Centered on Belief That Touches the Wounds
A Day in the Life of Jesus
There are moments in the Gospel narratives when I find myself standing quietly beside one disciple, sensing that his struggle mirrors my own. John 20:24–31 places us squarely in such a moment, inviting us to linger with Thomas—not as a cautionary tale, but as a deeply human witness to the risen Christ. Thomas, called Didymus, “the Twin,” was not present when Jesus first appeared to the gathered disciples. While the others were filled with astonished joy, Thomas was left with only their testimony. When they repeated the words, “We have seen the Lord,” his response was not dismissive, but guarded: “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”
What strikes me is not Thomas’s doubt, but his honesty. He does not pretend to have faith he does not yet possess. He names what his heart requires. The Greek word used here for “believe,” pisteuō (πιστεύω), is not mere intellectual assent; it implies trust, reliance, and personal commitment. Thomas is not asking for spectacle. He is asking for assurance that the crucified Jesus—the one whose wounds he knew so well—is truly alive. His faith needs continuity between the suffering Christ and the risen Lord. In that sense, Thomas is closer to the heart of the gospel than we often admit. Christianity does not proclaim a vague spiritual survival, but a bodily resurrection marked by scars that still speak.
Eight days later, the disciples are again gathered behind locked doors. The atmosphere feels familiar—fear still lingers, uncertainty still hums beneath the surface. And then, without announcement or explanation, Jesus stands among them and says, “Peace be with you.” The risen Christ does not scold Thomas for missing the first appearance. He does not shame him for his questions. Instead, Jesus goes directly to the place of Thomas’s doubt. “Put your finger here, and see my hands. Put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not be faithless, but believing.” The contrast Jesus draws is not between doubt and belief, but between unbelief and trust. He meets Thomas precisely where he is.
The scene unfolds with reverent intensity. Thomas does not record touching the wounds. The invitation itself is enough. Confronted with the living Christ who knows his words, his fears, and his demands, Thomas responds with the most explicit confession of Jesus’ divinity found in the Gospels: “My Lord and my God!” John’s Gospel has been moving steadily toward this moment. What Thomas declares in worship, John has been proclaiming since the opening verse: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Doubt, when carried honestly into the presence of Jesus, does not diminish faith; it clarifies it.
This is why I am grateful for Thomas. He gives language to a reality many believers experience but are reluctant to confess. Some people need to doubt before they believe—not as an act of rebellion, but as part of the journey toward deeper trust. The danger is not doubt itself, but where it leads. When doubt provokes questions, and questions are pursued with humility, faith often emerges stronger and more grounded. New Testament scholar D. A. Carson notes that Thomas’s story reminds us that “faith that is based on evidence is not inferior faith; it is faith that is honestly won.” The harm comes when doubt hardens into refusal, when questions become excuses, and when skepticism turns into a settled posture of resistance.
Jesus’ closing words widen the horizon beyond Thomas: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” That blessing reaches across generations and lands squarely on us. We have not stood in that locked room. We have not seen the wounds with our eyes. And yet, John reminds us that his Gospel was written “so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” The signs recorded are sufficient—not because they answer every question, but because they reveal the One who does.
As I walk through this passage, I am reminded that Jesus does not fear our questions. He does not withdraw from us when faith feels fragile. The risen Christ still stands among locked hearts and fearful minds, offering peace and inviting trust. Doubt, when surrendered to Him, can become the doorway to deeper discipleship. The goal is not to remain in uncertainty, but to allow uncertainty to drive us toward Christ rather than away from Him. In that movement, belief becomes not blind optimism, but a settled confidence in the living Lord who still bears the marks of love.
May you find courage today to bring your questions honestly before Jesus. May you discover that the One who conquered death is patient with your process and generous with His grace. And may your confession, like Thomas’s, rise from encounter rather than pressure—“My Lord and my God.”
For further reflection on doubt and faith in the resurrection, see this article from Christianity Today:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2013/april-web-only/doubting-thomas-and-faith.html
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