Homily: Divine Mercy Sunday (2018)

Deacon Tony Cecil

Homily: Divine Mercy Sunday

Epiphany Catholic Church, Louisville, KY

Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side—the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.

Anyone who has children, or has babysat children, or has ever even been around children, likely knows that they are just a tad clumsy, and at times, prone to accidents. It’s common for kids to be running around outside playing, fall to the ground, scrape a knee or an arm, and a lot of the time, get back up as if nothing happened.

When I was a kid, we lived on a big piece of land out in the country—which of course meant a lot of time was spent outside, either doing chores, or just playing. I believe that I was the clumsiest child of them all—I would regularly trip over myself and fall, run my bike into something, or misjudge the distance of something I was trying to jump over and fall flat on my face. Most of the time, my dad would see this happen, and wouldn’t let me continue playing until I came over, so he could take a look and see if I was hurt. If there were a scrape or a cut, he’d take me inside to wash it, and put some medicine and a bandage on it. He’d always reassure me—that wound will heal up just fine.

And he was right—the little wounds I’d find myself with would always heal just fine. But, I always noticed that there was something different about Jesus. Our home and my school had its fair share of artwork depicting the risen Christ, and I always noticed that he was consistently shown having the wounds in his hands, his feet, and his side from his crucifixion. Even in today’s Gospel, when Jesus appears to his disciples, he shows them his wounds—to show that it truly was him, and as a result, to calm their fears.

There was always something intriguing about these wounds—that they were still there on the risen Jesus. I mean, the risen Jesus is supposed to be all about the joys of Easter. Why should we bother even thinking about the wounds from the Cross of Good Friday? Well, the answer is simple—because they are still there, and because of what we as a Church celebrate this weekend.

This weekend, we celebrate the Second Sunday of Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday. This weekend’s feast was established by Saint John Paul II when he canonized Saint Faustina Kowalska, the great apostle of Divine Mercy, to whom Jesus appeared many times. Saint Faustina is well-known for her Diary, in which she related these encounters with the Lord, and told of her own growing devotion to his Mercy. This diary of hers was a key element in spreading the devotion.

But, Faustina knew that there would be many people who wouldn’t necessarily care, people who wouldn’t be all that interested in the thoughts of a simple Polish nun, people who would question her credibility. But, she also knew that this wasn’t about her, but rather about Jesus. She’s credited with having said: If you don’t trust my words, then trust His wounds.

If you don’t trust my words, then trust His wounds.

You see, it is these wounds—pierced hands and feet, and an open side, that are the ultimate signs of God’s Mercy. The lasting presence of Jesus’ wounds are what calmed the disciples who were locked away in fear. It was in seeing His wounds that they saw Him, and rejoiced. It was in touching His wounds that a doubtful disciple was brought to restored faith, to trust, to belief, to exultation.

Our lives, as anyone who tries to live the Christian faith knows, are intimately connected to the life of Christ—our existence to His—and the same is true when it comes to His wounds.

Because of those wounds, we now gather to receive His very presence, His Body and Blood in the Eucharist.

It is in seeing His wounds that we realize that we, too, are wounded.

It’s what makes the reality of the Cross a reality of love—that Christ saw our woundedness, and out of His immense love for us, was willing to take on all of our wounds, to the point of His own death, and to the point of the marks in His hands, His feet, and His side.

And, to me, at least, Jesus’ wounds are still there, because so are ours. The immensity of the love to be found in the Mercy of God, and in the wounds of Christ, leaves the very real possibility that maybe—just maybe—Jesus’ own wounds won’t heal until He heals all of ours first.

And what does that leave us with?

With the consolation of knowing the extent to which we are loved;

With the ability to trust a God who so clearly loves us;

With the leaving behind of doubt and taking up of faith

With the hope, the peace, the rejoicing of knowing that we aren’t alone in our woundedness

It’s easy for us to be like the disciples at the beginning of today’s Gospel, and to lock ourselves away in fear. It’s easy for us to be like Thomas, and to doubt until we have proof. It’s easy for us to be like so many who were skeptical of what Saint Faustina said about her encounters with Jesus.

But for the disciples and for Faustina, all it took was an encounter with the Risen Jesus—the wounded Jesus.

And so now, let us ask the risen Christ to help us to see and encounter Him;

To help us see the beauty of His wounds;

To give us hearts that can trust in Him;

To give us the solace of knowing that we aren’t alone in our woundedness,

And most of all, may we, on this day and always, experience the vastness of the joy and peace that can only come from His Divine Mercy.