JESUS was buried in haste. Soon after his body had been taken down from the Cross, the sun was due to set and the Sabbath begin. There was little time to anoint the corpse. And so, shortly after sunrise, once the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene and two other women came to the tomb, hoping to find someone nearby who would help them to remove the stone from its entrance. Then they could complete the anointing that had not been possible before.

On their arrival, however, they found that the stone had already been removed. The tomb was empty, except for the presence of a young man who told them not to be alarmed, that Jesus was risen from the dead, and that they were to tell his disciples.

How did they react? According to St Mark, far from being reassured, they were terrified and told no one.

Events then moved swiftly. That very day Jesus appeared to two disciples on their way to Emmaus, to Simon Peter and to those gathered in the upper room. He also appeared to Mary Magdalene.

The Gospel accounts of these events all share two features, something earthy, like Jesus being touched or asking for food, and something odd, like his entering a room though the doors are locked or people he knows well failing at first to recognise him.

As usual, we do not need to suppose that these Gospel accounts are precise descriptions of what actually happened; rather the consistent combination of the earthy and the odd are intended to convey the wonder of what resurrection means.

The immediacy of the earthy, the touching and sharing of food, is seen as securing the reality of his presence: he was not a phantom or a figment of his disciples’ imagination; while the odd, the locked door or the failure to recognise him, points to his new condition: Jesus raised from the dead is present in a different way.

He has not returned to life like Lazarus, who one day would have to die again. He has passed through death to new life. It is a belief to beggar belief. Is it any wonder that people today should find it incredible? Even at the time, as the Gospels testify, there were those who doubted.

Chief among the doubters, of course, was Thomas. One of the Twelve, he was not there when Jesus first appeared in the upper room. When the others told him what had happened, he held back.

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands,” he said, “and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (John xx, 25).

And so doubting Thomas was born.

Eight days later, we are told, Jesus appeared to his disciples again and this time Thomas was there. Invited to touch the wounds as he had demanded, he was overwhelmed and declared “My Lord and my God.”

It is a triumphant conclusion. But it is also more complex than we may at first realise. Jesus, really present in the upper room, was not present just like the others. He is risen. Those who were there saw him, but not as they saw one another. They saw Jesus with the eyes of faith. And so the question: if Thomas doubted, how could he see him?

Perhaps, however, Thomas's doubt is not evidence of lost faith, but of deep love. I am thinking of the occasion when the disciples were trying to restrain Jesus from visiting Bethany, fearing he would put his life in danger. But Thomas said: “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (John xi, 16).

I wonder whether the seeds of what we call his doubt are not revealed in that remark, a tendency to fear the worst, to look on the dark side.

So when the others told him they had seen Jesus alive, risen from the dead, the news for him was too good to be true. After witnessing his friend’s brutal execution, he could not bear to have his hopes raised, then dashed again.

Perhaps when we are struggling to believe, we should think of Thomas. Doubt need not smother faith. Love can survive in darkness, unveiling in the gloom the presence of the risen Lord.

Monsignor Roderick Strange is the Rector of the Pontifical Beda College, Rome