Could it Be That I Have Doubted?

A few weeks ago, I listened to the gospel story about Thomas doubting that Jesus had risen and how he came to believe only after actually placing his finger in the wound; after touching the wound. And I began to question why it was that Jesus returned with fresh wounds; why he didn’t resurrect without wounds or at least with his wounds scarred over? How was it that Thomas could touch his wound; could place his finger in the wound? What was the significance of having these open wounds visible, tangible, touchable—inextricably bound together with the resurrection? And what was the significance of having to actually physically touch the wound to experience the resurrection; to believe?

And how can one believe when one has not seen or not touched the wound?

From this reflection arose the following thoughts. I share these thoughts as a way of reflecting upon my spiritual journey, my movement toward trying to see connection; attempting to integrate and come to some understanding of how three distinct parts of my life as a pastoral minister might interrelate—my life in inner city Chicago; in a barrio in Venezuela; and in an urban hospital near Minneapolis. It is an attempt to reflect upon my own doubts and experiences of the resurrection.

            Could it be that I have doubted? I do not know.

            But I do know that I have touched the wound,
                  As an elderly woman sits paralyzed, wheelchair-bound in her one-room
apartment, as mice scatter past my feet and roaches climb the walls. 

            And I have seen the resurrection
                  As her neighbors cook her food on their hot plates and ensure that her heat is paid,
her electricity on, and her letters written. 

            Could it be that I have doubted? I do not know.              

            But I have touched the wound
                  As a sixteen-year-old girl groans and moans and covers an infant casket with her 
body, her six-month old baby dead; too poor to pay the medical bills, too remote to 
find transportation to the hospital. 

            And I have seen the resurrection
                  As family gather, as neighbors and friends and children surround the casket to
sing the child to heaven; as all walk, arm-in-arm, a death march up the hill to the chapel. 

            Could it be that I have doubted? I do not know.             

            But I have placed my finger in the wound
                  As a young mother lies dying from a brain tumor; hair laid out and combed
through, her body warm to touch, the family asking for prayers, “she is afraid to let her baby
go...” 

            And I have witnessed the resurrection
                  As her family surround her, praying for her death, her journey; allowing her to go 
forth, “We will love and care for your little Emily, she will be okay, we promise. You may go, 
we love you so much, we will miss you…” 

            Could it be that I have doubted? I do not know.

            Could it be that I doubted... that the wound is bound to the resurrection            
                                                that the resurrection is bound to the wound 
                                                        that the wound and the resurrection are inextricably 
                                                             bound together? 
            (Could it be that I have doubted that there is hope in the midst of the wounds of life?) 

             And could it be that I have doubted that one must touch the wound to experience the 
resurrection; that one must go through the wound to see the hope? I do not know. 

            But I do know one thing 
                      that on my journey...  I have touched the wound
                                             and I have seen the resurrection
                                             and I believe.

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