Sermon: St Thomas the Apostle

Preacher:

Paul Thompson

Date:

Sunday 12th April 2026

Venue:

Guildford Cathedral

Service:

9.45 Cathedral Eucharist

I am going to ask that we are creative in our imagination as we journey this morning with St Thomas the Apostle… We are going to

exercise spiritually …. I promise you no need to set yourself squat targets, bench presses or even sit ups!!! So, let us begin with our Ignatian spiritual exercising …… And if you wish you can close your eyes momentarily and try not to fall asleep…... or you can try to see all in your mind’s eye.

I want us to imagine that the cathedral is dimly lit, as if night has fallen without any warning. Shadows stretch across the pews.

The air feels heavy, uncertain. Then, slowly, light begins to return. A figure stands before us. A man’s voice he speaks. “My name is Thomas.”

We glance at one another. Thomas? Which Thomas?

He answers the question before we can ask it.

“Yes—Thomas. Doubting Thomas, because that is what I am called. Thomas the Twin. The one who said he would go with Jesus even to death. The one who needed to see and touch before he would believe that Jesus was alive.”

And now we listen.

He tells us about his fear. He and the other disciples had run when the soldiers came. They fled from the danger.

They fled from the cross.

They fled, ashamed and terrified, back to the upper room where they had shared their last meal with Jesus.

They locked the doors. They hid.

Then morning came. Mary bursts in with astonishing news—an open tomb, an empty grave.

Peter and John run to see for themselves. The rest stayed behind, still locked in fear.

Thomas stayed too—at first. But the room for him became unbearable. The memories were suffocating. The fear was choking him. The shame pressed in on every side.

Finally, he had to leave. Even if the streets were dangerous, he needed air. He needed space. But when he returned, everything had changed.

The room that had been heavy with dread now vibrated with excitement.

The others were speaking all at once: “We’ve seen him!” Seen him. Jesus. Alive.

Thomas describes the moment as a blow to the chest.

The wind knocked out of him. Reality shattered. And then came his human anger.

Why them and not him?
Why had Jesus come while he was not there?
Why had no one asked him to wait?
Why was he left out?

 

And then a terrible thought flared in his heart:
How dare Jesus come when I wasn’t here?

His refusal to believe did not come from stubbornness alone. It rose from a perceived wounded love.

From grief. From fear of hoping again.

If he opened his heart and it proved false, it would surely destroy him.

So, he makes his demands clear and unequivocal…

“Unless I see. Unless I touch. I will not believe.”

And it was a long week.

A week of isolation.
A week of wrestling thoughts.
A week of locked doors—not only wooden doors, but the locked doors of the heart.

Then, without warning, Jesus comes again.

The doors still shut. The fear still lingered.

But suddenly, there He was. And the absolute beauty is that Jesus did not scold Thomas.

He did not shame him. He did not turn away. Instead, he turned toward him. Jesus offered exactly what Thomas had demanded:
“Touch my hands. See my side.”

But something had already shifted. In that gaze, Thomas knew. Before his fingers reached the wounds, his heart had already opened…My Lord and my God,” he cried.

And in that confession, doubt dissolved—not because Thomas had won an argument, but because he had encountered absolute divine love.

And now St Thomas turns back to us to tell his story.

“I believed because I saw,” he says. “But I tell you my story so that you may believe without seeing.”

He speaks not to glorify doubt, but to show us God’s grace.

The Lord and God he encountered is never going to be frightened by any of our questions. Not offended by any anger. Not shocked by any fears or doubts that we may have.

The risen Christ appears into locked rooms—into locked minds and locked hearts—and breathes His peace to us all. “Peace be with you.”

As Thomas finishes, we sense another presence among us—light yet powerful, gentle yet transforming. The air itself seems alive.

The light grows brighter, not harsh but healing. It fills every dark corner.

And a voice—clear, steady, full of mercy—speaks again:

“Peace be with you.” Yes YOU!!!

The light softens. A gentle breeze brushes our faces. And we understand.

Blessed are we who have not seen and yet have come to believe.

Blessed are we who trust through our tears.
Blessed are we who hope through anger.
Blessed are we who open our locked doors just a little—and let God in.

For in that breath is forgiveness. In that breath is belonging.
In that breath is new life.

And in that life, we too can profess “My Lord and my God.”

Thank you, St Thomas

Amen.