Learning to Believe Like St. Thomas

The moment I touched His wounds and found my faith.

Recently I was praying some Lectio Divina with John’s Gospel, but this time one phrase refused to move past my heart. “Thomas, called Didymus (the Twin).” I have always known that is what the Gospel says, but this time the word Twin stayed. It felt personal, like a whisper meant for me. Sitting there, I thought, Maybe I am that twin.

I was named Thomas at birth. My mother gave me the name in honor of her step-father, the man who would raise me, a man who stepped in and became my father when I needed one. That name has always meant love and strength, but lately I have started to see another layer forming in my heart. While writing this blog, I learned something from my mother that opened my eyes. When she was pregnant with me, ultrasounds were not common, so doctors relied on what they heard. They told her they thought she was carrying twins because they picked up what sounded like two heartbeats. For the next week she prepared to welcome two babies, but when the day came, only I was born. My heart had been so strong that it fooled the doctors. I look back at that now and wonder if the Lord was whispering something long before I ever knew the story. Maybe, in some small way, that is the twin within me, the part that doubts and the part that learns to trust.

When we are baptized, the Holy Spirit takes up residence within us and pours out gifts we carry for the rest of our lives. The Catechism teaches that through baptism we become a new creature, sealed by the Spirit and strengthened with grace (CCC 1265 and 1266). Sometimes those gifts look like courage or wisdom. But what if one of those gifts feels more like a struggle than a strength. What if the Spirit works through the questions too.

For most of my life, doubt has been the quiet companion I tried to shake off. I believed in God but wanted proof. I prayed and waited for signs. Even after hearing the voice of the Holy Spirit, I still wrestled with questions. I stood in church asking for faith while wondering if my prayer reached heaven. Somewhere in that wrestling, I began to understand something deeper. Doubt does not mean the absence of faith. It might be the path that strengthens it.

John 20 tells the story of Thomas, who was not present when Jesus first appeared to the disciples. They told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But Thomas, the twin, could not believe it. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

A week later, Jesus stood before him and said, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

Thomas answered, “My Lord and my God.”

That moment always stops me. It is not the sound of a man embarrassed by his doubt. It is the voice of someone who has finally seen the truth face to face. It is surrender. I even say those words quietly when the tabernacle closes after Communion, to steady my heart and embolden my faith.

But Jesus spoke one more line that carries the heart of this story. “Have you come to believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” That is the line I cannot shake. Those who have not seen and believe. That is the call for the twin within me. To learn to trust without touching. To believe even when the road feels hidden.

The Catechism says our faith can be tested and seem obscured, that God can appear silent or distant (CCC 164 and 165). Yet in that silence grace is still at work. Maybe that is the hidden gift I received at baptism, the Spirit teaching me to believe through the ache of uncertainty.

I once had a moment that changed how I saw this. A couple of years ago, I attended a retreat at a nearby retreat house that has an incredible, larger than life version of the Stations of the Cross winding through its grounds. At the end, Jesus lies inside a tomb built into a hillside, His body stretched across a stone slab. His eyes are open but lifeless. One arm hangs off the side of the slab.

I sat outside the tomb for a long time praying quietly for a sign when I felt something in my heart say, “Come hold My hand.”

So, I stood, walked inside, and sat on the cold stone floor. I reached out and wrapped my hand around His. The artist had captured everything, even the torn skin and the wound in His palm that could not be seen from any angle. I expected the bronze to feel cold, but it wasn’t. It was warm. It felt real. I wept uncontrollably, knowing this was my sign.

That was my Thomas moment. The moment I reached out, touched His wounds, and believed.

Faith does not always come through what we see, yet sometimes God gives us moments like that to remind us He is near. That bronze hand became more than art. It became an encounter.

That is the mystery of the twin within me. The part that doubts and the part that believes sit inside the same heart. One side reaches for proof, the other whispers trust. One side questions, the other prays. And together they make faith something real and alive.

Faith does not end when doubt appears. It begins there.

When Jesus invited Thomas to touch His wounds, He was not offering proof. He was offering love. He met Thomas exactly where his heart was breaking. He let him feel what belief looks like up close.

The Eucharist does the same. When we approach the altar, we are invited to touch the mystery of Christ’s wounds through His Body and Blood. We do not see Him with our eyes, but we believe He is present. And in that moment, we echo the same confession. My Lord and my God.

That prayer has become the anchor of my faith. It is my way of bringing all my questions, fears, and uncertainties to Jesus and letting His mercy answer them. I do not need to understand everything. I only need to believe He is here.

Faith is not pretending doubt never comes. It is learning what to do when it does. Jesus never rebuked Thomas for asking. He simply stood before him again. He still does that for us. When our faith feels weak, when prayer feels unanswered, He shows up in His timing, offering peace instead of proof.

So, if you find yourself in a season of uncertainty, do not hide your doubt. Bring it to Him. Speak it honestly in prayer. Ask Him to meet you where you struggle to believe. He will. That is His nature.

You might not see the full picture yet. You might only see the next turn. But that is enough. The same Spirit poured into your soul at baptism is still guiding you. Keep going. Keep praying. Keep trusting that grace grows best in the places we do not yet understand.

Lord, when I doubt, remind me to reach for You, to believe again, and to trust Your promise.