Eastertide … Doubts

Caravaggio, The Incredulity of Thomas, 1601-02 (Sanssouci, Potsdam)

To start off this Eastertide, I’m looking at Caravaggio’s The Incredulity of Thomas. This painting makes me wince.

First, the story. Thomas somehow missed an appearance of the risen Christ and simply would not believe the reports of the other disciples, stating that he would have to see and even feel the wounds before he would believe that Jesus was alive again. It took a week, but Jesus did visit Thomas and invited him to look at and touch the holes in his hands and side. That did it. Thomas believed.

Caravaggio’s take on this event is remarkable. He clearly wants to stir things up.

Let’s consider Thomas. In the biblical account and in many depictions, it seems like Thomas doesn’t take Jesus up on his offer. Simply seeing Christ stand before him is enough for him to declare, “My Lord and my God!” Not in this painting. Thomas hunches over and leans in to investigate and probes the wound with his finger. But no doubt about it–real wounds, real body, real Jesus, real resurrection. To underscore this point, Caravaggio is downright graphic. In that moment, Thomas registers his discovery on his face with his wide eyes and raised eyebrows. I imagine him saying, “Well, I’ll be damned!”

The two other disciples echo Thomas’s posture and expression. They hadn’t doubted, but clearly they are more than casually interested in seeing the proof for themselves. They lean in and peer over Thomas’s shoulder. I get the impression that, like kids in a petting zoo, they want to touch too—only they have too much self-restraint to reach in. Instead, they experience it vicariously. And Thomas is probably more bold than they would have been anyway.

Facing the other direction, Christ mirrors the other three. Like them, he looks down, but not at the wound. He doesn’t need to, after all. Caravaggio emphasizes this contrast in the way he positions the figures. The disciples, in all of their humanness—their doubt, their curiosity, their limited understanding—are slightly off-balance. They seem to be falling toward the center. In contrast, Christ, in all of his divinity, is a balanced and stable presence on the left side of the painting.

Christ is risen! These days, we respond with “Indeed!” as if we are so certain of the fact, but I wonder how many of us harbor doubts. And so, I appreciate the honesty of this painting. Sometimes I can relate to Thomas who just needs some tangible, physical, observable evidence because the idea of a risen Christ who is active and engaged is just too remote. Sometimes I feel more like the other two disciples. Yeah, I’ve believed, but it sure is nice to have a personal encounter with Christ to bolster my faith, to remind me what I’m living for. What I most appreciate, though, is the way that Caravaggio communicates Christ’s patience with all of it. He pulls aside his garment, he takes hold of Thomas’s wrist, he guides his finger to the wound. He knows we need such things. And he’s willing to provide them, if only we ask.