Thomas, Romero, and the Importance of Doubt

Today’s Gospel tells the story of Thomas Didymus, Thomas the Twin, but we call him by another name…”Doubting Thomas.” Thomas didn’t find belief in the resurrection easy. What does it mean to believe in the resurrection? Belief is the crux of this story. “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe, says Jesus.” And the Gospel writer tells us, “these things are written that you may believe.” What does it mean to believe in the resurrection?

Now, I know this room is true believers. After all, it is the Sunday AFTER Easter. And you’re HERE, at Church…again. We jokingly call this “low Sunday.” The crowds from last week are gone. That’s okay. We’re glad you are here. The Church needs some true believers. But, if you’re not quite a true believer, if someone you love is not quite there, I want to stand with Thomas and say, doubt is also important. Madeleine L’Engle, the Episcopalian and author “A Wrinkle in Time,” was once asked by a little girl if she believed in Jesus without any doubts at all. L’Engle replied, “I believe, with LOTS of doubts.” You see, I think we all need doubt. Faith without doubt is certainty, and certainty isn’t faith.

I’m not certain about much in our tradition. I have to be honest. I think we are a culture that is used to the scientific method and to hard facts. We like to be certain. We like definite answers. Faith isn’t certainty. Faith is trickier. Faith is less about our heads, and more about our guts. Faith needs doubt, because faith is a balancing act. We walk the tightrope holding a big balancing pole. On one end of the pole is blessed assurance, and on the other is doubt. If we have too much of either, we fall of the rope, but you need some doubt, and some assurance to make the balance of faith work. So, if you have doubts about the resurrection, you’re in good company. I have my doubts too. For me, faith in the resurrection has become less intellectual and more visceral in recent years.

I want to tell you a story resurrection. This story is also a story of pilgrimage. The week before Holy Week 2010 I was in El Salvador. I walked with fellow seminarians and some college students through the hot dusty streets of the Salvadoran capital. We were marching to commemorate the 30th anniversary of the Martyrdom of Archbishop Oscar Romero. Romero was chosen as archbishop among El Salvador’s bishops in 1977 at a time of great conflict for the church. Rome thought he was a quiet bookworm who wouldn’t make trouble.

Soon after Romero became archbishop, a close friend was killed. Rutilio Grande was a Jesuit priest who was ministering with poor farmers, campesinos, seeking freedom from poverty. When Grande was killed, Romero was outraged. He began demanding that the military and the government “cease the repression!” Romero preached on the radio, and stood with the poor. He challenged the status quo, especially the violence used to supress free speech. Just three years after being named archbishop, Romero was assassinated.

Romero understood he was risking his life for his beliefs. Because he had faith in Christ’s resurrection, the archbishop believed death wasn’t the end of the story. That didn’t mean he wasn’t scared. The threats had been coming for months. Romero lived on the grounds of a cancer hospital run by a group of nuns. He had turned down the traditional archbishop’s residence and moved into the sacristy behind their chapel. The nuns wanted the bishop to live somewhere a little more fitting, so they built him a little three room house, and asked the cancer patients to bring him to his new home. The sisters knew Romero wouldn’t refuse a gift from the patients.

You can still visit his little house, it is a shrine now to Romero. The house sits under a mango tree at the hospital, and sometimes at night, ripe mangos fall on the roof. When this happened, the nuns often found the archbishop sleeping back in the sacristy, scared that the mangos might bombs thrown onto his roof. Romero was scared. He had doubts. But Romero also had faith. Before he died Romero said famously, “If they kill me, I will resurrect in the Salvadoran people.” He had doubts, but he also had faith.

As the sun set that March 24th, our group processed with a crowd of thousands that made its way through the streets of San Salvador. We were headed to the Cathedral where Romero is buried. As we walked, we passed countless fried chicken places, pizza huts, and relief organization headquarters. El Salvador still struggles with poverty, and an imbalance of wealth. Groups of activists for the poor joined with the religious pilgrims, seminarians, monks and nuns, all walking together. On signs carried by the marchers, and on their t-shirts, one slogan stood out more than the others: Romero Vive! Romero lives.

Later that week, still in El Salvador, I heard a story from a Jesuit theologian about the Easter after Romero died. The scholar priest told of preaching in a congregation that Easter Sunday in 1980. He asked his congregation same question I began with this morning, “What does it mean to believe in the resurrection?” A tiny Salvadoran woman stood up. She said that she had always believed in the resurrection, because she was a Christian. People told her she HAD to believe in the resurrection, so she said, “okay.” Lately though, she said she felt she began to know what resurrection means.

She went on: when Archbishop Romero died, she felt very sad. He had been her voice, her hope, she said. She felt that she had an advocate in Romero. So she was devastated. But in the few weeks since his death, she felt something new. She felt that Romero was alive again, that he was giving her power. She felt that she could stand up for herself. She could claim her own voice, instead of relying on him to speak for her. The woman said that she knew what the apostles must have felt like, as they came to believe in the resurrection. They took up the work of Jesus, and he was with them to give them power.

I began this sermon with a question, and my writing teachers said you should never ask a question without providing an answer. What does faith in the resurrection mean? I’m not sure I have a complete answer. When I’m asked about faith, I often return to that story about Madeleine L’engle, who said, “I believe with lots of doubts.” Madeleine “I believe with lots of doubts, and I base my life on that belief.” I’m not sure any of us will ever know the full answer, but, like Thomas, I can tell you what I have seen.

With Thomas, we can point to what we see. I see faith in the resurrection when an old Salvadoran woman raises her hand during a sermon. I see faith in the resurrection looks when public servants head to work each day to educate our kids and keep our streets safe. I see faith in the resurrecion when I walk with young people protesting in the streets, claiming their voices. I see faith in the resurrection looks when I join a bunch of true believers who show up for church on the Sunday AFTER Easter. Embrace the doubts. Keep the faith. Keep looking for the signs of resurrection. Just like Thomas, you’ll see them. Amen.

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