Easter Supplement

‘My Lord and my God’—The Apostle Thomas tells his story

By John F. Fink

My original name was Judas, but I’m never called that. Usually, I’m called Thomas, which comes from the Aramaic word for “twin,” or “Didymus,” the Greek word for “twin.”

The reason I’m not called Judas is probably obvious because of the notoriety of Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Our Lord. Besides, there was another Apostle who was also called Judas.

Unfortunately, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m also referred to as “doubting Thomas,” and I’ll get to that later. In fact, the reason I’m writing this is at least partially to give my side of the story.

Yes, I am one of the Apostles that Jesus named. (I almost said that I’m proud to be an Apostle, but I’m trying to learn humility.) Frankly, when Jesus included me among the 12 it took me by surprise. I had been a friend of Simon, now called Peter, as well as his brother, Andrew, and also James and John, but I never expected to be named an Apostle.

It was Peter who first told me about Jesus and the wonders he was performing. So I became one of his disciples, determined to learn as much as possible from this holy man. I began to follow him around Galilee as he preached about the kingdom of God.

Honestly, I was amazed at some of the miracles he performed. I wouldn’t have believed them if I hadn’t seen them for myself. I guess that has always been one of my traits. I simply have to see something for myself in order to believe it.

In time, I became one of Jesus’ most enthusiastic followers. Just as an example of what I mean, there was the time when Lazarus died. Lazarus was a great friend of Jesus. He lived in Bethany, only a couple of miles from Jerusalem, with his sisters, Martha and Mary.

When Lazarus died in Bethany, we happened to be a couple of days’ journey away on the eastern side of the Jordan River. We had fled there from Jerusalem after some of the Jewish leaders tried to stone Jesus for blasphemy, and we knew that some of them wanted to kill him.

But when Jesus got the word that Lazarus had died, he was determined to return. He was planning to raise him from the dead, but we didn’t know that at the time. Nevertheless, when Jesus said that we were going to return to Judea and some of the other Apostles protested, I spoke up and said, “Let us also go to die with him.”

Well, Jesus didn’t die on that trip, but it wasn’t long after that time that he was arrested, suffered a horrible Passion, was crucified and died. I’m quite sure that you already know all about that.

And what was I doing during that time? I’m sorry to have to admit that I wasn’t as courageous as I thought. Far from going to die with him, I went into hiding. Jesus was arrested in the garden at Gethsemane, where we frequently slept at night when we were in Jerusalem, and I and the other Apostles just scattered.

We reassembled back in the house where we had celebrated the Passover earlier on the night that Jesus was arrested. (We did it then according to the Essene’s calendar. The Temple calendar had Passover beginning the evening that Jesus was crucified.)

I’m afraid we were a sorry bunch of guys—frightened out of our wits, ashamed that we had deserted Jesus when he needed us, and with no idea what we should do next.

The man we had followed so closely was now dead. His mother as well as Mary Magdalene and other women were at the tomb where he was buried. They did what they could on that Friday night before Passover began, and left him there during Passover itself.

On Sunday morning, I decided that I’d better start making plans to resume the life I had left in Galilee when I started to follow Jesus. I was gone from the house all day so I completely missed what was happening. When I got back late that evening, the others told me the preposterous story that Jesus was no longer dead—that he had been raised from the dead.

First, they told me that Mary Magdalene and other women had found the tomb empty, and that didn’t particularly surprise me. Perhaps the Roman soldiers had removed the body for some reason. But then they said that Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene near the tomb.

Not only that, but two disciples reported that he had also appeared to them as they were on the road to Emmaus. That made it even more unbelievable. How could Jesus be both at the tomb and on the road to Emmaus? Yes, I definitely was skeptical.

Then the Apostles insisted that Jesus had appeared to them while I was gone and had come right through the locked doors. They were jubilant, but I simply could not believe what they were telling me. I knew for sure that Jesus had died—a Roman soldier had even pierced his side with a spear—and no one was going to convince me that he was alive again.

So I said, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail-marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

I told you that I’ve always had to see for myself, and this story just seemed ridiculous. I was convinced that all the other Apostles were hallucinating.

For a week, it seemed that I was right. Nothing else happened and we were talking about returning to Galilee. Then it happened. Jesus came right into the room where we were. He knew what I’d said to the Apostles because he told me to put my finger in his hands and my hand into his side.

“And do not be unbelieving, but believe,” he said.

Did I believe then? Absolutely! I could see him right there. I fell to my knees and said, “My Lord and my God!”

This couldn’t be just a man. How could a man conquer death? Jesus was God!

Jesus recognized the skepticism I had before I saw him.

He said to me, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

That message was meant for you who are reading this account of the Resurrection.

That wasn’t the only time I saw the risen Lord. Later, seven of us—including Peter, James and John—were fishing on the Sea of Galilee when Jesus appeared on the shore. He told us to cast our nets on the right side of the boat. After we did, we caught 153 large fish. After we dragged them ashore, we had breakfast with Jesus.

Now you know why I’m called “doubting Thomas.” Yes, I did doubt at first. Rising from the dead just seemed impossible—and it is for anyone except God, which is why I expressed my faith that Jesus is my Lord and my God. I’ve devoted the rest of my life here in India to teaching the people about Jesus.

(Author’s note: Regarding the statement in the first sentence that Thomas’s original name was Judas, this is stated in the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas, an ancient Syriac version of the Gospel of John, and in a footnote in the New American Bible for John 11:16.)

(John F. Fink is editor emeritus of The Criterion.) †