23 April 2017
2nd Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy)
Jesus walked through the door and said to his disciples, “Peace
be with you.” That was the first gift of
God after the Resurrection: the gift of peace.
And it was a much appreciated gift.
After all, the disciples had been hiding out together in fear. And so, it was a welcome relief not only to
see Jesus arisen from the dead, but also to hear his word of reassurance: “Peace
be with you.”
But that peace wouldn’t have come to them if Jesus hadn’t
walked through the door first. Before
Jesus could offer them peace, he had to have mercy on them. He had to acknowledge that they were afraid;
that they were locked up behind that door, and that they needed help. Jesus saw all that; he knew their situation
and he had pity for them. That’s why he
came through the door in the first place—because he took pity on them; he
wanted to lift them up and to be okay.
And divine mercy takes a lot of different forms. We could talk about forgiveness as a type of
mercy. Compassion and empathy are forms
of divine mercy; kindness and love, encouragement and patience. Fidelity is a big one, too. We ask God to have mercy on us—to remember
the covenant he made with us (even though we forget about it every now and
then). We ask him to be faithful, to be
the strong one in this partnership, especially when we are fickle and weak.
Divine mercy takes a lot of different forms. And that’s probably why it’s hard to pin down
exactly what it is we’re asking for when we pray, “Lord, have mercy on us.” Maybe for some people they’re aware of sins
that need forgiveness, and so they pray, “Lord, have mercy on us—Lord, forgive
me.” While others are perhaps afraid or
overly anxious, and so they pray, “Lord, have mercy on us—Lord, give me peace
of mind.” Mercy isn’t one thing; it’s
many things.
In the century behind Jesus was born, the ancient Athenians
worshipped a goddess named Eleos [eh-LAY-ohs].
But Eleos was not like Zeus or Poseidon, or Athena or Apollo. Those other gods and goddesses had a more
definite “look” to them. For instance,
they could look at an image of Zeus and say, “That’s Zeus.” They could look at a figure of Athena and
say, “That’s Athena.” But they generally
couldn’t do that with Eleos.
Eleos didn’t have a particular “look” to her. She took many different forms. Eleos wasn’t so much a statue to be worshipped
but, rather, a phenomenon to be experienced.
It’s hard to carve a statue of “peace.”
It’s hard to paint a picture of “forgiveness.” It’s difficult to make an image of “having a
conscience.” They’re all things we
humans experience; and they’re all different things. And, yet, they’re all related to the one idea
of mercy.
The one aspect of the goddess Eleos which is constant in
images of her is that her clothing is dark, earthy blue color. It’s a somber color; one that gets at the
depth of what divine mercy is all about.
Maybe there’s a connection there between that and the blue cloth that
covered the Ark of Covenant in the Old Testament. Maybe there’s a connection with Mary as the
Mother of Mercy, our Blessed Mother clothed in a blue mantle. Maybe there’s a connection with Advent and
Lent, and those dark blue, dark violet colors we see at church; after all,
those are seasons when we focus a lot of asking God for mercy.
One connection is for sure, and that is we get the word
eleison from Eleos. Every Lent we sing, “Kyrie,
eleison—Lord, have mercy. In whatever
way we need your help and support, Lord, have mercy on us. Kyrie, eleison.” And whenever we’re aware of having received
that mercy, it’s a wonderful thing. The
disciples were overjoyed when Jesus had pity on them, walked through the door,
and said, “Peace be with you.” It’s just
what they needed, in that situation, at that time.
But, at the same time, there are a couple of problems with
divine mercy. First, we have to be
humble enough to realize that we need God’s help. And, second, we can’t make God be merciful in
the way we want him to be merciful; we have to accept his mercy in whatever form
it comes to us.
You know, our God wears many hats. He’s the Creator, the Redeemer, the
Sanctifier. He’s also the Divine Physician,
Healer, and Companion to all. Our God is
a helpful God, a generous God, a God with a Sacred and Pure Heart, a God who is
the Good Shepherd and wants his people “to have life, life in abundance.” In other words, our God is a merciful God, a
loving God, a God of infinite pity and compassion.
But when pride gets in the way, who needs God? When “I can take care of myself,” who needs
God? When I’m spiritually sick and
running a fever (but I won’t admit it), who needs God . . . at least, a God of
mercy? In order to benefit from divine
mercy, there has to be the admission that “I do need God’s mercy. I do need God’s help and encouragement. And, yes, sometimes I even need God’s finger
pointing at me, and maybe even a good spanking.
I need God’s mercy, I need his help so I can have life, life in
abundance, today and always.” It takes humility, simple humility (and a little
bit of gratitude, too).
The other difficulty with divine mercy is, of course, we have
to let God do his merciful thing in whatever way he wants to do it. When I was in seminary, studying for the
priesthood, I prayed a lot that God would make it crystal clear to me: Should I
be a priest, or shouldn’t I? I was
asking God to have pity on me, to be merciful and just tell me what to do. But he wouldn’t. So I’d pray some more, and he still wouldn’t
tell me. And, after several years of
this, I realized one day that he wasn’t going to tell me. That’s how God chose to be merciful to me—he made
it hard for me.
But that’s exactly what I needed. When God remained mercifully silent, it was
then that I realized the vocation to priesthood (or any vocation) is a two-way
street. God had put it into my head to
think about priesthood. But the response
had to come from me. After all, we’re
not God’s puppets; we’re his disciples and his friends. Thanks to God’s mercy, he forced me take
ownership of my vocation, to be intentional about it, and to offer it back as a
gift from me to him.
And that’s certainly a challenge whenever we’re asking for
God’s help. It may not come in the time
or in the way we want it to. You know, we
might ask for peace of mind because of some situation in life, but God might be
saying, “You can have peace, but not by avoiding the situation you’re trying to
avoid.” In that case, divine mercy would
probably take the form of companionship and wisdom to get through the tough
times, and not necessarily the form of a shield to avoid difficulties. God’s mercy and help, God’s pity may not come
in the time or in the way we want it to.
And this is where Jesus’ words to Thomas ring in our ears: “Have
you come to believe because you have seen me?
Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” In other words, blessed are those who keep
faith in God—even when they don’t see divine mercy at work in the way we expect
it to.
Divine mercy is a tremendous gift from our God. Jesus had pity on his disciples; he walked
through the door and said, “Peace be with you.”
Peace was his gift to them—that day.
As we know, they all had a tough life following Jesus. But God’s mercy carried them through both the
good times and the not-so-good times.
Even when they felt God was absent from them—like Jesus on the Cross
when he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”—even when they
couldn’t see God’s mercy at work around them, they remained faithful.
We pray all the time, “Kyrie, eleison; Lord, have mercy.” And he does, whether or not we realize it. He has mercy on us, most especially here at
the Altar. If we ever need a reminder of
how much our God desires to lift us up and bring us to a better place, we need
only remember the sacrifice of the Eucharist.
Through his Body and Blood, Jesus comes through the door of our hearts,
and he offers us . . . mercy, peace, forgiveness, healing, companionship,
strength, and whatever else we need.
“Peace be with you,” he says to us through his Body and
Blood, “Peace be with you.” What’s left
but to be glad of heart, and to say a prayer of thanks that Mercy has visited
us.
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