Help, Lord, my unbelief

Of the Twelve Apostles, I identify most with Thomas. He was the one who was out of the house when Jesus, resurrected, first appeared to the others. Maybe Thomas wasn’t with them because they sent him out for whatever passed for pizza in those days, or maybe he decided to abandon them because things seemed have gone so awfully awry. For whatever reason, he wasn’t there.

I probably wouldn’t have been in the room either, by dumb luck or design. I always miss the play of the game because I’ve chosen that moment to go to the bathroom. And, while I like to think I’d be loyal to my friends no matter what the circumstances, if soldiers killed my leader, my friends were cowering behind locked doors and I had the chance to escape with my skin, I’d be terribly tempted to seize that chance.

Unfortunately, I’m like Thomas in another way, as well: If I returned and the other apostles told me Jesus – whom I’d seen crucified, dead and buried – had appeared to them, I’d be a doubter, too. I’d need to see him with my own eyes. Maybe I wouldn’t be bold enough to put my finger in his wounds, but I’d sure be tempted.

That skepticism has served me well in my chosen career as a reporter and editor. There’s an old journalism adage: "If your mother says she loves you, check it out." That pretty much sums up my outlook on life.

It’s not such a good approach to my faith. To quote the preeminent source on the matter, "Blessed are they who have not seen, and yet have believed."

I want to believe. I really do. After all, I’m a cradle Catholic. Both sets of grandparents set wonderful examples of living the faith. One of my strongest memories of my maternal grandparents’ visits is passing their closed door at bedtime and hearing them recite the rosary together. My mother continues to demonstrate Catholic stewardship: regularly volunteering at her parish, attending Mass several days a week, donating to various charities.

But my whole life a little voice in the back of my head has insisted, "Prove it."

That demand hasn’t been silenced even now that I’m in daily contact with people who devote themselves to living Christ’s message.

I’m wondering, though, if God isn’t (in his usual whisper-in-the-wind way) doing exactly what I’m so audaciously demanding of him.

On Sunday, as hundreds of people streamed out of the Cathedral of the Madeleine after the Rite of Election and the Call to Continuing Conversion of Baptized Candidates, I confided to Deacon Lynn Johnson that I’m not sure I’d choose the challenges of Catholicism if I hadn’t been raised in the faith.

Like me, Deacon Lynn admires our catechumens and candidates; particularly, he said, because they are willing to come to God in today’s world, which is so hostile to religion.

Perhaps these men and women who of their own free will are choosing the faith that I find so difficult are the proof that I’ve been seeking.

There may be other evidence out there, as well. I’ve asked the Lord to open my eyes this Lent as I travel throughout the diocese. I will look for the ways that he is revealing himself to and through his Church. I’m not among the blessed who believe without seeing, but perhaps by Easter I, too, will be able to say without doubt, "My Lord and my God."

Out with Thomas is a new column for the "Intermountain Catholic."