His name was Thomas — he was known as the doubting disciple, as the one who didn’t believe. Perhaps it was just one rash remark that ruined his reputation — his reckless resolution that he would not believe unless he saw. But perhaps Thomas knew something deeper than his doubt so loudly announced. 

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It’s evening when the disciples gather together after Jesus’ death and resurrection — all except Thomas. Golden hues sink below the horizon dividing dawn from dusk, day from darkness. Anxiety plays with their hearts — they’re shut up, hidden away in the upper room for fear of men. Into this atmosphere, Jesus appears. He lifts them up, and commissions them to go. To go and share the good news, spread the saving story. So they do. They go and testify that they have seen Him. They take the good news to those who haven’t encountered Him yet — specifically to him who has not yet seen — Thomas. Yet Thomas stoutly refuses to trust the validity of his friends’ encounter with the risen Lord. He refuses to believe in the resurrection until he has seen evidence of the resurrection.

And this is the error that so many people get hung up on — his unbelief. They stop here in the story and all that’s taken away is a lesson against unbelief. This story is known for his failure to believe. But perhaps Thomas knew something deeper than what his doubt portrayed. Perhaps though he failed in faith, he understood something else as vitally important. 

Perhaps Thomas knew that it was not enough to simply believe the encounter of another. He knew he must encounter Jesus for himself. He knew he had to see the scars. And if there’s one thing Thomas had, it was deliberate determination—unwavering persistence in his desire to see for himself the glory, the character of His Lord, written in His hands, feet, and side.

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So many of us are content believing in the experience of someone else. Perhaps we are brought to Jesus by the testimony of another, yet unfortunately, this is where many of us stop. For a time, it will satisfy and heal. But unless we make it our own, it will die. So many of us call ourselves Christians, and yet we  live our lives without ever seeing the scars for ourselves — the astounding story of our Father’s love that captivates and redeems even the most scarred and bruised souls. Perhaps we haven’t reached out and felt the scars, haven’t truly known the heart behind those scars. Blindly, we fumble through the dark, our faith failing. We’ve come so far. Maybe we even believed, flattering ourselves that we were better than the doubting disciple of old. Yet a belief in the encounter of someone else simply is not enough. We must meet Jesus for ourselves.

Perhaps all our lives we’ve believed in Him, but never truly known Him.  

Have you seen the scars? Have you reached out your hand and traced the permanent outline of Love? Yes, the cross is talked about so often; it’s the story every born-and-raised Christian knows. Yet could it be that something so crucial has become cliché to the average Christian? Could it be that we find the cross doesn’t satisfy like it should? Our hearts bleed for love and yet somehow, we forget how His heart bled for us because of infinite Love. We forget the scars and the significance behind the scars.

Or perhaps, we’ve never truly known. We forget only His blood can give us life and cure our deep soul anemia — the lack of letting His blood flow through our wearied veins. Perhaps in our pride, we’ve refused Him His highest honor and robbed Him of glory by daring to live in a way that suggests we don’t really need Him to take our place, that we don’t really need His blood in the place of ours. It’s a tremendously humbling experience to let God die for you, to allow Him to step in and be for you what you couldn’t be.

Perhaps we haven’t persisted to see the glory, the character of God, persisted to experience Christ for ourselves, persisted to find a personal, relational God. Perhaps we’ve flattered ourselves with a solid faith in God, but in our zeal for an unshakable faith in the unexplainable, we’ve missed out on the gift of experiencing that unexplainable Love — a Love that would let them drive nails through His hands and feet. Perhaps in our all-consuming search for a good thing, we have missed the greatest part. 

Perhaps we’ve never truly seen the scars.