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.

Still Wounded, Still Risen

 

The strangeness of Easter Evening gives me hope that even with all our scars God is still resurrecting us.

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 118:14-29

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on the Second Sunday of Easter at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles, Hoover, AL. A video of the message may be found here. 

 

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

 

In today’s Gospel lesson, it’s the evening of the very first Easter day, and the disciples are hiding behind locked doors. They’ve heard the rumors from Mary. Some have seen the empty tomb. But they’re not shouting alleluias or organizing a celebratory, Paschal potluck just yet.

 

They are afraid. The world remains dangerous. Jesus may be risen, but Rome is still in charge. The pain is fresh. The wounds of crucifixion aren’t just his—they are theirs as well.

 

And then, Jesus shows up. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t scold. He doesn’t wait for them to muster up more faith or get it together.

 

He just… comes. Through locked doors. Through fear. Through confusion. And what does he say? 

 

“Peace be with you.” We love to exchange the peace of Christ at Holy Apostles—it’s long, luxurious, and extensive enough to greet lots of neighbors, but this peace of Christ from today’s Gospel account is on another level of magnitude. 

 

Soon after sharing peace, Jesus does something even stranger. And, if we weren’t so used to hearing this story, every year on the Second Sunday of Easter, this detail would startle us: Jesus shows them his hands and his side. He doesn’t hide the wounds. He doesn’t erase the evidence. He leads with his scars.

 

It’s the wounded Jesus who brings peace. It’s the scarred Savior who breathes new life. And I wonder—if this is what resurrection looks like for Jesus, might it look this way for us too?

 

Because here’s the truth we often miss in our pastel-hued, chocolate-covered, alleluia-infused Easter celebrations: Resurrection doesn’t mean pretending the pain never happened. It simply means that the pain does NOT get the final word.

 

We get another glimpse of this in our reading from Revelation, where from the Island of Patmos, John writes to seven struggling churches. You may recall, John is not writing from a mountaintop retreat, he’s having an often-misinterpreted heavenly vision while being banished for his beliefs. He’s writing in exile, as he endures isolation on this isle, all because he believed in Christ. And yet, from these mystical margins, he gives us this breathtaking proclamation from God:

 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega… who is and who was and who is to come.”

 

In other words:
God was not just in the beginning.
God is not just waiting until the end.
God is right here in the middle with us.

 

Right here in the mess. In the wounds. In the doubts. In the uncertain future.

 

Right here in the lives of people like Thomas, who need to touch the pain in order to believe the promise.

 

Right here in communities like ours, who are trying to figure out what it means to be resurrection people in a Good Friday world. Which may lead us to wonder, where does faith meet practice? Because being a resurrection person doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine or turning away from grief, fear, or burnout. 

 

In the world of behavioral health, there’s a concept called post-traumatic growth. It’s the idea that while trauma can shake us, it also can open us. That we don’t just bounce back—we bounce forward. With deeper empathy. With clearer priorities. With renewed purpose.

 

Now, this doesn’t happen instantly, and it is in no way guaranteed. But when people reflect, stay connected in community, and let themselves be transformed—not by the trauma itself, but by their response to it—growth becomes possible. As strange as it sounds, our woundings have the power to bless us with new gifts, skills, and perspectives. 

 

Sounds a lot like Easter, doesn’t it?

 

Jesus didn’t rise with a brand-new body. He rose with wounds still visible. And yet, something in him—and in those around him—had changed. We, too, are invited to be people of growth. Not by avoiding our pain, but by abiding in the One who still shows up in the middle of it.

 

The question for us, my beloved, Holy Apostles, is: where do we go from here? Or perhaps, where do we grow from here?

 

Easter is not a one-day celebration. It’s a 50 day season—and more than that, it’s a way of life.

 

But it’s a strange way of life. Because it asks us to trust a God who still bears wounds. The Resurrection invites us to grow—even when we’re afraid. It calls us to serve—even when we feel unqualified. It beckons us to believe—not in certainty, but in God’s presence, for the One who was and is to come… is with us now.

 

So maybe our job this Easter season isn’t to have the answers. Maybe our job is to breathe deeply of the Spirit Jesus gives us. To be honest about our wounds and the wounds of the world. To show up behind locked doors and whisper peace. To walk with each other into a future we can’t see but believe is held by God.

 

Because, friends, Christ is still wounded… but he is also still risen. And so are we.

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.

FOMO Thomas

 

FOMO is nothing new, as evidenced by our yearly reading of Thomas' missing the Risen Christ.

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 an even cooler 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 Millennials and generation Z members about their feelings when they are away from their phones or tablets, I imagine they would name fear as one of the primary emotions and particularly a fear of missing out without these connecting devices. 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 hearken 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 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? 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. As Brad reminded us on Easter Day, the Resurrection is something we experience not in isolation, but in communion with one another. So, Thomas spent an entire week in community with the others, and remarkably Jesus showed up.

A week later, that is on another Sunday, another First Day of the Week, another Resurrection Day, 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 begins 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. These huge claims about who Jesus was were made at the very beginning of the Gospel, they unfold throughout John’s telling, 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!

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? Does this sound like you?

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. "These are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name."

You are—we are the other half of this twinship. Whether you are being baptized this morning, like Rowan or you are being welcomed as a new member, like so many wonderful folks during our New Member Recognition; whether you are brand new to All Saints or you have been here your whole life—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 is an inquisitive example for us—we 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 did. Amen.