Doubt
“Why are you frightened?” he asked. “Why are your hearts filled
with doubt? Look
at my hands. Look at my feet. You can see that it’s really me. Touch me and
make sure that I am not a ghost, because ghosts don’t have bodies, as you see
that I do.” As he spoke, he showed them his hands and
his feet. Still they stood there in disbelief, filled with joy and wonder. (Luke 24:38-41)
Woody Allen doesn’t
sleep well at night. He’s a restless soul. Fears keep the moviemaker awake. To
look at him, you'd think otherwise – his timid demeanor and gentle smile. His
hair seems to be the only ruffled part about him. But beneath the surface,
fears nibble away at him. The void overwhelms him. A strident atheist, Allen
views life as a "meaningless little flicker." No God, no purpose, no
life after this life, and, consequently, no life in this one. "I can't
really come up with a good argument to choose life over death," he admits,
"except that I'm too scared. . . . The trains all go to the same place.
They all go to the dump." So he makes films to stay distracted. He’s not
alone.
My Woody Allen
moments tend to surface, of all times, on Sunday mornings – the day I stand
before a congregation of people who are willing to exchange thirty minutes of
their time for some conviction and hope. And, most weeks I have plenty to go
around. But occasionally, I don't; times when the seeming absurdity of what I
believe hits me. I remember one Easter in particular. As I reviewed my notes, the
resurrection message felt mythic – closer to an urban legend than the gospel
truth. Angels perched on cemetery rocks; burial clothing needed, then not;
soldiers scared stiff; a was-dead, now-walking Jesus. I half expected the Mad
Hatter or the seven dwarfs to pop out of a hole at the turn of a page. The
valley of the shadow of doubt. Perhaps you know its gray terrain because maybe you’ve
been there, too.
To one degree or
another, we all venture into the valley. And at some point we all need a plan
to escape it. Today, those occasional Sunday morning sessions of
second-guessing dissipate pretty quickly thanks to a small masterpiece in the last
pages of Luke's gospel. The physician-turned-historian dedicated his last
chapter to answering one question: how does Christ respond when we doubt him?
Luke takes us to
the Upper Room in Jerusalem. It's Sunday morning following Friday's
crucifixion. Jesus' followers had gathered, not to change the world, but to
escape it; not as gospel raconteurs, but as scared rabbits. They'd buried their
hopes with the carpenter's corpse. You'd have found more courage in a chicken
coop. Fearless faith? Not here. Search the bearded faces of these men for a
glint of resolve, a hint of courage – you’ll come up empty. One look at the
bright faces of the females, however, and your heart will leap with theirs.
According to Luke they exploded into the room like the sunrise, announcing a
Jesus-sighting. “[The women] rushed back from the tomb to tell his eleven
disciples – and everyone else – what had happened. It was Mary Magdalene,
Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and several other women who told the apostles
what had happened. But the story sounded like nonsense to the men, so they
didn't believe it.” (Luke 24:9-11) Periodic doubters of Christ, take note and
take heart. The charter followers of Christ had doubts, too. But Christ refused
to leave them alone with their questions. He, as it turned out, was anything
but dead and buried.
“When he spotted
two of the disciples trudging toward a village called Emmaus, Jesus himself
came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him. He
asked them, ‘What are you discussing together as you walk along?’ They stood
still, their faces downcast.” (vv. 15-17) Apparently, for this particular assignment,
angels wouldn't do. An emissary wouldn't suffice. An army of heaven's best
soldiers wouldn't be sent. Jesus himself came to the rescue. And how did he
bolster the disciples' faith? "Jesus took them through the writings of
Moses and all the prophets, explaining from all the Scriptures the things
concerning himself." (Luke 24:27)
Well, what do
you know. Christ taught a Bible class. He led the duo through an Old Testament
survey from the writings of Moses (Genesis though Deuteronomy), into the
messages of Isaiah, Amos, and the others. He turned the Emmaus trail into a
biblical timeline. Of special import to Jesus was what the "Scriptures
said about himself," because his face watermarks more Old Testament
stories than you might imagine. Jesus is Noah, saving humanity from disaster;
Abraham, the father of a new nation; Isaac, placed on the altar by his father;
Joseph, sold for a bag of silver; Moses, calling slaves to freedom; Joshua,
pointing out the promised land. Jesus "took them through the writings of
Moses and all the prophets." Can you imagine Christ quoting Old Testament
scripture? We don’t know what he said, but we know its impact – the two
disciples felt "our hearts burning within us while he talked." (Luke
24:32)
By now the trio
had crossed northwesterly out of the rocky hills into a scented, gardened
valley of olive groves and luscious fruit trees. The seven-mile hike probably felt
more like a half-hour stroll. All too quickly fled the moments; the disciples
wanted to hear more. "By this time they were nearing Emmaus and the end of
their journey. Jesus acted as if he were going on, but they begged him, 'Stay
the night with us.' . . . As they sat down to eat, he took the bread and
blessed it. Then he broke it and gave it to them. Suddenly, their eyes were
opened, and they recognized him. And at that moment he disappeared!" (vv.
28-31) In other words, Jesus taught the Word and broke the bread, and then –
like a mist on a May morning – he was gone.
The Emmaus men
weren't far behind, however. The pair dropped the broken loaf, grabbed their broken
dreams, raced back to Jerusalem, and burst in on the apostles. They blurted out
their discovery, only to be interrupted and upstaged by Jesus himself. “And
just as they were telling about it, Jesus himself was suddenly standing there
among them. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said. But the whole group was startled and
frightened, thinking they were seeing a ghost! ‘Why are you frightened?’ he
asked. ‘Why are your hearts filled with doubt?’” (vv. 36-38)
Don't hurry too
quickly past Christ's causal connection between fright and doubt. Unanswered
qualms make for quivering disciples. No wonder Christ makes our hesitations his
highest concern. "’Look at my hands. Look at my feet. You can see that
it's really me. Touch me and make sure that I am not a ghost, because ghosts
don't have bodies, as you see that I do.’ As he spoke, he showed them his hands
and his feet. Still they stood there in disbelief, filled with joy and wonder.
Then he asked them, ‘Do you have anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece
of broiled fish, and he ate it as they watched. Then he said, ‘When I was with
you before, I told you that everything written about me in the law of Moses and
the prophets and in the Psalms must be fulfilled.’ Then he opened their minds
to understand the Scriptures.” (vv. 36-45)
The disciples
didn't know whether to kneel and worship, or to turn tail and run. Someone
decided the moment was too good to be true and called Jesus a ghost. Christ
could have taken offense. After all, he'd passed through hell itself to save
them, and they couldn't differentiate between him and Casper's cousin? But ever
patient, as he is with doubters, Jesus extended first one hand, then the other.
Then an invitation: "Touch me." He asked for food, and between bites
of broiled fish, Jesus initiated his second Bible lesson of the day.
"'Everything I told you while I was with you comes to this: All the things
written about me in the Law of Moses, in the Prophets, and in the Psalms have
to be fulfilled.' He went on to open their understanding of the Word of God."
(Luke 24:44-45)
Detect a pattern
here? Jesus spots two fellows lumbering toward Emmaus, each looking as if he’d just
buried his best friend. Christ either catches up or beams down to them, and
takes them through a “Know Your Bible” course. Next thing you know, a meal is
eaten, their hearts are warmed, and their eyes are opened. Jesus pays a visit
to the cowardly lions of the Upper Room. Not a Superman-in-the-sky flyover,
mind you. But a face-to-face, put-your-hand-in-my-wound visit. A meal is
served, the Bible is taught, the disciples find courage, and we find two
practical answers to the critical question: “What would Christ have us do with
our doubts?” His answer? Touch my body and ponder my story.
We still can,
you know. We can still touch the body of Christ. We'd love to touch his
physical wounds and feel the flesh of the Nazarene. Yet when we brush up
against the church, we do just that. "The church is his body; it is made
full and complete by Christ, who fills all things everywhere with himself."
(Eph. 1:23) Questions can make hermits out of us, driving us into hiding. Yet a
cave has no answers. Christ distributes courage through community; he
dissipates doubts through fellowship. He never deposits all knowledge in one
person, but distributes pieces of the jigsaw puzzle to many. When we interlock our
understanding with each other, and we share our discoveries . . . When we mix,
mingle, confess, and pray, Christ speaks. And on this point, the adhesiveness
of the disciples is instructive.
They stuck
together. Even with ransacked hopes, they clustered in conversant community.
They kept "going over all these things that had happened." (Luke
24:14) Isn't that a picture of the church? Sharing notes, exchanging ideas,
mulling over possibilities, lifting spirits? And as they did, Jesus showed up
to teach them, proving that "when two or three of you are together because
of me, you can be sure that I'll be there." (Matt. 18:20) And when he
speaks, he shares his story. God's go-to therapy for doubters is his own Word.
"Before you trust, you have to listen. But unless Christ's Word is
preached, there's nothing to listen to." (Rom. 10:17)
Could it be that
simple? Could the chasm between doubt and faith be spanned with Scripture and
fellowship? Try it. The next time the shadows come, immerse yourself in the
ancient stories of Moses, the prayers of David, the testimonies of the Gospels,
and the epistles of Paul. Join with other seekers, and make daily walks to
Emmaus. And if a kind stranger joins you on the road with wise teaching . . .
consider inviting him over for dinner.
Grace,
Randy
