
Peace be with you
Second Sunday of Easter, Year A
Collect
God of everlasting mercy, who in the very recurrence of the paschal feast kindle the faith of the people you have made your own, increase, we pray, the grace you have bestowed, that all may grasp and rightly understand in what font they have been washed, by whose Spirit they have been reborn, by whose Blood they have been redeemed. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Reflection
I don’t know whether you feel it too, but I often find myself asking the Lord, like Thomas, to wait for me another week—to come again for me the following Sunday. I make this request because at times in life I find myself like Thomas: closed in on myself, burdened by my problems and my pain, lost in my thoughts, even detached from those around me so that I fail to notice anyone else’s needs; perhaps I am even unable to pray. I become so distracted and confused that it is as if I do not know that the Lord has risen from the dead. And, like Thomas, I remain outside the joy of the Good News of the Resurrection and do not experience the joy that the disciples felt when they met the Lord.
I think that all of us, at one time or another, find ourselves like Thomas. Fortunately, the Lord comes again for us and continues to come to us each time—not to rebuke us or scold us; not to say, “Why do you never learn? Why do you not believe at once each time? Why do you not trust me?” Instead, like Thomas, with great patience he shows us his wounds again—signs of his suffering, but also of his humanity—and invites us to place our hands upon them.
And the best part of the story is that, in the encounter with the living Christ, everything in us that is death, everything that is pain, everything that is shadow, our sorrow … these bitter experiences which in some way shut us in on ourselves are not ignored. Rather, in the meeting of our wounds with Christ’s wounds, they become the place where we experience love and healing (or at least begin to experience healing). There, in the wounds, lies the secret. May we have the courage to put our finger on our wounds and allow them to be touched by the light that flows from his wounds, for only in this way do we come to recognise Jesus and experience him in our lives as our Lord and our God. If we continue to run away from our wounds, they will remain there and continue to fester and trouble us.
Perhaps Jesus, like Thomas, will have to wait for us and come again for us. It does not matter. The Lord comes. That is what he does for us every Sunday, every day, in the Eucharist. But, like Thomas, we must not remain cut off on our own; rather, we must remain connected to the community, for it is there that the encounter takes place. It is together, as a community, that we experience the saving grace of the Lord. It is through the community that he comes to meet us and seek us out.
Prayer
Thank you, Lord Jesus, that you continue to wait for me each time. Grant that you may find me ready to let my wounds meet yours and to experience the joy of the Resurrection within the Church, this community of the wounded—yet wounded who are saved and who believe in the power of the One who has saved them. Amen.




