Reach hither thy finger

Reach hither thy finger

   Maybe the wound still oozed, or maybe
   it had healed over with scars like golden coins.
   Thomas might have noticed, but I doubt it.

   True, he placed his finger in the Lord's hand,
   and his hand in the Lord's side,
   and then, we presume, he held his heart

   in the bleeding heart. I like to think that.
   And I like to think that years later he was still
   radiant with holy light. My unholy hunch, though,

   is that within a week he learned to doubt
   his eyes or his touch, maybe both, maybe
   whether he'd really been in the room or not,

   or if again the elders had sent him out
   for bread or fish, anything to keep his mouth
   out of earshot. He wasn't the type to suffer

   his loss in silence, and the more he wondered,
   the more they doubted, too. That's my guess.
   And that may be why only John, the youngest

   of the bunch, the mystic, the beloved, the mad,
   recalled the very day, and cared enough
   about belief to recall the shame of doubt.

COPYRIGHT 2004 The Christian Century Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning