Gospel according to Saint John 20:19-31
On the evening of that first day of the week, when the doors were locked, where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.”

Thomas, called Didymus, one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples said to him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

Now a week later his disciples were again inside and Thomas was with them. Jesus came, although the doors were locked, and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Thomas answered and said to him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. But these are written that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that through this belief you may have life in his name.

Not only with water, but with water and blood

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, April 12, 2026 | Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 4: 32-35; 1Jn 5: 1-6; Jn 20: 19-31

Today’s Second Reading, referring to Jesus, says: This is the one who came with water and blood: Jesus Christ. Not just with water, but with water and blood. Thus, it seeks to convey something important to us regarding blood, which is considered by ancient and modern cultures alike to be an essential part of the human being. Poets, doctors, and religions speak endlessly of blood.

For example, the theologian and scientist Miguel Servet (1509–1553), who was burned at the stake in Geneva for his heterodox ideas, studied pulmonary circulation in depth and, as a restless and bold Christian intellectual, interpreted that, thanks to blood, the soul could be disseminated throughout the body, thus enabling man to assume his divine nature.

Today, in his First Epistle, Saint John is writing from a mindset deeply shaped by the Old Testament, where blood is not a secondary detail, but the center of the relationship with God. Indeed, in biblical thought, life is in the blood, as Leviticus states: For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it to you upon the altar to make atonement for your souls (Lev 17:11)

So, blood is not just a physical thing; it is life itself offered up. That is why, when we speak of the blood of Jesus Christ, we are not referring only to his death, but to his life given up completely. There are no more repeated sacrifices; His blood represents the ultimate sacrifice.

A key moment is the Jewish Passover; as we see in the book of Exodus, the people of Israel mark their doorposts with the blood of the lamb, and that blood protects them from death. This shows us that blood here is not merely a symbol, but truly a sign of salvation and liberation.

In the language of spiritual—and mystical—life, we could say that water purifies us and prepares us so that we may be able to receive life in its fullness, represented by the blood. This goes beyond what the unfortunate Miguel Servet intended to say. By giving our blood and leaving behind our comfort, we help ensure that the full life, the eternal life brought by Jesus, reaches the depths of our neighbor’s heart.

But blood also represents profound pain, the suffering surrender of one who—at the same time—has the joy of giving life to other human beings. In his masterpiece War and Peace (1865), and especially in The Kingdom of God Is Within You (1894), Leo Tolstoy focuses on all the blood shed time and again in the world and interprets it as a sign that we have failed morally.

In any case, in addition to admiring and giving thanks for Christ’s sacrifice, we must keep this practical conclusion in mind every day: Just as Christ laid aside His divine nature to save us, if we wish to do the greatest good for our neighbor, we must ALWAYS purify our intentions and give up something that brings us immediate satisfaction… that is, to accept the water and wine that Christ brings.

—ooOoo—

How does Christ give us his peace? He continues to do so as he did in the Upper Room, with the disciples filled with confusion. They felt remorse for having abandoned Jesus, and they were also afraid that the same fate might befall them as that of the Master, who was martyred by the envy and corruption of the powerful.

Jesus’ peace comes through an act of trust. It is not a conditional freedom nor a forgiveness laden with moral recommendations. It is about someone who looks at us as if we were better, much better than we think we are. And that is why he entrusts us with something very important to him.

I remember a story we sometimes share with young people:

An unprofessional thief steals a luxury car that is parked. The owner sees him from a distance and calls the police, who apprehend the criminal within minutes. At the police station, the usual procedure begins, and the car owner is asked to fill out a formal complaint form. To everyone’s surprise, he refuses to do so, because he realizes how immature and distressed the unfortunate criminal is.

The police, taken aback, insist on following procedure, but the car owner waives his right, refuses to sign anything, and within minutes the thief is out on the street, giving him a long explanation of his situation—his recent job loss, and so on. The car owner seems not to be paying attention and replies:

Here are the keys to my car. Starting today, I’m asking you to pick up my children after school, because my wife is unwell and I’m very busy. I’ve already told them that you’ll be driving my car, so they’ll be able to reach you.

He handed him a photo of his two children and said goodbye, leaving the frustrated thief speechless and with tears in his eyes.

The criminal’s logic was shattered, as was his fear, and suddenly he feels compelled to fulfill a mission he did not expect. Something like this, but to a supreme degree, must have happened to the disciples in the Upper Room, because they did not receive keys, but the light and the power of the Holy Spirit:

We, sinners—do we now receive the ability to forgive?

We, who have not always believed—are we to take on the very task that the Master carried out until his death?

What has he discovered in us that we had never imagined?

They could not comprehend much, nor did they surely understand who the Advocate, the Comforter, the Fire, and the Wind were that Jesus gave them… but they knew how to obey, with fear, with trembling, yet without stopping, without looking back, because their past did not deserve to be lived again.

The peace of Christ is linked to forgiveness, to that form of forgiveness that encompasses a mission, and each of us receives it daily. This Sunday, named by St. John Paul II Divine Mercy Sunday, a Mercy that, because it is divine, is not like ours. Indeed:

► His mercy is FOREVER. People who go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation (not just every 20 years), but by the very act of approaching the confessional, bear witness time and again that they have sinned and that they are certain they will receive forgiveness and peace once more. The same is true for those who place their trust in a rector or spiritual director.

► Just as Christ said twice to the disciples, “Peace be with you,” to each of us, HE REPEATEDLY GIVES US SIGNS OF HIS PEACE and, with it, of his forgiveness. Peace has a healing effect, which Christ always uses, like medicine, to prepare souls to live fully.

► The First Reading shows us an effect of mercy that is both spectacular and discreet: THE UNITY OF THOSE WHO SINCERELY FOLLOW CHRIST. It is something spectacular and unusual, because no community can live without divisions, in one form or another; it requires an action of the Holy Spirit, who is the agent of true unity. At the same time, the coexistence of the early Christians was discreet because, although they courageously confessed their faith, the strength of their confession came from the unity they lived: No one called anything they had “their own.”

Today is a very fitting day to reflect, in memory and in heart, on how many times and in how many ways Christ has forgiven me. In this way, I will be more aware that the mercy I have received is so clear and powerful that I cannot help but practice it toward those around me.

—ooOoo—

But, moreover, Christ showed them his wounds. This means sharing one’s innermost self, one’s greatest concern, one’s deepest longing. It is somewhat like the owner of a stolen car, who entrusts to the thief not only the keys, but the safety of his children.

It is impossible to imagine a more powerful form of ecstasy. It draws our attention away from the suffering we each experience, however real and profound it may be, and makes us look at the pain of others and the aspiration to do good that lies hidden, sometimes buried, in the heart of every human being.

When we witness the wounds of the innocent—whether children, the elderly, the sick, victims of violence, or the marginalized—something deep within us is stirred. It is not just emotion: it is a profound protest, which can take very different paths.

The first reaction may be anger. Perhaps not a destructive anger, but that indignation born of the sense of justice that God has placed in the human heart. It is the reaction of one who says: It is not fair; it cannot be that evil has so much power and the final say.

It can become moral energy, commitment, a defense of the weak. But it can also turn bitter if it finds no outlet. The Gospel helps us with this.

Another possible reaction is discouragement. When evil seems to repeat itself endlessly, one feels that nothing changes, that every effort is futile, and that, in the face of powerlessness, it is better to close one’s eyes so as not to see anymore. It is the weariness of one who has loved and seen little fruit. But it is a pessimism that, if it takes root in the soul, paralyzes us.

Perhaps the deepest reaction is the question that runs through all of Scripture: If God is good, why does he allow this? It is Job’s question, the cry of the Psalms, the cry of Jesus himself on the cross.

It is the faith that dares to speak to God from the darkness, yet leads us to active compassion: I cannot eliminate evil, but I can ALWAYS find a way to stand beside those who suffer.

This is what Jesus did, and even more, He promised and fulfills that He would be with us every day, until the end of time (Mt 28:20).

When we see an innocent person suffering, we are not wrong to feel anger, sadness, or doubt. We are only wrong if we let those reactions close our hearts to a grace that is greater than our immediate reactions.

_______________________________

In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President