Comfort for Clumsy Believers: What the Disbelief of the Disciples Means for Us

Every quarter or so, I have an existential crisis. 

It’s not something I typically bring up in conversation; it turns out that questions like, “What if everything we’ve believed about God and the universe is wrong?” tend to dampen the overall mood of dinner parties and coffee dates. 

Plus, it just isn’t polite Christian talk. Nobody wants to hear the late night doubts of a so-called believer—least of all me. These questions are unwelcome; these doubts, disturbing. 

But I’ve found comfort as of late in the recountings of Jesus’ death and resurrection in the Gospels. For the first time in all of my rereadings, it’s striking me that the disciples really didn’t understand the entirety of what Jesus was up to and who he was. There is evidence that, in the backs of their minds, there was always the glimmer of the same question that shimmers on my frontal lobe today: “But what if we’ve gotten it all wrong about him?”

How have I missed it until now? How did I not see that these men—just like me—grappled with the pesky whispers that poked and prodded at the foundations of their faith, their security, their eternal futures? 

I’ve always assumed that since they knew Jesus personally, it was a given that they also understood he was really the Son of God. That every moment they were in his presence, his essence of saving grace would be so palpable that they’d know for sure who they were dealing with. That there would be no way they could touch and see, eat and banter with Jesus himself and still hold on to any shred of disbelief that mumbled, “Maybe he’s just a really good guy. A stellar prophet. Ten out of ten, as far as leaders go.” 

The Disbelief of the Disciples 

But looking around at Jesus’ closest handful of friends in the days surrounding his death and resurrection, we see a group of people thrown into the confusing waters of uncertainty, fear, and doubt. Judas acts a traitor. Simon Peter denies knowing him. The disciples in the upper room refuse to believe Mary when she tells them Jesus has left the tomb. The men on the road to Emmaus can’t even see past their discouraged hopes to realize that Jesus himself is walking alongside them. In short, even though they knew Jesus and he’d told them exactly what would happen, they still couldn’t seem to bring themselves to the point of certain, unwavering belief.

Doubt is often seen as a character flaw. Society loves the certain. But maybe certainty is such a hot commodity because it’s what we all actually lack, addled by our own human condition. The disciple, too, were humans, and I see now that they each struggled with varying degrees of disbelief. What is significant to each of their stories does not turn out to be their level of dubiety, though—it is the way they end up responding to their natural predisposition to doubt. 

Judas, for example, is consumed by his disbelief. I have always wondered how he possibly could have betrayed Jesus, knowing he was the Son of God. Because honestly, how did he think that was going to work out for him? 

But now it strikes me: he didn’t know it, not really. If he had, he never would have traded him for thirty pieces of silver. He would have understood he was making a preposterous exchange (a bagful of coins for the Savior of the world) and that his treachery would have eternal consequences. My theory is that it wasn’t about the silver at all; it was about the fact that he heard the crowds all around him saying, “He is not who he says he is,” and allowed them to feed the doubts that niggled there in his soul. You can almost hear the snake in the Garden whispering the same lie in Judas’ ear that worked with Adam and Eve: “Did he really say that?” 

Judas justified his betrayal by shaking his head alongside the others, letting the disquiet of his disbelief overwhelm even the intimacy, miracles, and teachings he’d experienced in his close walk with Jesus. 

It isn’t only Judas, though, who questions the truth of Jesus’ words. Before it happened and on multiple occasions, Jesus himself had explicitly told his disciples that he would be mocked and shamed, beaten and killed, and then would rise on the third day. But it is written, “...they understood none of these things. This saying was hidden from them, and they did not grasp what was said” (Luke 18:34). This proves to be true, for on the day of Jesus’ resurrection, when Mary and the other women burst in to tell the eleven that the tomb was empty, Luke says, “these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them” (24:11). 

And when a disguised Jesus meets the two men on the way to Emmaus and asks why they look so sad, they respond, “...we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:21). The unspoken implication is obvious here: 

But he wasn’t.

It is clear that belief and doubt had done battle in their souls; their belief had told them that Jesus was the Messiah, while their doubt had told them he was just a man. In his death, disbelief had won, and the men succumbed to despair. 

A Closer Look at Simon Peter 

Simon Peter was not immune to doubt either. He walked on the water to Jesus, yes, but he also began to sink the moment he saw the wind and the waves. And later, his three denials of Jesus are evidence that he did not have enough faith to stand against the enormous fear mounting within and around him. 

And yet, throughout the Gospels we see Simon Peter among the first to surrender to belief. 

At Caesarea Philippi, Simon Peter confesses that Jesus is “the Christ, “the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). 

On the mountain with Jesus during the Transfiguration, he is the one to (albeit awkwardly) embrace the seemingly-impossible fact that Moses and Elijah are there too; he offers to set up a tent for each of them (Matthew 17:4). 

When the other disciples balk at the notion that Jesus has risen, Simon Peter dashes from the room and arrives in breathless wonder to see the folded linens for himself (Matthew 24:12). 

And when the resurrected Jesus later appears on the beach where they are fishing, he is the first to recognize him as Lord and jump in the water in his haste to get to him (John 21:7). 

Simon Peter is not set apart in these stories because of his absence of disbelief or his stunning quality of character. In fact, he seems like a bit of a hothead—rash and impulsive and imperfect as any of us. But now I see that his superpower is his utter willingness to surrender to belief and, like a clumsy jump off the high-dive, to submerge himself in holy mystery. It’s not always pretty and he doesn’t always stick the landing, but he does keep jumping. 

Comfort for Clumsy Believers 

I’m comforted to know that those who walked with Jesus—who heard things of heaven directly from the Master’s mouth—also struggled against insidious doubt. I’m even more comforted by Jesus’ response to their clumsy attempts at belief. On the road to Emmaus, he admonishes the two disheartened men, saying, “‘O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?’” (Luke 24: 26). But he doesn’t leave them there; he goes on to interpret “to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself” (v.27)—starting all the way back at the beginning as if to gently lead their analytical minds into the territory of total belief. 

And to Thomas who says, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe” (John 20:24), Jesus appears and lets him do just that, as if to say, “I know this handicap you’re working with—humanity—is a tricky, finicky thing. Come, let me lead you to belief.” 

He helps his friends believe with their minds and their physical beings, appealing to wherever the incredulity has laid siege. He encourages them to touch, think, and feel. He helps them do whatever it takes to clear the shared hurdle of humanity: a quizzical nature. 

I have to believe that if there was grace for them, there is also grace for us clumsy believers—the ones who are troubled with unwelcomed doubts as we lay awake at night, and who sometimes tremble under the weight of our own existential crises. 

But let’s also take inspiration from Simon Peter. He was sifted by the devil and, like so many of us, heard the echoes of the original lie reverberating in his eardrums. But instead of letting disbelief win out, he still jumps out of the boat. He still lunges toward his Lord. When the enemy and all the world cry, “Is he really who he says he is?” Simon Peter waves them off as if to say, “Yes—he is I AM. And I am here for it.” 

Jesus responds to his friends’ varied degrees of doubt with tenderness and grace. He is not surprised by their disbelief, nor does he turn away because of it. But as Thomas puts his fingers into his wounds, Jesus does say, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe” (John 20:29). 

Remember—it is not our disbelief that defines our faith, but rather how we choose to respond to it. So the next time we find ourselves in the turbulent waters of late-night doubting, we needn’t give in to despair, nor chastise ourselves for having questions. Instead, we can consider ourselves normal, and then remember that our response is what drives the narrative. 

Judas had doubts and betrayed the Savior of the world. Simon Peter had doubts, and Jesus gave him the keys to the kingdom. The difference? Judas leaned into disbelief of what he couldn’t see, while Simon Peter leapt into the mystery. 

Let us be followers who, addled with doubt though we are, choose to keep jumping from the boat, to keep lunging toward our Lord, and to keep on believing what we can’t see. It is our willingness to surrender to belief that will ultimately define our faith.

Deidre Braley is a freelance writer and editor. She lives in Maine with her husband and two children, and most days can be found savoring an overly cheesy bagel or drinking a second cup of coffee while working on her weekly newsletter, The Second Cup. She is a strong believer in the power of poetry, picking roadside flowers, and blowing past small talk at all costs. Follow her on Instagram @deidresecondcup or on Facebook—she loves meeting new friends.

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