Divine Mercy Sunday (C)

 Acts 5:12-16; Rev. 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; Jn. 20:19-31

During the first part of today's Gospel Reading, we heard that the apparition of Jesus to His disciples took place on the first day of the week, that being a Sunday. The apparition took place on the evening of the same day that Jesus had resurrected. It is important to notice on which day of the week that these events were instituted by the Lord Jesus in order to understand how, in the early days of the Church, the Sabbath was replaced with Sunday.

On that evening, living in fear of the authorities, the disciples had gathered together in a house and they had locked the doors. Suddenly, Jesus stood among them. 

Then Jesus said, "Peace be with you." And He showed His hands and His side to His disciples. This Bible passage is very important. It is explicit proof from the Gospel of John that Jesus was truly nailed to the cross. He was not tied to the cross as was often the custom in those days.

Having said this, Jesus breathed on the disciples and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained." (Jn. 20:22-3)

The world into which we are sent today is not very different from the world into which Jesus sent His disciples long ago. It is a world searching for answers, a world exhausted by its own striving, a world deeply wounded by wars, injustice, division, and fear. When Jesus looked at the crowds, the Gospel says He had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. (Matthew 9:36) He then called His disciples, empowered them, and sent them into that brokenness, carrying nothing but His authority, His message, and their faith. Today, as then, Jesus looks at our world — weary under the weight of broken families, economic despair, climate anxieties, and political violence — and He sends us out with the same urgency, with the same command to bear peace, to heal wounds, and to proclaim that the Kingdom of God is near.

It is striking to realize how little the disciples were allowed to carry. Jesus specifically instructed them to take no purse, no bag, and no sandals (Luke 10:4). They were to depend entirely on God’s provision and the hospitality of those they met. Abraham, when called by God in Genesis 12, left his country and kin for a land he had never seen, trusting blindly in a promise that had no visible guarantee. Similarly, Moses at the burning bush was tasked with confronting Pharaoh, carrying nothing but God's word and a staff in his hand. In every age, God’s mission begins not with abundance but with radical trust — a trust that seems almost blind by human standards, but which sees more clearly than any human eye.

History is rich with those who have exercised this kind of daring, blind faith that transformed their surroundings. One such figure is Charles de Foucauld, a French nobleman turned soldier who experienced a profound conversion. Leaving behind wealth and prestige, he ventured into the Algerian desert, choosing to live among the Tuareg people in poverty and obscurity. His faith appeared foolish to many — who would choose obscurity over comfort, risk over security? Yet it was his quiet witness of love, service, and prayer that planted seeds of faith and reconciliation in a region torn by suspicion and division. Today, he is remembered not for spectacular achievements but for the depth of his hidden faith, and he was canonized in 2022 as a saint who teaches us that blind faith in Christ can leave indelible marks on human hearts.

The faith that Jesus calls for is not only personal but communal. It is always directed outward, towards the healing of a broken world. When Jesus sent the disciples, He commanded them to speak a particular message when entering any house: "Peace to this house." (Luke 10:5) Peace was not just a greeting; it was the very presence of God that they carried with them. This echoes the prophetic vision of Isaiah who foretold the coming of the Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6), and the psalmists who sang of a day when righteousness and peace would kiss (Psalm 85:10). True peace is not merely the absence of conflict; it is the flourishing of all that God intended — the restoration of right relationships between God, humans, and creation.

Throughout the history of the Church, this calling to be carriers of peace has manifested in beautiful ways. In the second century, the early Christian community in Rome was known not only for their worship but for the way they cared for the poor, the widowed, the orphaned, and even their enemies during plagues and persecutions. They did not only preach peace; they embodied it. Their fearless compassion, even toward those who persecuted them, became one of the strongest testimonies to the Gospel.

In more recent times, we see similar examples. Abbé Pierre, a French priest, after World War II, saw the despair of thousands of homeless people in Paris. Against overwhelming odds, with little funding and few supporters, he started the Emmaus Communities: homes where the poor could find shelter, dignity, and work. Often sleeping on the floor alongside the homeless, Abbé Pierre became a national conscience for France. His life reminds us that peace is not a theory; it is built on human life at a time, through faith expressed in tireless love.

There are also remarkable village-level examples where faith-inspired peace movements have blossomed. In the small Colombian village of San José de Apartadó, torn apart by paramilitary violence, a group of villagers, inspired by their Christian convictions, declared themselves a Peace Community. They refused to participate in the violence from either side, committed themselves to non-violence, and created a community grounded in shared labor, mutual forgiveness, and unwavering faith in Christ’s way of peace. Despite many hardships and attacks, they have become a living sign that communities rooted in Gospel faith can resist evil not with violence, but with love.

Today’s world aches for  healing. The brokenness is visible in refugee camps, in inner-city violence, in villages deserted by economic collapse, and even in the lonely corridors of modern technology. How do we, as modern disciples, heal such vast wounds? Again, the model is found not in grand strategies but in small acts of faithful love. Chiara Lubich, an Italian woman during the bombings of World War II, began gathering people in the basements of bombed-out buildings. They shared their possessions, cared for each other, and prayed for peace. From these humble beginnings grew the Focolare Movement, now active in over 180 countries, promoting unity among Christians, other religions, and all people of goodwill. Chiara’s simple faith that love is stronger than hatred sparked a global fire of reconciliation.

The challenges we face today — climate disasters, mental health crises, mass migrations — can seem overwhelming. But the Gospel's strategy remains the same: small, faithful acts carried out in trust. The letter to the Romans reminds us, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!" (Romans 10:15) We bring good news not by shouting louder but by loving deeper, not by amassing resources but by living lightly and faithfully, trusting that God can multiply even our smallest offerings.

A contemporary echo of this communal mission can be seen in the story of Jean Donovan, a lay missionary in El Salvador, who along with three religious sisters chose to stay among the poor during the height of the civil war. Despite clear threats to their lives, they believed Christ’s call was to be present with the suffering. Jean once wrote, "I sit here in the dark and write, I can't help but wonder if we will survive all of this… I have confidence in God's promise, though I cannot see the way ahead." Their blind faith led them to lay down their lives, bearing witness to a love stronger than death.

As we reflect on this mission, we recognize that Christ's call remains constant: to step out in faith, to offer peace, to heal, to proclaim the Kingdom, and to do so together, rejoicing in our citizenship in heaven. The work is great, the challenges real, but He who sends us walks ahead of us. His Spirit empowers our words and our actions, even when we feel weakest. 

Let us answer with the faith of Abraham, the humility of Charles de Foucauld, the courage of Jean Donovan, and the hope of the Peace Communities