“But Some Doubted…”

The Living Tradition of Orthodox Christianity teaches us that nothing is fortuitous, nothing occurs by chance. God is present and acting at every moment and through all things, in order to guide human life and the whole of creation toward fulfillment of His will. This means that He takes upon Himself our struggles and pain, just as He bestows upon us our hope and our joy. In some mysterious way, He also shares in our doubt.

In the biblical accounts, profound meaning is often expressed by small, easily overlooked details. One of the most striking of those details appears at the close of St Matthew’s Gospel. In obedience to Christ’s command, the disciples leave Jerusalem and come to an unnamed mountain in Galilee. The evangelist continues: “And when they saw Him,” the risen Christ, “they worshipped Him. But some doubted.”

The other Gospels also bear witness to the doubt experienced by some of those who encountered either the empty tomb or the risen Lord. St Mark’s Gospel seems originally to have ended with 16:8. Here the women disciples flee from the tomb with “trembling and astonishment…; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.’’ The tradition contained in Mark’s longer ending (16:14) shows Jesus upbraiding the other disciples “for their unbelief and hardness of heart,” because they refused to believe the women’s testimony once it was delivered to them.

In his resurrection narrative, St Luke attempts to soften the disciples’ reaction with a qualification (24:41): “and while they still disbelieved for joy….” Their disbelief, nevertheless, was real.

Finally, the evangelist John focuses the disciples’ doubt in the person of Thomas (20:27). It was his unbelief that prompted Jesus to show His hands and side as proof of His bodily resurrection. In response, Thomas uttered the Scriptures’ most sublime confession: “My Lord and my God!” Yet later on the disciples continued to doubt, as shown by their reaction to Jesus’ appearance by the Sea of Tiberius (21:12).

In his homily on the end of Matthew’s Gospel, St John Chrysostom makes a significant point regarding the evangelist’s candid admission that some of the disciples doubted, even in the presence of the risen Lord. To Chrysostom, this demonstrates the truthfulness of the tradition, and the willingness on the part of each evangelist to speak frankly of the disciples’ weaknesses and shortcomings.¹

Holy Pascha, celebration of Christ’s victory over death by the power and glory of His resurrection, most often elicits among Orthodox Christians an unparalleled outpouring of thanksgiving and joy. This response comes to its fullest expression in the Holy Week services, culminating with the midnight paschal office, followed by the Divine Liturgy. Pascha is above all a feast of light and joy, where we embrace each other in mutual forgiveness and reconciliation. It offers a glorious foretaste of the Great Feast, the Everlasting Banquet to come.

Yet with all its brightness and celebration of victory, some doubted then, and some continue to do so even now.

When I look at the poverty of my faith and the paucity of works of love that flow from it, I wonder just how I came to believe in the first place. All it takes is an unpleasant phone call, or too many demands on my time, or simply getting out of the wrong side of bed in the morning, and I find myself in a mild depression. In that state I can’t pray—no, the truth is, I simply don’t want to pray. I just want to be left alone: by family, by friends, by people in the Church, and maybe above all, by God. Then doubt sets in, not as a rational rejection of the object of my belief, but as an escape from myself and my bad mood, my inability to deal adequately with myself or others in a sinful and fallen world. Doubt in those times is a convenience.

There are other moments, though, when doubt takes on a more insidious form. A news report of thousands killed in an earthquake, or of terrorist bombings that wantonly destroy and maim innocent people, or of priests arrested for child molestation: these things sometimes call up a frustrated and angry question, “Why, God?” “Why do you allow it?” As if I could somehow fathom the mystery of God’s workings and will, even if they were revealed to me.

But of all these, the worst is when I allow the faith I have been given by God’s grace to be shaken by “thoughts,” those demonic voices the Fathers knew so well, that whisper into my ear: “Is it really true?” “Isn’t it just a story, neatly constructed, wrapped and delivered by those who want to believe, and therefore want us to believe, yet whose assertions are less fact than wishful thinking?”

In those most awful moments, it feels as though the substance of my faith is slipping away, that my mind is betraying me by offering some rationalization I can’t logically reject. Then life itself seems to be ebbing away, and with it peace, longing, and any sense of hope. Those are the worst times, and they have the power to destroy.

The thread that up to now has somehow bound me to a modicum of faith, despite myself, is the memory of a few holy people and a few holy things I have been blessed to know and experience. The face, wrinkled and radiant, of an old Russian woman who suffered through the Revolution, lost her family in their own holocaust, and spent decades in exile. An icon that wept tears of myrrh and filled the sacred space of the little parish church with the perfume of heaven. A Slavonic Liturgy sung with such power and grace that the presence of myriad angels and saints became palpable. A gesture of wholly disinterested, sacrificial love that exhausted the giver yet brought new life to the one who received. A little child who, many years ago, brought me to tears with the simple question, “Daddy, does God love me as much as he loves you?”

These are the things that work miracles against my doubt. Like the faith I claim, and so often take for granted, they are pure gift, wholly unmerited.

When I feel God and life and truth slipping away into a fog of doubt, there remains that perilously thin thread of memory: the memory of grace, of goodness and of love. Then, because God is infinitely faithful, and because countless souls before me have known and lived in the truth and joy of Christ’s resurrection, I find myself able to make the simple confessional prayer we are all invited to make: “Lord, I believe; help me in my unbelief!”

1. Hom. 90.2. See Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, New Testament Ib, (Mt 14-28), ed. M. Simonetti (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2002), 312f. ↩︎