“My Lord and my God!” A Reflection for the Feast of St Thomas, Apostle
John 20:24–29
Poor Thomas. He’s often remembered by that nickname: “Doubting Thomas.” And yet, when I read this passage, I see someone who was not faithless but deeply honest. Someone who loved Jesus enough to be heartbroken. Someone who longed not only for answers, but for truth he could touch.
Thomas wasn’t with the others when Jesus first appeared after the resurrection. We’re not told why. Maybe he needed space to grieve. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he just didn’t have it in him to gather with others that day. Grief and fear can do that to us. It pulls us inward. It makes us want to disappear. And when he hears the others say, “We have seen the Lord,” I imagine his pain flaring up again. They got the comfort he longed for. He got silence.
So he says, plainly, maybe even angrily, “Unless I see… unless I touch… I will not believe.”
And Jesus, full of grace, meets him there. A week later. Not with shame, not with scolding. Just presence. Just open hands. “Put your finger here… Reach out your hand… Do not doubt but believe.”
This moment is one of such tenderness. It tells us that our questions do not frighten God. Our wrestling is not unwelcome. In fact, Jesus comes close enough to let Thomas touch his wounds. That, for me, is the key. He doesn’t just say, “Here I am, believe.” He says, “Touch the place where I was hurt. Come close. Don’t stay behind your fear.”
And then Thomas gives one of the most powerful confessions of faith in the whole Gospel: “My Lord and my God!” This isn’t weak faith. This is hard won faith. Faith that has walked through the valley and come out holding on.
So what does this mean for us today?
It means there is room in the life of faith for questions. There is room for those who’ve been disappointed or wounded. It means that if you’ve ever felt like you were the one who missed the moment, the one left out, or the one who needs a bit more reassurance, you’re in good company.
It reminds us that Jesus meets us in our need, not just in our certainty. And that wounds, his and ours, are not barriers to faith, but places where resurrection enters in.
Sometimes our own spiritual journey feels like this. We want to believe, but we’re holding the ashes of something we loved. We show up in prayer, in worship, in community, but there’s still that ache, that question. And yet, Thomas reminds us that even those moments are part of the path. And if we stay in the story long enough, Jesus will come to us too. Maybe not in the way we expect. But in a way that we can recognise. A way that invites us to say, from the depth of our being: “My Lord and my God!”
For our church, for our parish, for our Franciscan calling, this is good news. It tells us that faith isn’t about pretending to have it all together. It’s about showing up with open hands and honest hearts. It’s about walking alongside others who are struggling, not rushing to fix them, but making space for their wounds to breathe. And it’s about believing that Christ is present even in our uncertainty, still offering peace, still breathing life.
May we be a community that honours the Thomases among us, the ones who ask deep questions, who wrestle honestly and who love Jesus enough to say, “I need to see for myself.” And may we be a people who carry the presence of Christ gently, offering peace, not pressure; grace, not guilt.
Let us pray:
Risen Christ,
You came to Thomas in his questioning and met him with mercy.
Come to us in our moments of doubt, and help us to see you clearly.
Open our hands and our hearts to your presence.
Teach us to be a people of gentle faith
faith that makes space for others,
faith that is honest and growing,
faith that leads us always to say,
“My Lord and my God!”
Amen.
Pause here for a moment of silence. Breathe. Let it settle.
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