He didn’t say ‘Where were You?’ He said ‘Peace.’ (John 20:19-31)

This is the very first time the Lord Jesus encounters his disciples after they all ran away from him.  Most of us would not let that moment pass. We might even say, “Where were you when I needed you most?” But he doesn’t mention it at all. Not a word. Instead, he says, “Peace be with you.” He illustrates universal forgiveness before he talks about forgiveness. So, I can see why we made this so-called mercy Sunday, because what we see here in the risen Christ is God in Jesus not holding on to any need to punish, to blame, to accuse the way we all do. You know when someone hurts you, it is almost impossible not to let them know. It is our little bit of punishment back. Jesus doesn’t do that. It is pure grace. It is an ocean of mercy. And that alone reshapes everything we think we know about God. Because what we see in the risen Christ is not someone holding on to the need to punish or accuse the way we so often do. When someone hurts us, it is almost instinctive to let them know, to return even in small ways the pain we received. But Christ breaks that pattern completely. He meets failure with peace.

 

Then comes the encounter with Thomas the Apostle, and here the mystery deepens. At first, it might seem like this moment is about proof, about showing that the resurrection is real. And yes, for many, the idea that someone could rise from the dead is difficult to accept. But that is not the deepest point of the story. The real mystery is this: you can be wounded and resurrected at the same time. That is why Christ says, “Put your finger here.” Every resurrection appearance still bears those wounds. It was not by avoiding them, not by denying them, but through them that resurrection came. It means that our wounds are not a contradiction to new life, they are part of it. It means resurrection is not about escaping our brokenness, but about something new emerging within it. You can be wounded and alive. You can be hurting and being renewed. You can be carrying pain and still rising. That is the mystery we share.

 

One week since the empty tomb. One week since the proclamation, “Alleluia. Christ is risen.” One week since all the joy, the hope, the astonishment. The disciples are still in the same house, behind the same locked doors, held by the same fears. If the resurrection is such a big deal, why does everything look so familiar? Why does it seem as though so little has changed? That question is not just about them. It is about us.

 

Because one week after Easter, we may look at our own lives and wonder the same thing. We wake up to the same routines, the same concerns, the same world. Like the disciples, we may find ourselves in the same room, still carrying old fears, doubts, or uncertainties. Resurrection is not a single event that flips a switch overnight, it is a process, a journey, a slow unfolding within us. The empty tomb is a fact. But resurrection is a story. The locked doors of your life do not keep Christ out; they are precisely where he enters. So, the invitation is simple. To recognize where you are as the starting point. To receive the peace that meets you there. And then, slowly, imperfectly, courageously, to begin opening the doors.

 

 - Lilly Pushpam PBVM