen. Like the people in Chronicles, God calls us to stand still, leave our battles to Him, and believe He will fight for us. Like the widow who, leaving her doubts behind, gave the last of her wheat and oil in a loaf to Elijah, God calls us to give Him all we have so He can give us abundantly above what we could ever ask, think, or dream. Like the man by the pool of Bethesda, ill for 38 years, hoping, wishing, dreaming of getting well, God calls us to faithful obedience even if it seems like a long shot. Like the royal official who came to Jesus begging Him to travel to another city and heal his boy, Jesus asks us to place our faith in His promises and believe whether our eyes see the outcome or not. Whether it happens now, eight days from now, or even eight years from now. Jesus is searching for those who believe, even if they haven’t seen. Those who wholeheartedly believe what He promised He will also perform. Just as He said. (Numbers 23:19; Romans 4:21; II Chronicles 20; I Kings 17:10-16; Ephesians 3:20; John 5:1-9; John 4:46-54)

Sometimes I wonder why Thomas didn’t readily believe. He’d read about, heard, and seen Jesus keep His word so many times. He’d experienced it firsthand. Yet still his traitorous heart held him back. I like to think I would have done so much better had I been there. I want to believe being present by Jesus’ side would have annihilated any doubts and given me limitless faith. I so want to say that my trust in the character of Jesus, in what I knew of Him, in what I had seen Him do would give me the courage to believe He would do what He said! Of course I would! 

Except I don’t. You probably don’t either. So often we find ourselves strung in the tension between hope and faith, unable (or unwilling) to let go and free-fall into trust in God. In spite of all the answers to prayer we’ve read, heard, and seen, our traitorous hearts still hold us back. Waiting. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for proof. Waiting for something tangible, something visible in which to lodge our meager faith. And in the waiting, the wondering, the evil one strikes. He comes against our minds and souls in a vicious attempt to deter our faith, derail our trust, and deride God’s character. He’ll win if we aren’t careful. 

So be careful. Remind yourself of what you know. Remember that the resurrection means sure and certain death to the evil one. He absolutely cannot win. His death warrant was signed at Calvary. It is over for him. Remember that the God who raised Jesus from the dead, who visited the disciples in general, but Thomas, entrenched in doubt and fear and worry, specifically, is hearing and working and moving. So. Even when you don’t see anything happening, when you can’t feel anything softening or moving, when the prayers are many but the answers are few, do not stop praying. Do not stop believing. God is faithful. He has promised. He will answer. Just as He said He would. (Jeremiah 29:12; Luke 11:9; Psalm 38:15; Jeremiah 33:3)