DAY 1
I began my investigation at the Upper Room on Monday night. It wasn’t raining, but you could feel that pressure building in the air. Inside they were all there. They were wild, almost crazed. John was talking a mile a minute, James and John seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time. Even Nathaniel seemed excited.
Andrew grabbed me the second I walked in. ‘He’s back, he’s back!’ he shouted. Instinctively, I shoved him away. Jesus of Nazareth, our friend and mentor, had been brutally murdered by the Romans three days earlier on the hills of Golgotha. I had no stomach for these jokers’ claims they saw him yesterday.
I looked around, trying to piece together what had happened here. At the centre of the dinner table, I noticed a hunk of brown bread. The kind that Jesus liked. We had sworn never to eat it again.
‘Jesus brought it,’ John insisted. ‘He said this isn’t the time for mourning.’
‘It’s delicious, too,’ James said, offering me some.
I held in my fury. ‘I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.’
From the back of the room, Peter rose. I hadn’t noticed him before. He had dark circles under his eyes and a look on his face like he had seen the end of everything.
IT’S TRUE
‘I know how it sounds,’ he rasped. ‘But it’s true. We were sitting here and Jesus walked through the wall and said, ‘Peace be with you’. Peter raised his hands. Suddenly, his voice shook: ‘He still had the wounds in his hands and feet.’ I went over to the place at the table with the brown bread. ‘This is where you say he stood?’ The group nodded.
I knelt down, checking for any sign of Jesus having actually been there. ‘And his wounds were still open?’ Nods again. ‘So why don’t I see any blood?’ They had no answer. What answer could there be? It was impossible.
‘Listen, we’ve all been through a very hard thing,’ I told them, trying to be nice. ‘It makes sense that you might . . .’ They shouted me down. ‘He was here! He was here!’
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DAY 2
The next morning I went to the bazaar I knew Mary Magdalene liked. Supposedly she’d seen Jesus, too. Although it was still early, it was already so humid my shirt stuck to my back. Why couldn’t it just rain?
I found Mary humming as she shopped, apparently not a care in the world. ‘Thomas!’ she exclaimed, giving me a hug. ‘Can you believe it?’ I liked Mary. She was always straight with people. This kind of fantasy, it wasn’t her.
She told me she’d been to the tomb on Sunday, standing above so she could look down into it and see Jesus’ shrouded body. But instead she found two strangers in white garments somehow inside. They looked right at her, and she was so startled she stumbled into someone else. She looked at him and, thinking it was the gardener, began to say that people had broken into the tomb. But then he said ‘Mary,’ and she realised it was Jesus.
I stopped her. ‘You didn’t recognise him right away?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I don’t know. There was something different.’ ‘What?’
THERE HE WAS
I could see her putting herself back in that moment. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It was like at first my eyes were out of focus. Then there he was.’
She’d embraced him, Mary said, but then he immediately sent her off to tell the others. ‘Did it strike you as strange that after everything that had happened, the first thing this guy does is send you away?’ I asked. ‘Could it be he thought you might see through his disguise?’
‘No way,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It was definitely Jesus.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘I could never mistake the sound of his voice saying my name.’ For some reason her words chilled me to the bone.
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A FEW DAYS LATER
Jesus’ tomb was open and empty, just as Mary described. But in the dust there were no footprints or signs of people having been inside. Her strangers in white were nowhere to be seen.
As I searched for clues, I felt a breeze. Some days I might not have noticed that, but the humidity was so brutal it made me look up. I saw a shadow move on the wall. Spinning around, I found someone in the cave entrance, his face obscured by the light behind him. ‘Peace be with you,’ the man said.
‘And with you, sir,’ I replied, neutrally. The man threw his head back and laughed. ‘Always your father’s son.’
When Jesus came through my village, my dad had been training me to be his deputy. ‘A constable always needs to show strangers respect,’ he’d say. And so I’d called Jesus ‘sir’. But a lot of people knew that. ‘Are you the one claiming to be Jesus?’ I asked.
COME AND SEE
‘Come and see,’ he replied, stepping out of the cave. In the light, I could see a resemblance. But that was all. Then I noticed his hands: They had holes in them.
I retreated a step, horrified. ‘What did you do?’ ‘Not me,’ he said, lifting his shirt to reveal a thin horizontal cut in his side like a wound from a centurion’s spear. ‘Nor this, either.’ I felt anger rise in me. ‘Buddy, I don’t know what your angle is here, but this is sick.’
The man drew toward me. ‘Thomas,’ he said. My skin crawled at the sound. I knew that voice. ‘It cannot be,’ I said, shrinking away. ‘You are some cruel devil, feeding on the pain of others.’ He came closer. ‘Thomas, it’s OK.’ He moved to take my hand. ‘Stop!’ I shouted.
The man stepped back. I noticed his eyes had a way of crinkling up, just like Jesus.
‘You can’t . . . No, I watched him die,’ I said. Suddenly I was back there, hiding in the crowds as my friend was tortured and executed. ‘Oh God . . . I was supposed to uphold the law and I let them . . . ’ I fell to the ground, overwhelmed. He sat down beside me.
‘It’s okay, Thomas,’ Jesus said again as I started sobbing. ‘It’s OK. I’m here.’ Suddenly, it began to rain.
Jim McDermott is the author of a number of pop culture books, including an upcoming book about Harry Potter Funko Pops. He writes about spirituality and theatre, and does a weekly newsletter on pop culture and spirituality called Pop Culture Spirit Wow. A native of Chicago, Jim has found watching the footy at the MCG to be one of the great religious experiences of his life. (Go Blues.)
My Lord and my God
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you’. Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe’. Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’ – John 20:26-29
The official investigation into the ‘Resurrection’ of Jesus of Nazareth
Thomas of Galilee, investigator – Report transcription by Jim McDermott
Apparently some crackpots are circulating stories that I stuck my hand inside Jesus’ spear wound, that it was the only way I’d believe it was him. Which is nuts, obviously. Who does that?
The truth is, I knew it was Jesus because he touched my wounds. Just like he always did. And he healed them. And he set me free.
REFLECTION QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
Telling Jesus’ story – questions and activities
These teacher’s notes help students explore how faith and storytelling invite us into a deeper relationship with Jesus and his mission. Students reflect on how Jesus’ humanity and message continue to inspire lives today; through acting, prayer, and creative storytelling.