Faith Is Not Certainty

Thomas has long been confused as a naysayer. He's a truth-teller whose questioning deepens our trust in God, but what lesson have we still been missing from our 1st Century spiritual forbear? 

Acts 2:14a,22-32

Psalm 16

1 Peter 1:3-9

John 20:19-31

© 2026 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on the Second Sunday of Easter at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. You may watch a video of it here.

Every year on the Second Sunday of Easter, we hear about Thomas.

And every year, he gets the same nickname: Doubting Thomas.

Which is a little unfair.

Because Thomas is not just doubting. Thomas is being honest. The others have had an experience of the Risen Christ, and he has not. They have seen the Lord, and he has not. And Thomas does not want borrowed faith. He does not want to pretend. He wants encounter.

And I think most of us understand that. But I think the real heart of this Gospel is not Thomas’s doubt. It is our confusion about faith. 

Because many of us were taught, directly or indirectly, that faith means certainty. Faith means no questions. Faith means no struggle. Faith means saying, “I believe,” with a kind of airtight confidence. But that is not faith. That is certainty.

And certainty is not the same thing as trust. Faith is not intellectual assent. Faith is not just agreeing that something is true. Faith is giving yourself over to something you cannot fully control. Faith is trust. Which means doubt is not actually the opposite of faith.

Doubt can deepen faith. Questions can deepen faith. Longing can deepen faith. Honest wrestling can deepen faith.

But certainty? Certainty can actually become a problem. Because certainty leaves no room for mystery. No room for humility. No room for God to be bigger than our understanding.

And that is why this Gospel matters so much. The disciples are in a locked room. They are afraid. Easter has happened, but they are still afraid. Resurrection has begun, but they are still hiding. And Jesus comes anyway.

He does not wait for perfect faith.
He does not wait for courage.
He does not wait for clarity.

He comes into the locked room and says, “Peace be with you.”

That is how resurrection works.

Jesus meets people not on the other side of their fear, but in the middle of it.

And then comes Thomas. He misses that first Easter evening appearance. And when he says what he needs, notice what Jesus does not do.

Jesus does not shame him.
Jesus does not cast him out.
Jesus does not say, “If you were a real disciple, you wouldn’t need that.”

Instead, a week later, Jesus comes back.

That may be one of the most hopeful things in the whole passage: Jesus comes back for Thomas. On Jesus’ own time, yes. He’s not on demand. But he comes back. And when he does, he does not offer Thomas a lecture. He offers him himself. That is the point.

Thomas is not given certainty as much as he is given presence. And that may be what we need to hear too.

Because most of us are not really looking for airtight arguments. What we are looking for, deep down, is the presence of Christ in the middle of our real lives. In the locked rooms of grief. In the locked rooms of fear. In the locked rooms of disappointment, confusion, and change.

And that is what the Church is for—not to manufacture certainty, not to reward people who never question—but to be a place where people can bring their fear, bring their questions, bring their longing, and discover that Christ still comes among his people and says, “Peace be with you.”

Then Jesus says to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” That is not a put-down. It is a blessing.

And, it is a blessing for us. Because we are the ones who have not seen in the way Thomas saw. We are the ones who live by trust. We are the ones who are asked to follow Christ without certainty, but not without grace.

And maybe that is the word for us this morning: Do not confuse certainty with faith.

Faith is more alive than certainty. More humble than certainty. More open than certainty.

Certainty wants control. 

Faith learns trust.

Certainty wants proof for everything.
Faith learns to say, “Christ is here, even now, and I will follow as best I can.”

That is resurrection faith—not the absence of questions, not the absence of fear—but trust that Christ keeps coming to us. Trust that his peace is stronger than our fear. Trust that his presence is enough to lead us forward.

And so if you find yourself today with questions, with doubts, with longing, with locked doors in your heart or mind, take heart. You are not disqualified. Remember that Jesus did not always call the qualified, Jesus qualified the called.

And, today we see that the Risen Christ still comes to us. Still speaks peace.
Still shows his wounded love. Still gathers his people. Still calls us forward. So, may we go forth proclaiming and in search of the Risen Christ. 

Amen.

FOMO Thomas

 

Are you curious enough to leave the door open? May love (not fear) be your guide.

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 150

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

 

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2022

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

FOMO—have you heard of this? Fear Of Missing Out

 

Maybe you are rolling your eyes at such a funny sounding ailment, but it is a real thing. This pervasive anxiety particularly haunts those younger generations living among us. A rock concert sounds awesome, but what if an even more awesome comedian comes to town the same night? Sure, dinner with a friend is cool, but what if another friend is throwing a party at the same time? Going to church on the Second Sunday of Easter is great, but what about brunch? 

 

All joking aside, fear can be so crippling that it paralyzes our decision-making abilities. If you think taking a walk down the cereal aisle causes mild paralysis by analysis, a younger generation raised on technology feels this whenever they are seemingly disconnected. If we polled all our generation Z members about their feelings when they are away from their phones, I imagine they would name fear as one the primary emotions and particularly a fear of missing out without this connecting device. FOMO is real, and it is not anything new. 

 

In today’s Gospel, Thomas had FOMO, but he came by it honestly! Thomas missed the Resurrected Jesus. He had a legitimate case of FOMO. If everyone here but you met Dolly Parton, wouldn’t you be upset? Now imagine it’s not Dolly Parton, but instead the Resurrected Christ! Would you not also have FOMO? And, in this sadness of missing such a profound encounter, would you not ask for proof of what your friends were telling you? 

 

Now Thomas had a track record of asking probing questions. On the night before Jesus died, the teacher assured his disciples that they knew the way to the Father’s house. Thomas wondered what everyone else was thinking, “How can we know the way?” Jesus responded with a beautiful, enigmatic challenge: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Jesus’ words harkened back to when God from the burning bush said to Moses, “I AM who I AM.” Meaning: God is presence itself. God who was with us, is with us, will always “be” with us. Jesus subtly dropped this into his response to Thomas’ question, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

 

In this exchange it was not that Thomas was doubting Jesus, he was curious, like the rest of the disciples, but he was courageous (or foolish) enough to verbalize what they could not. The same thing happened in today’s Gospel story. Thomas voiced something important, not just for those disciples, but for all of us who did not see the Risen Lord on that Easter evening. He was wondering something we wonder in our own day, “Is this fake news? Or is it real? Can I trust this?” 

 

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe,” Thomas exclaimed upon missing Jesus. Thomas was not going to give himself over to the idle tales he was hearing. He wanted to experience this for himself. We may think of this as doubting, but it was more than that. 

 

Thomas appeared unable to give himself fully over to what the others had felt in this Sunday evening communion with the Risen Christ. Unlike the other disciples, Thomas had been by himself during this Resurrection encounter. The Resurrection is something we experience not in isolation, but in communion with one another—the brave women at the tomb experienced Easter together, the disciples in the Upper Room too, and isn’t this true of us, too? Thomas, though did not get this gift, so reasonably enough he felt the pains of missing out (POMO). 

A week later, that is on another Sunday, another First Day of the Week, another Resurrection Day, today in truth, Jesus returned. This time, the disciples were not locked in fear, even if the doors were shut. Jesus showed himself to all the disciples, and to Thomas, in particular. Thomas’ response to seeing the Risen Lord demands our attention.

 

Thomas had yearned to put his hand in Jesus’ wounds, to touch the marks of these scars, but as soon as he witnessed the Risen Lord that was more than enough. This curious disciple identified who Jesus was, “My Lord and my God.” Since we hear this passage every year and since you faithful ones have showed up on the Second Sunday of Easter (kudos) you may have heard this passage so often that it has lost its provocative impact. Thomas’ words serve as the climax of the entire Good News of Jesus Christ.

 

If we rewind back to the beginning of John, we will remember that this account began with a cosmic hymn about who Jesus was. The Word who was with God, the Word who was God, the Word through whom all things came into being, this Word that the world did not accept, did not know, did not behold, this One who was the light of the world that came into the world, but was not accepted by the world, this One was Jesus. These huge claims about Jesus were made at the very beginning of the Gospel, they unfolded throughout John’s Gospel account, and here at the end of the story they point towards the great hope of this Good News. What is that hope? That someone who was curious about this Jesus person would express the truth of who he was, who he is! That someone would receive this Good News and that it would change their life!

 

Thomas exclaimed this truth and not because he put his hands in Jesus’ side, but because he beheld the Risen Christ in community. He never got his hand into the side of Jesus, nor did he touch Jesus’ wounds. Instead, Thomas recognized the truth. Jesus is “my Lord and my God.” Thomas was the one who articulated the hope of the entire Gospel account in this simple, provocative, and powerful phrase. To this day, some people even remind themselves of this paramount truth as they receive communion—taking hold of the body of Christ while saying, “My Lord and my God.”

 

The realization that Thomas had though was not simply for himself. Thomas after all is not this disciple’s real name. His true name was Judas, and no not that Judas. Like how Jesus gave Simon the nickname of Peter, he also gave this Judas the nickname of Thomas. Peter, as you may know means Rock. What does Thomas mean?

 

Thomas is a nickname, which means the Twin. Some scholars wonder if Thomas was literally a twin and perhaps, he got this nickname as a result. Others wonder if because Judas Iscariot and he shared the same name, maybe Jesus gave this Judas the name Twin to distinguish between the two. There is a more mystic understanding though. 

 

I wonder if Thomas’ twin might not be someone inside the Gospel account, but instead someone outside of it. Someone who is looking into the Good News of Christ Jesus, even someone who is hearing these words two thousand years later, in a completely different language, and halfway across the globe. I wonder if you might be Thomas’ twin. I wonder what you share in common with this disciple.

 

Thomas was fearful of missing out.

Thomas wanted to see the evidence before he believed.

Thomas was curious.

Does this sound familiar?

Thomas’ understanding that Jesus was Lord and God served as the climax of the whole Gospel—and you having this insight yourself is the whole point of this story. 

 

You are—we are the other half of this twinship. Whether you are brand new to Holy Apostles or you have been here since its founding—all of us are part of this story. We yearn to be witnesses of Resurrection in our lives. When we are not part of this community of the Risen Lord we may have FOMO, but for good reason. Thomas doubted in fearful isolation, but he believed in beloved community. He serves as a curious example for us who yearn to take hold of the Risen Christ not in our hands, but in our hearts. Our reception of Jesus as Lord and God is the climax of the good news. May we behold Jesus in beloved community, just like Thomas.

Same Sex Marriage and Cultural Wars: Disarmament Through Curiosity

"Non-Violence" is a sculpture by Carl Fredrik Reuterswärd outside the United Nations building in New York City.

Cultural wars are sticky, like a battle fought in quicksand. The end result nowadays seems to be that all combatants are pulled down from their lofty, ideological starting points to somewhere in the hateful muck. From where I work in my church office in Decatur, AL I cannot see the Morgan County Court House, but I know that no couple, same sex or otherwise, will receive a marriage license there until conflicting court issues are resolved. Perhaps for some this temporary halting of same sex marriage is a victory, elsewhere in the state where these marriages are taking place the other side claims victory. Civil unions between a couple of the same sex is the latest battle ground where those on opposing sides arm themselves to the teeth with weapons meant to prove their side right and even to seriously injure their opponents. Yet, I wonder how it is that we might not fight these battles any longer.

I could tell you about my belief in interpreting the story of our Salvation through the Incarnation, ministry, death, and Resurrection of Christ Jesus. I could tell you about my belief that the command that seems irrefutable from all the words Jesus spoke is to love God and love one’s neighbor. I could tell you about my hope that through Christ all of God’s Children no matter who they are, no matter what they have done, and no matter what they believe are in the infinite nearness of God through His Grace. And yet, if all I am doing through this is attempting to convert you to my side of the argument, if all I am doing is trying to win a debate, or if the only attempt I am making is to outwit you in a conversation, then I am slipping deeper and deeper into the mire.

What we need more than a court decision is an overhaul in how we have dialogue. It is no longer good, right, and joyful, nor is it particularly productive for us to have conversations, like we have had them in the recent past. In this old way, once I figured out you are pro-this or anti-that my entire purpose was to build a case to topple down whatever your side perpetuates. But, why? Not only is this useless, it actually appears to be eating away at the collective fabric that weaves us together. Never have we been this unhealthy, this on edge, and this combative towards one another. Maybe the problem is that we feel free to express ourselves. It could be that we are more aware of what others are saying. Perhaps it is the rise of news and social media that derives its popularity from controversy. Whatever the reason, I feel the need to work towards dismantling our systems of separation, but how?

When I served as a hospital chaplain for a summer during seminary training, I had a great supervisor. He started out as pastor, but became interested in serving as a trainer for hospital chaplains. He had a line that he used over and over again, like a patient stream slowly carving through rock layers to form a proverbial Grand Canyon. “And what was the line?” you ask. He said repeatedly, “I’m curious about that.” At first I thought he was like a child’s toy that repeats a catchphrase every time its string is pulled; however, I found that this question drove me throughout the summer to slowly disarm my defense mechanisms. By the end of the summer I too was curious.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” might be the most ridiculously mistranslated saying in the English language. Ben Jonson the British playwright originally wrote, “Care will kill a cat.” Care was translated as worry or sorrow, and somehow we switched that with curiosity. Curiosity, some will say, is dangerous. Yet, I believe it is our best hope of getting to know the other in a way that transforms us. When we live our lives as separatists or loners who are most concerned with accumulating status, wealth, or power at the expense of others we have little time or energy to wonder about someone else. And yet, if we, regardless of religion call ourselves children of God, then part of our collective hope stems from a yearning that we all may be one with God. If we share this hope to be one with God, then when we are one in God we will also be one with each other.

A classic joke about the afterlife involves St. Peter taking some new residents of Heaven through the Pearly Gates to give them a tour. As the group walks passed the Pentecostals they are vibrantly worshipping God, the Methodists are singing hymns of the Wesley brothers, and the Episcopalians are worshipping using the prayer book (and maybe imbibing an adult beverage). Then, St. Peter tells the group to be silent as they walk passed the next area. He says, “This is the room where the [Baptists/the Church of Christ members/the fill in the blank] are and they think they are the only ones up here.” Why is it that we have to believe that we are the only ones that God loves? Why is it that we fight against one another to be right? How come we cannot simply be curious about how each other sees God and what God sees in others?

The best way that we can move beyond the next cultural war is through a disarmament of our defensive behavior especially regarding our sense of knowing who is right and who is wrong. Become curious about those who are different. Wonder how others see God and the world. Make peace with not only not being right, but also not engaging in competitive conversation in the first place. Instead I challenge you to find at least one thing in common with anyone you meet. For it is when we see the connection between ourselves and others that our walls come down, and this opening is where we can truly begin to love our neighbors as ourselves.