Prove It: The Voyeurism of Doubting Thomas

Today’s reflection is by Bondings 2.0 contributor Allison Connelly-Vetter.

Today’s liturgical readings for the Second Sunday of Easter can be found here. 

Today is the Second Sunday of Easter, also known as the Sunday of Divine Mercy. But most of us know this Sunday as the day we tell the story of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearance to one of his dearest friends, who has unfortunately become known to us collectively as “Doubting Thomas.”

I have tended to take the side of Thomas in this story, and I have often felt as though he has gotten the short end of Gospel infamy. After all, if Thomas was not hiding in the room with the other Jesus-followers when Jesus visited the first time, doesn’t that make him more brave than they? And, honestly, who among us could possibly be expected to believe that one of our beloved friends came back to life after watching them be murdered? Surely Thomas did what any of us in the same situation would have done. 

Detail of “The Doubting of St. Thomas” by Caravaggio

This year, though, I’m viewing this Gospel from a different angle which is not so positive: the demand for Jesus to “prove it.” Thomas did not see Jesus with the rest of his friends, and did not trust his friends’ eyewitness accounts of their encounter. It would make sense to me for Thomas to delay belief until he had seen Jesus himself, as his friends had. But Thomas took his need for confirmation one step further: not only did he want to see Jesus, he wanted to touch his wounds. Only then, Thomas says, would he believe. In as many words, Thomas says to his friends and to Jesus, “Prove it.”

I can’t help but consider the intrusive intimacy required by Thomas’ demand. Thomas was not willing for Jesus to appear, clearly visible, across a room. Instead, Thomas insisted upon touching the nail marks in Jesus’ hands and, even more intimately, putting his hand into Jesus’ side. I imagine that these wounds were incredibly tender, throbbing and painful. After all, Jesus had received them in horrific and violent fashion only days prior. I imagine, too, the emotional pain and trauma that these wounds represented to Jesus. It reminds me of survivors of violence being asked to testify in court about the most intimate details of their most terrible moments. The intense pain and distress of such witnesses reliving their trauma is awfully palpable in courtrooms. Nevertheless, Thomas, perhaps callously, demanded access to these most vulnerable parts of Jesus’ internal and external experience–and for what reason?To satisfy his voyeuristic curiosity?

As a disabled person and a queer person, I experience the same voyeurism all the time. As a disabled person, I am constantly demanded to prove my disability to my insurance company, my medical providers, my pharmacy, and my academic and professional institutions. As a queer person — and especially a queer Catholic person — the intrusive questions most often focus on my faith and my family: “Did your seminary know you were queer when they admitted you?” “How did you and your wife conceive your baby?” “What Bible passages justify queer relationships?” and, most frequently of all, “How are you both queer and Catholic?” 

Rarely are these questions asked in good faith or rooted in real relationship. Rather, they stem from the interrogator’s disordered curiosity as they insist for me to “prove it:” Prove that I’m disabled enough, but not too disabled. Prove that I’m queer enough, but not too queer. Prove that I’m Catholic enough (though rarely are my questioners concerned that I’m too Catholic). That Jesus ultimately offers Thomas this demanded intimacy unprompted is an act of Divine Mercy indeed — one which far exceeds my understanding, and, if I’m being honest, one which does not inspire my participation. 

While I struggle to find much Good News in this Gospel, I do find it elsewhere in today’s liturgical readings, especially in the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles. In this passage we are told that the followers of Jesus, now brave enough to leave their hiding place in the upper room, were building a kind of community that doesn’t ask anyone to prove anything. These Jesus-followers were creating a culture of true interdependence and collectivity, a micro-economy in which everyone has enough and nobody has too much. 

We aren’t told that the people who receive the fruits of property sales are required to submit a lengthy application, meet impossibly strict income requirements, or subject themselves to an invasive medical examination. Instead, we hear that they spent time together daily in real relationships, sharing meals and praising God communally in the temple and in their homes. 

The final verses of this passage show the fruits of true faithfulness: Every day, we’re told, God brought new members to share in the community’s goodness and abundance and joy. The ragtag group of Jesus-followers was, as it turned out, highly popular in their neighborhoods and cities. It was because of unquestioning welcome, because of relationships — not requirements — that this radical community flourished. 

Perhaps those wringing their hands about declining Mass attendance rates should take note.

—Allison Connelly-Vetter, April 12, 2026