The calendar tells us spring is here. The beginning of this season prompts me to ask a couple of questions. What does spring mean to you? Is it a time when you see wildflowers and buds on the trees and think of new life? Or is it merely the time for you to start cutting the grass and recognizing it’s a chore you’ll have to do every week for the next six or seven months? Is spring a time for new beginnings or does it mean you need to finish your spring cleaning, if you’re an adult, or to finish all those end-of-the year projects if you’re still in school? Is this the season for new hope or for depression, perhaps even fear?
Last Sunday we celebrated Easter, a time we associate with new hope and new beginnings. But for some of us, has Easter already come and gone? What do our readings for this Sunday after Easter hold for us? They all seem to be focused on hope and belief. Perhaps the real questions for us today are: What gift do believers have? What must believers do because of this gift? Does belief really demand action?
To take a closer look at these questions we need to join the disciples in that locked room almost two thousand years ago. A lot had happened to them during the last few days. Only three nights ago they had been celebrating Passover with Jesus. What a marvelous evening it had been. But then came that terrible, confusing time in the garden. The next day: the torture of the crucifixion, the cruel death of the one they loved so much and who had loved them beyond a love anyone had ever shown before. And the hasty burial before sundown.
Now, this morning: the confusing stories the women had told them. And Peter and John. The tomb was empty. They were certain of that; but what had happened to his body? Had the Romans broken into the tomb and stolen it? Surely, the temple guards or the scribes would not do that? They would not defile themselves by touching a dead body, would they? That was totally unthinkable.
But now with the body gone, what would happen? Would the Sanhedrin start looking for the followers of Jesus and accuse them of stealing his body? Would they, too, be put on trial, found guilty, and turned over to the Romans for torture and crucifixion? All but Thomas were there, huddled in the room where they had celebrated less than seventy-two hours ago. And what of Thomas? Had he gone off to betray them? Just as Judas had done there in the garden. Would Thomas lead the crowds to them? He knew where they were hiding. The doors were locked. Yet, every sound from the street below startled them.
And then, suddenly, He was there! The one they loved, who loved them, was standing there. The words of John tell us what happened next: “Jesus came and stood before them. ‘Peace be with you, he said. When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. At the sight of the Lord the disciples rejoiced. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said again. ‘As the father has sent me, so I send you.’ Then he breathed on them and said: ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of others, they are forgiven them; if you hold them bound, they are held bound.'”
What happened next? We don’t really know. We don’t know how long Jesus stayed with them that evening. And we don’t know what happened the next day. We can only make some guesses. How would you have reacted when Thomas finally did show up the next day? Would you have scolded him for being absent? Would you have told him with great joy what had happened? Would you have pitied him for not being there to receive the peace which Jesus brought? Not to have felt his breath; the breath of the Holy Spirit warming all of you. Would you have judged Thomas had sinned and should not be forgiven; that his transgressions should still bind him, keep him from experiencing the joy of seeing the risen Lord? If you had been one of the disciples, how would you have reacted, responded to Thomas? How do you now react to your friends whom you judge have not been present to the Lord, who have not yet received his favors? With pity? With isolation? Or with compassion?
And what if you had been Thomas on that Monday morning? Would you have wondered what you had done that Jesus would appear to others but not to you? Would you have felt you had in some way been unworthy to see him and this was a punishment for you? Would you feel resentment against the other disciples, your friends, for having seen Jesus, for having received something you had been denied? In fact, would you believe the others?
Or would you judge their fears had made them see things which weren’t true? Would you have demanded extra proof to assure the others, and yourself, you could not be fooled by a mere apparition, a ghost? How do you now react when Jesus does not seem to appear to you but does to others? When it seems he is far from you but close to others. When it seems God, himself, does not answer your prayers. Do you continue to wait with patience, or do you make extra demands upon him before you can accept the reality of his presence?
Surely, the week after Easter, the week following the Resurrection must have been a difficult one all of the disciples, for Peter, Andrew, James and John – as well as for Thomas. What would happen next? As each day passed and the Lord had not again returned, would they all begin to entertain doubts? Had it really happened? Had Jesus really returned from the dead? Or had it been a dream? Perhaps Thomas was right in demanding additional proof.
Are we much different today, a week after our own celebration of Easter? Has the effect of the Resurrection worn off? Do I demand additional proof Christ has risen? Or can I be like Thomas on that Sunday after Easter, long ago? The gospel of John tells us: “A week later the disciples were once more ln the room, and this time Thomas was with them. Despite the locked doors, Jesus came and stood before them. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said; then, to Thomas: ‘Take your finger and examine my hands. Put your hand into my side. Do not persist in your unbelief but believe!’ Thomas said in response, ‘My Lord and my God!’”
When Jesus came to Thomas, he invited Thomas to do exactly what he had wanted to do. This invitation was offered without Thomas needing to repeat it. Yet Thomas did not demand the proof he thought he wanted. Without hesitation, Thomas made his absolute declaration of faith. He saw Jesus, and without any further proof, Thomas proclaimed him: “My Lord and my God!”
For the other disciples, the risen Jesus had been seen as a return of their friend who had once been dead, but who had come back to them. They rejoiced in his return. But Thomas saw him and proclaimed him, “My Lord and my God!” What does it mean to join Thomas in proclaiming this risen One as “my Lord and my God!”?
The answer to that lies in the first two readings we heard for this Sunday after Easter. When I began this reflection I said the focus would be on the gift believers have and what believers must do because of this gift. Just what is this gift? It is the gift which Jesus gave the evening he appeared to his disciples. He gave them the gift of his Peace.
Each Sunday when we celebrate our “little Easter” – and that is what each and every mass is: a celebration of Easter – at every mass we say to one another: “May the Peace of Christ be with you.” This is the gift we desire: the Peace of Christ. It is an interior Peace. It is the calm which is our center. It is not peace in the world, not peace in Central America or in the Middle East. It is not the peace of an absence of conflict in our nations, or in our cities, or even in our homes. Rather it is the peace which resides deep within our hearts.
It is from this special gift of peace that all else comes. It is this interior Peace of Christ, this breath of the Holy Spirit, which God, himself, breathes into us that makes us Children of God. It is this peace that allows us to “keep his commandments and find they are not burdensome.” And what do we do with this gift of the Peace of Christ? In fact, are we called to do anything with it? I believe we are.
It is a gift. In order for a gift to be appreciated, it must be used. A gift which is put away on a shelf, hidden out of sight, that is never used, is an insult to the one who gives the gift. When given the gift of the Peace of Christ, we are called upon to share this gift with others.
How do we do that? The Acts of the Apostles give us a hint in today’s first reading. We heard how, “being of one heart and of one mind,” the early Christian community gave of their possessions and distributed them to those in need. Sometimes we hear these words and dismiss them as some sort of communism or socialism that is repugnant to democracy. We look at them in a political context. But perhaps we need to put aside politics and see them in a different light.
What those early Christians did was this: they gave up control. They allowed God to be in control of their lives. Those early Christians gave their possessions, their material property to the apostles and allowed the apostles to give these possessions to those in need. Perhaps we are called upon to do the same thing.
Each of us searches for material things to fill our lives, to give us some kind of happiness, some interior peace. Yet there appears to be a continuing emptiness. We do not have that interior peace. Instead, we demand physical proof of our worth, just as Thomas demanded physical proof of Jesus’ presence. Jesus was willing to give Thomas the proof Thomas demanded, yet in the final moment, Thomas did not need that proof. Jesus gave him the same gift he had given to the other apostles, the same gift he gives to us: his Peace. For Thomas, that was enough. For the early Christians it, too, was enough. They shared not only their possessions with one another, they shared with one another this Peace of Christ. And with this interior peace, they were able to conquer the world.
Spring is a time of new life, of new beginnings. For some it consists of the drudgery of grass cutting, toting kids off to baseball practice and income taxes. For others, it is once more a time to escape from the locked room of our fears and to share with one another the Peace of Christ. Indeed, may the Peace of Christ be with you. Amen.
Second Sunday of Easter; April 10, 1988
Acts: 4:32-35; 1 Jn 5:1-6; Jn 20:19-31