Reflection for the Second Sunday of Easter

Long ago, I learned to always follow my spiritual director’s advice, even if what he asks me to do may be a little odd. So, when I had casually mentioned that the following Sunday I was planning to go down to the shore for the afternoon, he asked me to do a spiritual exercise on the beach. It involved a rosary and a teaspoon. I looked at him like he had gone a little “off” but agreed to do as he advised anyway.

The following Sunday, I found a quiet spot on the beach. I began walking, rosary in one hand and the teaspoon in the other hand. A quote from the Servant of God, Archbishop Fulton J Sheen shaped my prayer, “There is no surer formula for discontent than to try to satisfy our longings for the ocean of infinite love with a teaspoon of passing joys.” I repeated this phrase out loud when I completed each decade.

I began to think about my teaspoon in comparison to the ocean right next to me…how small it was and how boundless the sea seemed in comparison… I thought about the many ways I put limits on divine love… and the ways in which I might measure out to others only teaspoons of my love, compassion, or forgiveness. More and more I began to understand that God is offering us an ocean of love and mercy, but we settle for teaspoons, and worse yet, we offer others those same meager teaspoons of our compassion and forgiveness.

Thomas simply says what any reasonable person would say when told that someone who has died is dead no longer; he is skeptical and is not afraid to say so. Thomas wants to see Jesus, to touch Him, to know with certainty that this incredible news might be true. A week later, the Risen Lord suddenly stands before Thomas and invites Him to do exactly what his heart longs to do…to see, to touch, and to know. And Thomas, our “skeptic”, falls to his knees and confesses what no one else confesses: he calls Jesus, “Lord and God”.

Like Thomas, we all come to Jesus wanting to see, touch, and know that the “good news” is true. But, like Thomas, we also bring with us the crooked lines and smudged colors of our lives; we come with feeble faith, the disappointments and wounds of our lives, and our faltering efforts to truly be “good persons”. Is what we bring to Jesus worthy of Him, in and of themselves? Do they merit heaven – eternal communion with God – in and of themselves? No, of course not.

At some point we come to realize that it’s not because of what we have done, but because of what Christ has done, that heaven is laid open before us. Pope Benedict once wrote that “God Himself has undertaken the longest part of the journey” (B.XVI) in seeking for man. We seek for God because God is first seeking for us. We long to see, and touch, and know, because He longs for us to see, touch, and know Him. He desires to receive all the smudged colors and crooked lines of our lives, so that we might know our true value. God’s mercy is like water in this respect – in order to find its level, it must first sink to the lowest spot. For Thomas, the lowest spot was his unbelief, fear, and grief. All any of us can bring to this moment of encounter with Jesus is ourselves, as we truly are, including our low spots. That is where mercy must settle first. What Christ brings to this encounter is faithful love and tender mercy given for our transformation.

Today’s feast, established by Pope St. John Paul II in 2000, invites us to give ourselves to Jesus as we are, knowing that He will receive them in love. In turn, we will come to know Him as the healer of our wounds and the inexhaustible fountain of mercy and grace. God still undertakes the longest part of the journey in looking for you and me. The pierced Heart of Jesus demonstrates just how long that journey truly is…

God does not measure out His mercy to us by the teaspoon. Rather, He pours it over us like an ocean. This is what this feast wants us to understand. This is what we are called to live.