Father David McGough

Second Sunday of Easter Acts 5: 12-16; Apocalypse 1: 9-13 & 17-19; John 20: 19-31
‘In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were closed in the room where the disciples were for fear of the Jews.”
Confronted with the death of Christ, the first disciples sought physical refuge behind closed doors. We are not so very different. When we are afraid or uncertain, overwhelmed by inadequacy or failure, the doors of the spirit begin to close. The world rarely sees beyond the confident exterior behind which we hide ourselves. We know differently, for we have all experienced the inner isolation that feeds on its own doubts and uncertainties. We live in a world that has forced many to live behind closed doors. Rejection shuts us off from life, as does bereavement. The infirmity of advancing years brings its own inevitable isolation. There are many, many others that we could name for ourselves. Jesus, the Risen Lord, does not wait for us to conquer our fears and inadequacies. He reveals himself to us, as he revealed himself to those first disciples, at the very heart of our fearfulness.
“Jesus came and stood among them. He said to them, ‘Peace be with you’ and showed them his hands and his side. The disciples were filled with joy.” It is difficult to convey in words the transformation brought about in the disciples as the peace of Christ made its home in them. Peace is that wholeness in which we are at one with God, at one with ourselves and at one with each other. We cannot, despite all our efforts, create such peace of mind for ourselves. We must listen, and hear for ourselves, as if for the first time, the words of the Lord: “Peace I give you, my own peace I give unto you.” Such inner peace is the only sure foundation for any purpose and meaning that we might find in life. The Risen Lord first established his peace in the hearts of his disciples. Only after this did he invite them to share with him the meaning and purpose of life.
“As the Father sent me, so am I sending you.” These words had an obvious and immediate fulfilment in the ministry of the first apostles. They apply equally to everyone born into this world, and were entrusted to each one of us in a special way at our baptism and confirmation. Our lives are not mere accident. The Risen Lord underlined the dignity of every life. We are born and come into this world as an expression of the Father’s love. The greatest to the least can find no greater fulfilment in life than letting this love speak through all they do.
Despite all of this, we hesitate. We find it difficult to believe. Our greatest fear is a failure of faith itself. Thomas voices what we cannot admit even to ourselves: “Unless I can see the holes that the nails made in his hands and can put my finger into the holes they made, and unless I can put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe.”
We remember Thomas for his doubts. With him we long to bolster a struggling faith with the certainty of what can be seen and touched. This tendency is natural enough, but it is a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of faith. The primary concern of faith is not the resolution of our own doubts and anxieties. Faith entrusts itself, the real self, full of doubt and uncertainty, to the object of its trust. The most significant relationships of our lives operate on the level of such trust. We do not give ourselves to each other on the basis of what we can be proved, but on the basis of trust we place in each other. When we abandon our vulnerability to another, we find ourselves in them. The Risen Lord calls us to such faith: “Happy are those who have not seen and yet believe.”