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.
Believing in the midst of darkness
Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries
Rome, April 27, 2025 | II Sunday of Easter
Acts 4: 32-35; 1Jn 5,1-6; Jn 20: 19-31
Why are people who have believed without seeing happier? Because they have greater merit? Certainly not. When Jesus calls someone “happy” or “blessed,” it is because they have received a special grace, for example, because they are poor in spirit, they weep, or they seek to create peace.
If something extraordinary happens to us, such as the unexpected healing of someone we love, then the word “miracle” escapes us and we surely give thanks to God in some way. We have seen; we have felt; we have the impression that our plea has been heard.
On the other hand, unfortunately more often than not, when many contemplate the suffering of the innocent, in natural disasters, in illness caused by the sins of their fellow human beings, they become more convinced than ever that God does not exist or, at least, does not care about our pain. Then, God’s love and mercy are reduced to a doctrine or a superstitious hope.
At other times, especially in the case of consecrated persons, conflicts with the community or some form of psychological apathy convince them that they would do much more good elsewhere, or that they would find peace by cultivating a garden or living a love that they say is “more incarnate” with a specific person. In reality, God disappears from their lives.
There is no need to give more examples. Faith is a gift, although it is so important and powerful that we sometimes also call it a “virtue.” It comes, above all, after some purification, as in the case of the impressive saint Thomas, whom we see today trembling with fear and who later preached the Gospel heroically to the Parthians, Medes, Persians, and Hyrcans, before going on to India and being martyred in the south of that blessed land, giving life with his blood to so many saints who would follow him.
Saint Thomas appears twice more in John’s Gospel and, despite his difficulties in understanding, he is ready for anything. He is a true master of the faith. Upon receiving the news of Lazarus’ death, Jesus decides to go to Judea. Thomas thinks that following the Master means losing his life. Dejected and disappointed, he exclaims: Let us also go, that we may die with him (Jn 11:16). During the Last Supper, Jesus speaks of the path he is traveling, a path that passes through death to enter into life. Thomas intervenes again: Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we know the way? (Jn 14:5). He is full of perplexity, hesitation, and doubt, unable to accept what he does not understand. This is demonstrated for the third time in the episode recounted in today’s passage. This painful inability to understand was met with a faith capable of enduring martyrdom and becoming the source of conversion for millions of Christians in Asia.
There is a well-known story of a Maryknoll missionary sister who worked in South America. She told a retreat group that while working with the poorest people in the country, she completely lost her belief in God’s mercy. Even so, she continued her mission because she loved the people and felt compassion for them. She could not abandon them as others in her community had done.
A series of events led her to believe again in God’s mercy. She found it difficult to understand and explain why her attitude had changed, but she knew that it had. The brutal martyrdom of several of her fellow missionaries was the catalyst for the renewal of her faith in God. She gained a new vision of her vocation. Suddenly, she felt united in a new way. She felt one with the suffering Body of Christ in that country. She felt ready to offer her own life for others.
Faith comes or grows after a purification, which can be more or less painful, more or less prolonged. This is never divine punishment, but the Holy Spirit takes advantage of everything that happens in our minds, in our hearts, and around us to make us see that He is with us, that He is in the life of those who may have seemed cold, indifferent, or particularly vicious to me.
—ooOoo—
Christ not only recognizes the value of peace, but also transmits and makes full use of it, which is why the Gospel recounts that he ate with tax collectors and sinners. Sharing food with someone, in any culture, at any time, is a sign of closeness, of peace. And let us not forget that Christ’s peace is transmitted and grows, unlike the peace of the world, which is fragile and quickly vanishes.
When I was in New York, I heard about a young woman who was helping out at a nearby parish. Her experience shows how Christ’s peace is above all difficulties of character.
A man whom everyone knew as Mario (I’m changing the names for discretion) had a run-down cell phone store. He spoke badly to everyone, and if anyone asked him for help, he would say something unpleasant before offering a kind word.
Some believed he had been in prison. Others thought he had lost his family. No one knew for sure. They only agreed that it was best not to approach him.
One day, a young woman named Lucia, who worked as a volunteer at a nearby soup kitchen, entered the store. Her phone had broken. When she saw Mario behind the counter, she hesitated a little. But she approached him.
Mario didn’t say hello. He took the phone, looked at it, and exclaimed angrily: This can’t be fixed. Go somewhere else.
But Lucia smiled and said innocently: Don’t you think everything can be fixed with a little patience?
Mario looked at her as if she were from another planet. Without answering, he started working on the phone to get her out of his way… and in three minutes he had repaired it.
But Lucia came back every week. Sometimes with a cake, sometimes with a random question, just to talk. Little by little, that store became a place where the silence weighed less. Mario didn’t grumble as much anymore. He even let out a laugh once, overcome by Lucia’s simplicity.
One day, Lucía, in her innocence, dared to ask: Do you believe in God?
He was silent for a long time. Then he said something like: If God exists, he’s hiding where no one is looking. Maybe in people who don’t fit in, in those who have given up.
And she replied: Then he must live very close to you.
Mario didn’t answer. He just looked back at the cell phone in his hands. But that night, he left a box with five repaired cell phones in the community dining room, without saying a word.
No one saw him enter a church. No one heard him pray. But since then, everyone knew that God also walks among strange people, crowded subways, and men with weary hearts.
Generally, when one of life’s trials comes, we lose our peace. Jesus experienced all the emotions we experience, both pleasant and painful. He showed love and tenderness to a woman who washed his feet. He showed disappointment with the Pharisees who flaunted their religiosity. He was especially compassionate toward the crowds that followed Him, and He was surprisingly angry with the money changers in the Temple. He applauded people’s generosity and was pained to see anyone suffer.
Yet in the midst of all these different emotions, one thing remained constant: He always kept His peace. That’s because the peace Jesus had wasn’t based on everything going according to his plans. His peace came from knowing that the Father was always with him.
We, on the other hand, lose our peace, not only when things go wrong, but even when everything seems to be going our way. Because then we can forget about God. We can start trusting only in ourselves and end up feeling proud and self-sufficient. And this kind of self-sufficiency can lead to a downward spiral of turmoil and insecurity. The peace that God offers us is based on knowing that He loves us, forgives us, and saves us. That is St. Paul’s wish: that the peace of Christ may reign in your hearts, in every situation (Col 3:15).
—ooOoo—
Today’s Gospel text is so impressive that it can make us forget what the readings that precede it in today’s liturgy say. The early Christians did not discover a new economic system, but they felt a peace so deep that they did not need many arguments to share everything and live together. As the first reading says, “all thought and felt the same.” Truly, peace is the first necessity of every human being. Without it, we cannot think, dialogue, or be happy.
The early Christians fulfilled what the Second Reading says: By this we know that we love the children of God: if we love God and keep his commandments. The peace they received from Christ impelled them to love one another.
The Greek philosopher Socrates, when he was dying from the poison he was forced to drink, said to one of his grieving disciples: Crito, we owe Asclepius a rooster. Don’t forget to pay him. Asclepius was the god of medicine and healing. Offering him a rooster was a way of expressing gratitude for healing. But Socrates was dying… so healing from what?
Socrates saw death as a liberation of the soul from the body, a kind of ultimate spiritual healing. Upon death, the soul was free to contemplate truth, goodness, and beauty. What he called the world of Ideas.
So, in his ironic and profound style, Socrates was able to thank that divinity not for sparing him death, but for healing him… from life. He was truly free, he lived in peace, and he passed that on to his disciples, even in the midst of his agony.
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In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,
Luis CASASUS
President
