2nd Sunday of Easter 2022
Acts 5:12-16; Apocalypse 1: 9-13, 17-19; John 20:19-31
I sometimes think that the compilers of the Lectionary (the book containing the Mass readings) like to confuse us. They give us, on the Second Sunday of Easter, a First Reading which relates to the aftermath of Pentecost, and a Gospel, relating to today, which will be partly repeated at Pentecost.
It is the latter which causes mayhem, because, when it comes to Pentecost, people fail to realise that the Gospel is speaking about last Sunday (and today) and they fall into the trap of claiming that the disciples were cowering in fear at Pentecost, whereas, they were waiting in prayer, as they had been told, for the coming of the Holy Spirit. So when you hear the first part of this Gospel passage at Pentecost, PLEASE remember that you first heard it TODAY.
Right then, let’s see what the implications are. On Easter Sunday evening, the disciples ARE in fear behind locked doors. Can you blame them? Admittedly, Our Lord had told them that He would suffer, die, and rise, but they had no experience of the third part of the equation. They understood suffering, they understood death, but resurrection was beyond their comprehension. They assumed that, having killed Jesus, the authorities would now proceed to round up His followers. No wonder they hid.
Today, so many people are living in fear. People in Ukraine fear the rockets and bombs which may rain down upon them, or the invading troops who will break down their doors, beat up the men, rape the women, then probably shoot them. Lawyers and journalists in Hong Kong fear the knock on the door which will herald their “detention”. Families in Northern Nigeria fear a raid from Boko Haram, to kill the adults and kidnap the children. Women in this country fear the return home of an abusive husband or partner; while whole families, devastated by the escalating cost of living crisis, await anxiously the arrival of the bailiff to take away what little they have.
Lord, change the hearts of the violent and the cruel. Give to those in authority a spirit of compassion. Banish fear through your power as the Risen Christ by taking away the causes of fear.
The risen Christ stands among those fear-filled disciples. He wishes them peace, and He shows them His wounds. He gives them a mission and the power to forgive sins, and He breathes the Holy Spirit into them (which is why this passage is read at Pentecost).
If they had been firm in their belief that Jesus would rise from the dead, would they also have expected Him still to bear His wounds? I am inclined to think that they would have expected the scars to vanish. That they do not vanish is hugely important. The risen Christ is the wounded Christ. He has come to His resurrection by way of His wounds, and He calls us to resurrection by the same route.
Not only Christ’s wounds, but also our wounds are important. Christ’s wounds redeem us: our wounds, insofar as they are united with His, remake us, give us compassion, enable us to extend the healing of Christ to others. Wounds may damage us, but they may also strengthen us, give us new insight and new life, as the wounds of Jesus were the basis of His new life as the risen Christ.
Finally, what do we make of Thomas? We call him “doubting Thomas”: perhaps we should rather call him “inquiring Thomas”. He reminds us, as did his later namesake labelled Aquinas, that faith and reason work together. We are every bit as rational as any of today’s self-styled rationalists. We do not believe in fairy tales: we demand validation of our beliefs. In fact, we are more rational than the “rationalists”, because, like Thomas, we have the gumption to realise that reason can take us only so far, that there are things beyond our reasoning and our comprehension.
Consequently, we can reasonably go beyond reason to faith, and to say, with Thomas, “My Lord and my God”. Touch reveals the wounds to Thomas: reason and faith take him behind the wounds to recognise God. May it always be so for us.
