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.

Find Opportunities To Trust God

Happy 15th birthday to my niece who features prominently in today's sermon.

 

2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
Psalm 48
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-13

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

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.

 

Listening for God’s call in our lives requires patience and perseverance. I bet you know what I mean. Sometimes it feels like we strain and strain and strain to understand what God is saying to us. Perhaps that is why we hear in the Psalms of God’s still, small voice—and not God’s booming, obvious speech. Or why Elijah met God not in storms or earthquakes, but in shear silence. But, even when we hear God’s call, even in the stillness, in the silence we may discover a host of obstacles standing between where we are and where God is calling us to be. These challenges can be giant and unfamiliar, or they may confront us when we are eating lunch with our family.

 

One day I went out to lunch with my mom and sister right before an important meeting with the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, who was the 10^th Bishop of Alabama. The meeting was about my discernment for priestly ordination. After driving down from Sewanee where I was working, my family and I ate lunch at Jim ’N’ Nick’s Barbecue in Southside Birmingham. My niece who turns 15 today, was only a few weeks old at the time, and she came to lunch also.

 

For most of the meal we talked about discernment and being a parent and life. And, for most of lunch my niece slept peaceably in her car seat. Finally, as we finished eating and my meeting with the bishop drew nearer, my niece awoke. My sister brought her over to my side of the booth, so that I could hold her for a few moments. I rocked my niece for just a few seconds before feeling a warm sensation—no, not in my heart, but on my arm. At that precise moment a look of terror crossed my sister’s face and then my mother’s. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but suffice it to say the word “blowout!” was used. 

 

Quickly I rushed to the restroom to assess the damage and clean up. In the mirror I could tell quite easily that I could not go meet a bishop looking like this. As I began to panic, I remembered that I had an extra set of clothes in the car, and so I rushed outside to get them. When I arrived at my car another look of terror arose and crossed my own face. I observed in horror a traffic boot attached to my wheel preventing me from going anywhere, and in particular to my meeting with the bishop. In my nervousness before lunch I did not notice that I was parking in a private lot. 

 

Right then, in soiled clothing, with a wheel lock on my car, and proverbial butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I began to question whether I ought to be pursuing ordained ministry at all. Was this a sign? Did God not want me to keep going? Was this a test? What was God saying? You’ll have to keep listening to find out what happened, but what about you?

 

What happens to you when obstacles befall your journey? Do you stop? Do you think it’s a sign from God to turn around and go home? What do you do?

 

This morning, we heard a passage from a letter Paul wrote to Christians in Corinth. If you don’t know much about that church that’s okay. They were a conflict-ridden lot. They could not wait on each other to partake in communion. They fell prey to infighting, lust, and idol worship. They were to put it simply, a dysfunctional church—one that others in the area probably spoke about in hushed tones. 

 

While the church in Corinth is not identical to the Church (capital C) today, it is not entirely different from it either. What happens when Holy Apostles or the Church faces difficulties, dysfunction, and drama? Well, what happened in Corinth? Paul, perhaps at this point exhausted from all the Corinthian shenanigans took to writing of his own weakness. Huh? Not strength?

 

As he wrote of weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities what he urged his siblings in Christ to do was not to let those obstacles overwhelm them. Certainly on their own these things would stop them. Sure, if it was just about them pushing onward as individuals they would not make it. But, those weaknesses were the very place where Christ would strengthen them through grace. I know, that sounds odd, but it’s true.

 

Paul was right. In those places where he had been afflicted by a proverbial thorn, he might not be able to be strong on his own. But, with God’s help, those places of vulnerability become the place where God would show great strength. This was true not just for Paul, nor only for that the Early Church, but also for us.

 

We often get told things like, “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” “Keep your head down and work hard,” “Put in enough honest days’ work and you will achieve the American dream.” Sure, we are to be honest and hardworking. But, as odd as this may sound trusting only in ourselves, thinking we must make it on our own flies completely in the face of what Paul said. And, what’s more it runs opposed to the story of God’s love for us in Holy Scripture. 

 

When the Israelites fled their Egyptian captivity Moses told the people, “The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.” When the people needed a champion to beat Goliath, the Lord provided David who then reigned for forty years as king. And, in today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus sent out his disciples without food, extra clothing, or money. Why? Because following Jesus and trusting in God is not about making it on our own—proving that we can overcome all the obstacles on our path. 

 

In this lesson from Mark’s Gospel account, God not only gave provision, but God also gave an opportunity to bring healing and wholeness to the places previously untouched by God’s love! The story of God’s love for us in Scripture reminds us of amazing grace that is not achieved, but freely given to us most abundantly through Christ. So, what about getting through obstacles like dirty diapers, traffic boots, or scary meetings with the bishop? 

 

Well, on that day almost fifteen years ago, I learned something very valuable. Those challenges that arose, that now are quite laughable, were opportunities for me to trust God. Eventually, I walked into the bishop’s office in clean clothes and on time. As you may have guessed, I made it through that meeting and one day did become a priest—I know surprise ending! But, what about when challenges arise in your life or in our communal life? How do we approach the obstacles ahead? How do we deal with our own physical, emotional, spiritual, or mental dilemmas? How do we as a church stay calm and healthy as we navigate the ups and downs of the life? 

 

In the face of challenges, we always have more than one way to respond. One way we might respond is being like the townspeople in today’s Gospel lesson. They relied upon the way they had always seen things. They had put Jesus in a box. To them he was always a carpenter, brother, and son—not God come to earth. Instead of knowing the transforming power of God’s repentance, forgiveness, and love they let the obstacle of familiarity get in the way. They missed being part of God’s transforming love because they couldn’t see beyond what they already knew. The disciples though saw things differently.

 

Now the disciples were not paragons of belief—remember they doubted Jesus on stormy waters in our reading from a couple weeks ago. But, they had just seen Jairus and an unnamed woman trust in God, and they heard Jesus give them authority to go out bringing healing and repentance in his name. So, they went. They trusted. Even without food, extra clothes, or money, they believed! The challenges they faced were opportunities to trust.

 

When we face difficulties ahead, how will we respond? Will we let a soiled outfit, a traffic boot, or the fear of something important cloud our vision? Or, will we see the obstacles on our path as opportunities to trust God? God invites us to see these challenges like Paul did. When we feel weak, that is the moment when God shows strength. Our perplexing moments are opportunities to trust God. Will we see God’s strength in our weakness? Whenever we are weak, God is strong. God’s grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness! This life is an opportunity to trust in God’s grace! What will you trust? What do you believe?

Jesus Goes With Us

Sometimes when gathering with friends something amazing happens. In the midst of eating a meal, or grabbing a cup of coffee, or taking a drive I keep getting the distinct feeling that I do not want it to end. You may have had a similar experience at points throughout your life. Maybe it was gathering with family around the table at Thanksgiving, Christmas, or Mothers’ Day. Perhaps, it was going to Java Jaay to meet a buddy. It could have even been driving for thirty minutes with your kids/grandkids/parents, but sometimes there arises a longing to make time stand absolutely still.

When I was in college I yearned for these timeless moments, like long dinners with friends or late night “bull sessions” at the local truck stop. Without thinking about it I would work really hard all afternoon to make sure that I completed most of my work, so that I could savor evening conversations. One night, though I had a different sort of evening engagement.

A staff member of the university invited a group of young male leaders to have dinner together to talk about issues around modern masculinity. The meal was lovely and the conversation stimulating. The staff person asked us to talk about serious matters like sexual assault and more light-hearted topics like low attendance at sporting events. Like a jet airliner the conversation took a little time to make it down the runway, but fairly soon we had taken off and were soaring through the various questions. As it happened I was sitting with some men with whom I was already good friends, and so our conversing came so naturally that the topics all flowed together seamlessly. Pretty soon I had that familiar feeling that I just did not want the moment to end. Then, something strange happened.

Right at the moment when our conversation appeared to peak, the leader made everyone stop talking—except it was not to ask another question or pose a new direction of dialogue. The middle-aged man spoke something that I will probably never forget. He said to the group of eager male leaders, “What a great conversation that we are having! I bet this is one of the best discussions you’ve had. Can you believe how great this is going?” With this statement, the feeling of time standing still ended. With this statement the airliner that was our conversation came crashing down to an abrupt emergency landing. With this statement not one of the tables was able to keep the conversation going.

I have joked with my friends about that evening in the years since then. Any time we have a good, lengthy conversation and there is a momentary pause someone seems to interject a remark about how the conversation is going so well. There are many ways to ruin good discourse. Pointing out how good it is going seems to be high upon that list. Although, it is not alone. Sometimes what may hurt an interchange of free flowing thoughts, ideas, and feelings, hopes and dreams and even deep, dark secrets, what may hurt the most is realizing that the conversation is seemingly about to end.

The disciples of Jesus were upset; their hearts were troubled and not for nothing. They knew whether consciously or not that something was about to happen to their teacher, their leader, their beloved friend, and they did not want it to happen. Lazarus’ had been raised not too much earlier, but death still hung in the air. In an attempt to calm down his friends and followers Jesus described in beautiful detail what was to happen next.

Jesus said, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.” We know these words so well ourselves. If you have been to a burial service at St. John’s it may very well have featured this astonishing promise as the center piece, the Good News. Even when the disciples get the sense that the conversation may be ending, Jesus expresses to them that he goes ahead to prepare a place, so that their time together will never truly cease.

Sometimes when I am in the midst of a marvelous moment with free flowing conversation and a deepening sense of connection with my fellow children of God I remember a bit from Matthew’s Gospel account that the Prayer of John Chrysostom borrowed. This offering from Scripture and our Daily Prayer services reminds us that when two or three are gathered together Jesus will be in our midst. What a profound promise that we are given by that statement! I do not just hope that to be true, all those marvelous times of fellowship have made me realize its truth; however, this is not simply something that we know in moments of happiness. Rather, even in the midst of big transitions, doubt, fear, and loss Jesus comes to be with us when we gather together.

As the rest of this Gospel story for today played out Thomas and Philip expressed doubt, ignorance, and obliviousness. And yet, Jesus showed the way, the truth, and the life; he expressed that even the smallest belief—not accent with the mind, but hope in the heart—yes, even the smallest belief in him or even his works opened up the possibility for the greatness of God to flow through that person. Still, as we sit here like trouble-hearted disciples of old we may feel overwhelmed by a transition that lies ahead: a graduation, a procedure, a newborn child, a time of letting go, moving up a grade, or finally retiring. In these liminal moments we may not fully feel connected with God. Perhaps the conversation has grown cold. Maybe, we’ve lost the way. Or even, we were having a good conversation, but stopping to think about it has halted the speaking altogether. How do we keep going?

Focusing on doubt, fear, and loss is often easier than continuing onward. The real quagmire of broken-heartedness ensnares us all when we stare the awful realities of this world in the face—not only the problems that pop up on front pages or cell phone screens, but also the dilemmas of daily life and the supposed solutions that this world often provides. We cannot earn our way out, buy our way out, or think our way out of life’s difficulties; we are still the disciples who stand before Jesus with our hearts troubled. How we continue onward, even in light of the Resurrection, sometimes seems impossible. So what do we do? How do we keep going?

Even if we are careful and cautious and gracious to ourselves, quite often we fall into the trap of thinking that salvation is up to us. That we must be the way, the truth, and the life. We think that all our doubts must be overcome and that our prayers must be perfect and that if our prayers do not get answered in the way that we think they ought to be, then we have somehow done it wrong. If there was ever a conversation worth stopping it would be this one that we have with ourselves. It is not up to us to provide eternal salvation to ourselves.

Jesus says I go to prepare a place for you and not only that I come again to take you to that place, so that we might dwell together with him in that holy meal, that grand celebration, that festive conversation that never ceases. We get stuck on trying to figure it all out for ourselves, instead of trusting that God came, comes, and will continue to come to us. We busy ourselves worrying about how to solve all the problems of the world that we forget that Jesus is the one that goes ahead of us to lead us into the fullness of God. Jesus is the one who comes back to bring us to God. Jesus is the one who leads us into transformed lives!

Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. He goes with us always. Through transitions big and small, doubts miniscule and grandiose, and losses tiny and enormous Jesus goes with us. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God. Believe also in Jesus.

Trust in God

Often we will gloss over large swaths of human history because the complex details of various movements require too much attention to the minutia. Invariably this appears to be the case when we talk about how Christianity came to be the imperial religion of the Roman Empire under Constantine. Once he came to power Christianity swept the globe without another religion existing until modern day, right? Not exactly.

The Fourth Century was a free-for-all. Perhaps a wrestling cage match might be the most appropriate analogy for that time period. On one side there were Arians who believed that Jesus the Christ was created by the Father and subordinate to him. On another side were the Athanasians who believed that the Christ was completely God in the same way that the Father is God. At the same time that these two sides were going at it there were also other beliefs namely paganism that captivated some. Throughout the 300s these sides struggled against one another creating a complex view of religion.

Into this conflict a man named Gregory was born in the town of Nazianzus. That is the only time I will refer to that place because honestly it is too difficult for this novice Greek scholar to pronounce. Various relatives of Constantine reigned after he died when Gregory was only six years old. Some were Arians, while others were Athanasians, and then there was Julian the Apostate who was a pagan. Gregory grew up in this pluralistic world, but his father who was an Athansian bishop sent him off to school in Athens with another famous student, Basil the Great. Well, he was not yet the great.

After school Basil went on to become the Archbishop of Caesarea, while Gregory went home to help out his father fight off some Arians. Basil soon appointed his friend to a post as bishop of Sasima, which sat in an unhealthy community that was viciously fighting over whether the Christ was God or subordinate to God. Gregory hated the post and thought Sasima was not even part of civilization and he even felt like he was flung to the dogs like a bone. This ministry tested everything about Gregory including his friendship with Basil. Eventually Gregory had a major breakdown and retired from his ministry.

Sometimes we think that the stories of our saints, those men and women throughout the ages who have clearly shown to us the love and grace of God by living out the Gospel of Christ in their lives, sometimes we believe that they are infallible. At times we mistakenly believe that saints are not really people, or they are not people like me or you, but that is simply not the case. Gregory perfectly exemplifies the imperfection of a spiritual journey, a walk with Christ, the struggle that is following after Jesus. Some will say that God does not give you more than you can handle, but that is not the case. Sometimes God does, and you may end up like Gregory who needed some time and space to recover.

After the death of an Arian emperor named Valens, Gregory was asked to go to Constantinople, which was far more the center of the world in those days than Rome was. For thirty years the place had been an Arian stronghold. Perhaps Gregory was chosen because if he failed it would not have been that big of a deal. He had nothing to lose. It was already an Arian city, he had already failed, and so in that moment Gregory instead of relying upon his own strength trusted in God.

Gregory preached a series of five sermons on the Trinity and the divine nature of Christ. Many people came to hear him preach, and the city was converted to the Athanasian point of view. Gregory soon became bishop of Constantinople and helped to confirm at the Council of Constantinople what had been started at the Council of Nicea. His greatest contribution came only after he failed. Soon after the Council of Constantinople being sick of the ecclesiastical life, he retired.

We may think that being a saint means being perfect; however Gregory proves that wrong. Sometimes we must fail and fail mightily. Only then do we recognize that we must trust in God fully.

Trust: The Wisdom of Infants

“I thank you Father for you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants” Luke 10:21. (This sermon is based on Luke 10:17-24.)

I spent last week with two two-year-olds. They are not infants, but this message from Jesus is not lost on me after attempting to corral my twin nephews for a week at Disney World. They did not have a care in the world, and yet, everything they needed was provided for them.

My family and I were busily attempting to plan out the best way to spend each day, where we would eat, what rides we would go on, and when we would attend what shows. The twins and even their older sister were able to avoid all of the minutiae of plotting everything out, and somehow enjoy everything even more than I did (if that is possible). How did this happen? They trusted!

We are missing the beginning of the story in today’s good news. Jesus sent out 70 (or 72) of his disciples like lambs to the slaughter without purse, without bag, and without any spare underwear. Try doing that at Disney World! And yet, not only did everything go well. The disciples (all seventy of them) not only came back without blemish, but they also came back having casted out demons and not even needing an extra tunic to accomplish it.

The thought of not going even on vacation with an overnight bag and all my things makes me go a little crazy. I can make even simple trips way too complicated! As I observe my tendency to always be prepared, I notice that I like to be in control. Putting myself in control means so often that I miss opportunities to trust God and to trust my neighbors. We all have probably heard it said, “If you want to hear God laugh tell God your plans.” Somehow though I, and maybe you too, still manage to try and plan out everything according to my own will.

The story of sending out the pairs of disciples provides the perfect opening for us control freaks to wonder what it might look like not to rely so much upon what we think is best, but instead to expect that the Holy Spirit and our neighbors will provide care for us. My nephews did not worry about what they would eat or what they would drink or what they would wear. They believed in those around them to provide. What if we did like the disciples and like infants?

Sometimes we hear sensationalist stories of gunfights, riots, murders, and disasters on the news. These reports create a fear-filled perception of the world. We may think that it is best to stay in our own little bubble. Maybe this is true. On some level the newscasters base their accounts in reality. Bad things do in fact happen in our world. Jesus even acknowledged as much when he sent out his disciples in Matthew’s account of this story, “See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” And yet, what happens when we no longer rely upon those around us?

Trusting God and trusting our neighbor cannot just happen. We must remember this ability to believe in others with which we were born. Sometimes though this is difficult. Perhaps what we need is the opportunity to build up this “trust muscle” within us like we any other part of ourselves. One does not hop off a couch and run a marathon, nor does one hop on stage and perform on Broadway, and no one makes a career out of something one has never studied. The same is true of our ability to trust. So what are we to do?

The Church at its best can be that place to try out trusting others. Churches are not perfect, for they are made up of imperfect people; however, my hope remains that we can practice trusting in one another here at St. John’s. When Jesus sent out the seventy they stayed in strangers’ homes, they ate what was provided, they healed others, and all of this showed their ability to let go of the details, the planning, and the control. Instead, they trusted in God and their fellow human. Let us too practice believing in one another. Be like infants who do not worry, but trust!