13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Secure Enough to Reach Out?

Readings: Wisdom 1:13-15,2:23-24; Psalm 29:2,4-6,11-13; 2 Corinthians 8:7,9,13-15; Mark 5:21-43

Pictures: cc USAG–Humphreys

Sisters and brothers, what do you think? If I were to walk up to a complete stranger, who happens to be eating at the hawker centre nearby, shout out a cheery hello, and offer the person a handshake, what do you think will happen? Do you think the person will reach out and take my hand? Maybe. If I’m very lucky. But the person is also at least as likely to take me for a salesman, or a crook, or just plain crazy, and chase me away. And what about if the person I approach is a local. And I am a foreigner? Will that change things? Whether or not the stranger reaches out to take my hand depends on how s/he perceives me. Does s/he think that it’s safe to talk to me? Am I worth the risk? Does s/he feel safe and secure enough to stretch beyond his or her comfort zone?

Quite clearly reaching out isn’t always an easy thing to do. (I know it’s not easy for me.) And not even when we have good reasons to do it. We need to feel secure enough before we’re willing to reach out. This too is the situation in our Mass readings today. In both the second reading and the gospel, we find people who are being invited to reach out in some way. In the gospel, both Jairus, the synagogue official, and the unnamed woman feel an impulse to reach out in their need. They both need something very badly. They both desire healing. The woman, for herself. Jairus, for his daughter. And, although their sicknesses may be different, the situations of the woman and the girl are really very similar.

We’re told that the woman has been suffering from a flow of blood for 12 long years. To the Jews, blood meant life. So the woman’s illness is sucking the very life out of her. In addition, the bleeding renders the woman ritually unclean. Cutting her off from normal interaction with others. Thus, both physically and socially, the woman is at death’s door. And it is this movement from life to death that makes the woman’s condition so strikingly similar to that of Jairus’ daughter. Just as the woman has been bleeding for a dozen years, we’re told that the girl dies at the significant age of 12. Her life is tragically taken from her just as she approaches the time for bearing children. The time for bringing new life into the world. In other words, both the woman and the girl are caught between life and death. This is why they need to reach out to Jesus for help.

But still, although their respective needs are so urgent, even though it’s no less than a matter of life and death, reaching out remains very challenging, as much for Jairus as for the woman. For her part, the woman could not have known how Jesus would react. To touch Jesus was to render him ritually unclean. Wouldn’t this make him angry? And Jairus had no reasonable expectation that Jesus could actually do something for his precious daughter. As his servant tells him: Your daughter is dead: why put the master to any further trouble? And yet, each of them, Jairus and the woman, somehow manage to reach out. From where did they find the courage? What made them feel secure enough to do so? We find the answer on Jesus’ lips. To the woman, he says, your faith has restored you to health. And to Jairus: Do not be afraid; only have faith. For both the woman and the synagogue official, faith in Christ is what gives them the security they need to reach out for help. And when they do, their situations are reversed. Death is transformed into life.

In the second reading too, we find people being invited to reach out. But for a different–for an opposite–reason. Here, St. Paul writes to the Christians at Corinth to beg them to donate money to their poor brothers and sisters in Jerusalem. Unlike Jairus and the woman–who reach out because they themselves are in need–the Corinthians are being invited to reach out to meet the needs of others. They are asked to to reach out to care for others. To turn away from the selfishness that brings spiritual death. And to embrace the compassion and care that brings the fullness of life. But, although the reasons may be different, the act of reaching out remains just as challenging. Why should the Corinthians reach out? After all, they live in an uncertain world. A world filled with insecurity. Why can’t they be allowed to look to their own concerns first? Why should they bother about the needs of others? These are among the questions that Paul sets out to answer in the second reading.

And, as it turns out, the answer that Paul gives the Corinthians is not much different from what Jesus tells Jairus and the woman in the gospel. In order to help the Corinthians feel secure enough to reach out to care for others, Paul reminds them of their faith. In particular, he encourages them to recall how, in Christ, God has reached out to them in their need. Remember how generous the Lord Jesus was, writes Paul, he was rich, but he became poor for your sake, to make you rich out of his poverty. Paul’s hope is that, just as faith in Christ moves Jairus and the woman to reach out in their need, this same faith will move the Corinthian Christians to cater to the needs of their brothers and sisters in Jerusalem.

As much for Jairus and the woman of the gospel as for the Corinthian Christians, it is faith in Christ that gives them the courage and generosity to reach out. It is faith in Christ that somehow produces in them the sense of security they need to risk making contact. Not just contact with other people, but also contact with God in prayer. And this is as it should be. For, in Christ, we see the truth of what the first reading tells us. That God takes no pleasure in the extinction of the living. On the contrary, in Christ, God continually reaches out to us, leading us from death into the fullness of life (John 10:10).

And it remains important for us to remember this today. Even though scientific advances have made human life far more comfortable now than it was in the time of Jesus. Even though we can cure many more diseases now than we could then. Isn’t it true that we often continue to feel overwhelmed by the radical uncertainty, the unavoidable insecurity, of life? Who knows what will happen tomorrow? Such that, even in a relatively safe place like Singapore, it appears that more and more of us are finding it difficult to reach out to others, whether it be to seek or to offer help. And more so if the other is someone from another country. For example, the latest issue of Today newspaper reports that in a recent forum on xenophobia (the fear of foreigners), the panellists, including several prominent bloggers... were unable to reach a consensus on whether they should take a collective stand against (xenophobic) behaviour (on the internet). Are we really so insecure? Even to the extent of not being able to agree on something as basic as that?

Sisters and brothers, in an uncertain, unpredictable world, in a world where racism and xenophobia continue to rear their ugly heads, the treasure that we Christians have to offer continues to be our faith in Christ. Our faith in the deep ongoing desire and power of God to lead us from death into the fullness of life.

How might this same faith give us the spiritual security to reach out to others today?

 The Nativity of St. John the Baptist
MYOB

Readings: Isaiah 49:1-6; Psalm 138:1-3,13-15; Acts 13:22-26; Luke 1:57-66, 80

Picture: cc JoeInSouthernCA

Sisters and brothers, have you ever found yourself having a conversation with someone who was getting a little too nosy? Or, as we like to say, here in Singapore, a bit too kay poh? Let’s say, for example, that the person asks you about your occupation, then goes on to probe into your salary, or your family situation , or even your love life. What do you do? How do you respond? How do you remain polite and friendly, while still preserving your privacy? It’s a rather delicate situation, isn’t it? But only for adults. For kids, it’s usually much simpler. I remember, when I was still in primary school, I learned a very direct and effective way for dealing with over-inquisitive people. When someone began to ask you more questions than you cared to answer, all you had to do was to say to them, MYOB. Mind your own business.

Mind your own business. This is very helpful advice. Not just for those who pry into the private concerns of others. But also for busybodies of all kinds, including those who literally keep their bodies perpetually busy. People whose lives are crammed with many different activities. Of course, it’s not always a bad thing to be busy. Just as it’s not always a bad thing to get involved in the affairs of others. As Christians, we all have a duty to care for one another, especially for those who may need our help in some way. People near at hand, as well as those faraway.

But haven’t we also encountered people, who seem to be so busy with other people’s affairs, that they have no time or energy to fulfil their own proper responsibilities? Duties that no one else would look after if they did not? We might think, for example, of a hyperactive churchgoer. A person who serves on a whole string of ministries and committees in the parish. But who doesn’t seem to devote any significant amount of quality time to his or her spouse or children. Indeed, isn’t it true that sometimes, whether they realise it are not, people like that occupy themselves with parish business precisely in order to escape from problematic home environments? If this is the case, then what should we say to them? Should we continue to encourage their busyness? After all, the parish does need their help. Or should we not rather help them to appreciate the importance of MYOB? Minding your own business.

The importance of minding your own business. I believe that this is also what our readings are teaching us on this solemn feast of the Birth of John the Baptist. In the first reading, taken from one of the servant songs of Isaiah, we find someone who is finally discovering his own vocation. For a long time, although he has been busy with various things, this servant of the Lord has been experiencing a sense of futility. I was thinking, he says, I have toiled in vain, I have exhausted myself for nothing. But now, God reveals to him what he is supposed to do. His proper calling is to be a light to the nations so that God’s salvation might reach the ends of the earth. With this knowledge the servant can finally focus his efforts on what God wants him to do. He now knows how go about minding his own (God-given) business.

We find something similar in the experience of John the Baptist. We all know that John was totally committed to doing God’s work. Even to the extent of laying down his life. And yet, as committed as John was, he did not set out to do everything. He knew quite well the particular role he was called to play. As the second reading tells us, John knew that he was not the Messiah. I am not the one you imagine me to be, he says, that one is coming after me and I am not fit to undo his sandal. And it is precisely this humility and clarity of purpose that allow him to focus his efforts on the particular task given to him by God. In other words, John knows how to mind his own business.

This clarity of purpose that we find in John, we find also in his parents, Anne and Zechariah. The custom at that time was for the son to be named after someone in the family, and to take up his father’s occupation. But it is somehow revealed to Anne and Zechariah that God has other plans for their newborn son. His name is not to be Zechariah, but John. A name which means graced by God. The parents realise that God has set apart their child for a particular purpose. Instead of taking after his father, he is to follow in the footsteps of the prophets of old. He is to welcome the Word of God, and to proclaim Him to the people. By choosing to name their child John, Anne and Zechariah were helping him to follow God’s call. They were allowing him to focus on his assigned mission. They were teaching him to mind his own business.

But in order to truly mind our own business, we have first to discover it. How do we do that? How do we find out what God wants us to do? Our readings tell us two things that may help us. First, we’re assured that God calls us even from our mother’s womb. And, second, that God trains and moulds the one who is called. He made my mouth a sharp sword, the first reading tells us, and hid me in the shadow of his hand. He made me into a sharpened arrow, and concealed me in his quiver. If all this is true, then one good way to discover our calling is for us to review the course of our life. To look back on the experiences we’ve had, the successes and the failures, the joys and the sorrows, the lights and the shadows. To consider the desires that have moved us, as well as the fears that have held us back. And to ask God to reveal to us how, through all these different experiences, God may have been shaping us for a particular purpose.

Sisters and brothers, in the Vineyard of the Lord there are many things that need to be done. Many items of business that need looking after. Thankfully, God doesn’t expect us to accomplish all of them on our own. We are only expected to do what God has been calling and training us to do.

Sisters and brothers, the question we need to ask ourselves is how ready am I to do what I am meant to do? Nothing more, and nothing less. How ready am I to mind my own God-given business today?

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

The Who and the Where

Readings: Ezekiel 17:22-24; Psalm 91:2-3,13-16; 2 Corinthians 5:6-10; Mark 4:26-34

In every life we have some trouble; when you worry you make it double; don't worry, be happy... Ain’t got no place to lay your head; somebody came and took your bed; don't worry, be happy... The landlord say your rent is late; he may have to litigate; don’t worry be happy...

Sisters and brothers, I think many of us are familiar with these words taken from the song written and performed by Bobby McFerrin. Don’t Worry! Be Happy! Isn’t this something that we all wish we could do? And yet, isn’t it true that these words are much easier to sing than to put into practice? When it feels like my life is packed with many unresolved problems. Loaded with various apparently unbearable burdens. Filled with a host of unanswered questions. How can I not worry? How can I be really happy? When I experience failure, in school, or at work, or in my relationships. When my kids don’t seem to be turning out the way I’d like them to. When, even though my life may be filled with many good and beautiful things, I can’t quite escape the feeling of emptiness or restlessness deep down in my heart. How not to worry? How to be truly happy?

And even if I could ignore all my own problems, isn’t it a rather selfish thing to do, really? To want to be happy? When I know that there are so many people around the world living in abject poverty. People who have to struggle daily just to find enough food to fill their bellies, or water to wet their lips, or a roof to shelter their heads. When there are so many others who suffer the effects of war, or oppression, or discrimination of one kind or another. When scientists warn us of the serious environmental crisis endangering human life on this planet of ours. Faced with so many questions without clear answers, should I not be concerned? As someone who professes to follow Jesus–who, though he was rich, became poor, so that by his poverty we might become rich (2 Cor 8:9)–do I not have a responsibility to look for answers? Or to care for those who suffer? And can I really do this, and still not worry? Can I allow myself to be affected by the misery of others, and still be truly happy?

In his second letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul faces a similar dilemma. Paul, as you know, is no stranger to suffering. Towards the end of this letter–in chapter 11–he writes about having been imprisoned and flogged many times, of experiencing hunger and thirst, of being betrayed and persecuted, and even shipwrecked. Nor is Paul a person who thinks only of himself. In chapter 9 we find one of the main reasons why he is writing to the Corinthians. He is begging them to donate money to the needy Christians in Jerusalem. All of which tells us that Paul faces his fair share of problems. Problems of his own, and also of others. He struggles to find answers to difficult questions. To what and how questions: What must I do to continue my mission? How can I help the people entrusted to my care?

And yet, in our second reading today, taken from chapter 5, we find Paul saying something very surprising. In spite of his many difficulties, Paul can still say–and he says it twice, in quick succession–we are always full of confidence... Imagine that. We are full of confidence. Which is not too far from Bobby McFerrin’s advice: Don’t worry! Be happy! But how can this be possible? How does Paul do it? What is his secret? Paul himself tells us how. Even though he may see no final answers to the difficult questions he faces, he knows at least this much: he and his companions want to make their home with the Lord. They are intent on pleasing him. Although Paul may not know exactly what to do, or how to do it, he is certain of where he wishes to be, and of who will give him strength. Paul has no doubt that he wishes to be with the Lord, and to serve him alone. And it is this certainty that fills Paul with confidence.

We find something similar in the rest of our Mass readings for today. Here too, the emphasis is not so much on what and how, as it is on who and where. The image we are given is that of plants growing and bearing fruit. In the first reading, we hear of a shoot planted on a very high mountain, and growing into a noble cedar, a very tall and majestic tree. In the gospel, Jesus speaks of seed sprouting secretly, and fruitfully. In both these readings, the emphasis is on who. The focus is on the action of God. It is God who plants the shoot. It is God who sows the seed. It is God who causes the growth. It is God who brings forth fruit.

The responsorial psalm confirms this by telling us that planted in the house of the Lord they will flourish in the courts of our God, still bearing fruit when they are old, still full of sap, still green. Notice how the psalmist is more concerned about location than about action. He is focused more on the where than on the what. For growth to take place, we need to be planted in the right place. We need to be rooted in God. Only then will the shoot develop into a mighty tree, providing shelter for all the birds of the air. As important as it may be to carefully consider what we can do to serve God, and to ask ourselves how we can help those in need, it is even more important to remain rooted in God. Like Paul, we need to ensure that we want to be where God is. That we are intent on pleasing the Lord alone. It is only in this way that our actions can become truly fruitful, really beneficial to those in need. In the Kingdom of the Lord, more important than the what and the how are the who and the where.

I’m reminded of these lines penned by Bishop Ken Untener of the diocese of Saginaw, in the United States of America:

It helps now and then to step back and take a long view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime only a fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. No statement says all that could be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church's mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water the seeds already planted knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master-builder and the worker. We are workers, not master-builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

To remember that we are ministers and not messiahs. Perhaps this is part of the secret. To be confident and happy, even while we may have to struggle with our own difficulties, and with the sufferings of others, we need constantly to keep in mind the who and the where.

Sisters and brothers, who exactly is responsible for your growth? Where are you planting yourself today?

3rd Sunday of Easter (B)
What Type of Knowledge? What Kind of Friend?

Readings: Acts 3:13-15,17-19; Psalm 4:2,4,7,9; 1 John 2:1-5; Luke 24:35-48

Picture: cc kaysha

Sisters and brothers, if I were to tell you that I know Lee Hsien Loong, would you be impressed? What about if I were to tell you that, not only do I know him, but that I am actually a friend of his? Imagine that. A friend of the Prime Minister of Singapore. Would that astonish you? Would that make you think more highly of me? Probably not, right? (And this is no reflection on our esteemed PM.) After all, everyone knows Lee Hsien Loong. And, especially now, after the PM has gotten onto Facebook, anyone can be his friend. Nothing really to be impressed about.

But what if I were to tell you that I knew him personally? Or that I was a close family friend? (I’m not, by the way. In case you’re wondering.) But just suppose I were to claim to be such. Claim to know him well. To be his good buddy. Would you be impressed? Well, it depends, right? It depends on whether I can back up my claim with some hard evidence. For example, if I could walk up to his doorstep, ring the doorbell, and be invited into his home, without being handcuffed and driven away in a police car, then maybe you’d be impressed. After all, talk is cheap. My claims will carry weight only to the extent that I’m able to show some visible signs to support them. Otherwise, I should just stick to friending the PM on Facebook.

In other words, there are different ways of knowing someone. And, these days, even of befriending them. There’s the kind of knowledge that sees only from afar. The kind that is relatively easy to have. And then there is the more personal, more intimate kind. The kind that takes time and effort. The kind that can change your life. And, if we want to tell which kind of knowledge, what kind of relationship, someone has, it’s not enough just to accept what that person says. We also need to look at the signs in that person’s life. This is true not just of knowing the Prime Minister of Singapore. It is true also of relating to the Risen Christ, whom we continue to celebrate in this joyous Easter season.

We see this quite clearly in our gospel reading for today. At this point in the story, the disciples have already received news that Jesus has risen from the dead. Earlier, the women had already discovered the empty tomb, where two men in brilliant clothes had informed them that the Lord had risen. Peter himself had also visited the tomb, and had found it empty. Then, of course, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus had encountered Jesus, and rushed back to Jerusalem to inform the rest. So that, at this point in the story, it’s quite clear that the disciples already know that Jesus has risen. But what kind of knowledge is this? How deep is it? Is it the kind of knowledge that gains you entry into another’s house? Or is it the kind that only allows you to friend him on Facebook?

It is the signs that tell us. Notice, for example, the disciples’ reactions when Jesus comes among them. We’re told that they are reduced to a state of alarm and fright. Probably not unlike how I would feel if I were dragged away by the PM’s security detail. Alarm and fright. They weren’t expecting the Lord to show up. They had heard that he was risen. And yet, they didn’t really know it. Didn’t really believe it.

But all that begins to change. Jesus reassures them. He shows them the things that they need to see. He speaks to them the words that they need to hear. And their knowledge begins to deepen. The virtual reality of Facebook gradually gives way to the intimacy of true friendship. And there are concrete signs of this shift in knowledge. First of all, there is a recognition. The disciples begin to see that this person standing before them is really the Lord. But that’s not all. The recognition goes deeper. For we are told that Jesus opened their minds to understand the scriptures. Which means that the disciples finally recognise Jesus as the One whom the prophets had foretold so long ago. The one who was to suffer and rise from the dead on the third day. The first sign then is the ability to recognise Jesus in the here and now.

And this first sign leads immediately to a second. Upon recognising Jesus, the disciples are filled with joy. The same people who just a moment ago had been paralysed with alarm and fright, now find themselves spontaneously rejoicing. Recognition and rejoicing. These are the first two signs that the knowledge of the Resurrection has begun to flood the disciples’ hearts. But there’s more. The other readings speak to us of two others signs of this deepening of knowledge.

In the second reading, John tells us that we can be sure that we know God only by keeping his commandments. This is a third sign. True knowledge of the Resurrection is expressed in obedience to God, in such a way that God’s love comes to perfection in the one who obeys. And this growth towards perfection is made manifest in a fourth sign. The sign that Peter demonstrates in the first reading. After healing a paralysed man in the Temple, Peter bravely bears witness to the suffering, death and resurrection of Christ. You killed the prince of life, he exclaims, God, however, raised him from the dead, and to that fact we are the witnesses.

Recognition and rejoicing. Obedience and witnessing. These are four of the tell-tale signs that indicate to us the deep interior knowledge the disciples had of the Crucified and Risen Christ. These are the indicators that tell us that the disciples' knowledge was not just the product of superficial, second-hand information. Rather was it born of profound spiritual experience. Each of them had encountered the Lord in a very real, deeply personal way. And the effects were plain to see in their daily lives.

All of which might lead us to reflect on ourselves. On our own knowledge of Christ. To what extent do our own lives show forth the signs of the Resurrection? To what extent do we recognise the Lord in the people and situations that we encounter daily? To what extent do we rejoice in him, obey him, bear witness to him at each moment of every passing day? And if we find these signs lacking, then perhaps we need to truly make our own that beautiful prayer from our responsorial psalm: Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord. Lift up the light of your face, and teach us to see you more clearly, to love you more dearly, and to follow you more nearly, O loving and living Lord.

Sisters and brothers, on this 3rd Sunday of Easter, how well do we really know the Risen Christ today?

2nd Sunday of Easter (B)

Divine Mercy Sunday

Not Like The Others

Readings: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 117:2-4,15-18,22-24; 1 John 5:1-6; John 20:19-31

One of these things is not like the others;
One of these things doesn’t belong;
Can you tell which thing is not like the others,
By the time we finish our song?

Sisters and brothers, I think at least some of us will recognise these words. They’re taken from a song that was often sung on Sesame Street, that popular educational TV show for children. Typically, as the song was sung, a collection of objects would be displayed. Usually four of them. Three would be similar, and a fourth would be different. The children would then be asked to identify the odd one out. One of these things is not like the others... Can you tell which one...

The song was very helpful for teaching children to notice similarities and differences. It helped them to identify the things that belonged together, and the things that didn’t. To distinguish the same from the different. A very useful and important skill. But there is something that the song does not teach. Something just as, if not more, important. After helping us to identify the thing that is not like the others, the song doesn’t tell us what to do about it. How should we relate to the thing that is out of place? The one that doesn’t belong? The odd one out?

And yet it is crucial that we consider this question, isn’t it? Especially in our world today, we often already know, far too well, how to distinguish what belongs from what doesn’t. We’re already highly skilled at telling apart the same from the different, the insider from the outsider, the master from the servant, the conservative from the liberal, the local from the foreigner, the friend from the foe. What is more, the world also constantly teaches us to relate to what is different–to what seems out of place–in one of only two ways. From a very young age–from the time we gather with other kids at the neighbourhood playground–we already learn, very quickly, that when we meet people who may be even a little different from us, we should either exclude them from our group, or bully them into becoming exactly the same as us. We may make fun of how someone speaks, for example, until the person learns to talk like us. Exclusion or oppression. Discrimination or intimidation. This is often what the world teaches its children. And, of course, what is learned at the playground, we continue to practice later on in life. As much in the office as at home, as much within pious church circles as amid the busyness of the global marketplace. People with difficult marital situations, for example, may get talked about behind their backs. Just as poorer nations might have unfair trade agreements imposed upon them in exchange for aid.

Either exclusion or oppression. These are the two different reactions that the real world presents to us on a regular basis. Both are expressions of hostility. And both often lead to a similar result. They bring about violence of some sort. Either the obvious violence of open conflict, or the hidden violence of passive aggression. Both estrange people in some way, whether one from another, or within each individual self. Yet, despite their tragic consequences, we often can’t seem to avoid either of these two options. When faced with people who are different from us, we often can’t seem to react in any other way. We either exclude, or we oppress. Nothing more. Nothing else.

Which is why it may be difficult to believe what we find in our first reading today. Here is a group of people so united, heart and soul, that its members go to the extent even of selling their possessions in order to help those who are poor and in need. To those whose situations are different from the rest–to the vulnerable and the disadvantaged–the early Christians react not with exclusion or oppression, but with great mercy. Could this really be possible? If so, how? How did these Christians manage to go beyond the limited options proposed by the world? The false alternatives of exclusion and oppression?

The second reading tells us how, by reminding us that it is our faith that enables us to overcome the world. When we truly believe that Jesus is the Christ, when we commit ourselves to living his commandment of love, then we are transformed. We may remain in the world, but we are no longer of the world. We are reborn. We begin to relate to others no longer purely out of self-interest, but mainly out of love. We no longer exclude or oppress those who may be different from us. Instead, we show them mercy. The same mercy that we ourselves first receive from Christ, who laid down his life for us on the Cross. Or, as the second reading puts it, the Christ who came not just by water, but also by blood. The same blood into which we have all been baptised. And of which we will partake at this Eucharist. It is faith in this blood of Christ, faith in the mercy of God in Christ, that is capable of transforming us.

And this very transformation is what we witness in the gospel today. Here, among the disciples, Thomas is the odd one out. He is the one who doesn’t quite belong. The others have already encountered the risen Christ. But Thomas has not. The others have already received the post-resurrection gift of faith. But not he. And it is helpful for us to consider carefully how Jesus deals with Thomas, the one who is different from the rest. The Lord does not drive him from the upper room. Neither does he bully him into submission. Instead Jesus meets him where he is. Peace be with you, the Lord says. Put your finger here; look, here are my hands. Give me your hand; put it into my side. Doubt no longer but believe. Rather than exclusion or oppression, Jesus wins over the one who doubts by showing him great mercy. And it is only after having experienced this mercy, that Thomas is then ready to be sent out, like the others, to show mercy to others. As the Father sent me, so am I sending you... those whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven. As the Lord says, in another context, it is those who have been forgiven much, who show great love (see Luke 7:47).

Sisters and brothers, in many different ways, the world continues to encourage us to exclude and to oppress those who may be different from us. But through our faith, we have been given power to overcome the world. This is the gift of Easter. The grace to show others not hostility, but mercy. The mercy that we ourselves continue to receive from the crucified and risen Lord.

Sisters and brothers, on this 2nd Sunday in Easter, as we celebrate the feast of the Divine Mercy, it is likely that we will encounter people who are not quite like all the others, people different from us, people who somehow don’t seem to belong. How will we show them mercy today?