Second Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy)
12 April 2026
Renewal Begins with Mercy
A few years ago, I came across a story about a man who had been restoring an old house. It had been neglected for decades—peeling paint, broken windows, sagging floors. And someone asked him, “Why are you putting so much time into this place?” And he said, “Because I don’t see what it is, I see what it can be.”
That’s the difference between someone who sees decay… and someone who sees possibility. And that’s exactly what God sees when He looks at us.
Because if we’re honest, the Gospel today doesn’t begin with a group of people who have it all together. It begins with fear. “On the evening of that first day of the week… the doors were locked… for fear.” They’re hiding. They’re uncertain. They don’t know what comes next. This is not a strong, confident, ready-to-change-the-world group of people.
And Thomas? He’s not even there. And when he hears about it, he doesn’t say, “That’s amazing.” He says, “Unless I see… unless I touch… I will not believe.”
We know people like that. We are that person sometimes ourselves. Maybe not out loud. Maybe not as directly. But in quieter ways. In the places where we’ve been disappointed. In the places where things didn’t turn out the way we thought they would. In the places where we’ve prayed… and nothing seemed to happen.
And so we hold back. We hesitate. We keep a little distance. “Unless I see… unless I’m sure… unless I know…”
This is where the Church begins. Not with strength. Not with clarity. Not with confidence. But with fear… and doubt… and uncertainty.
And into that, Jesus comes.
Not when they’ve figured it out. Not when they’ve fixed themselves. Not when they’ve become better. He comes right into the middle of it. The doors are locked and it doesn’t matter. Because the very thing they thought was protecting them… was also the thing keeping them stuck.
And Jesus doesn’t wait for the door to open. He enters anyway. He stands among them and says, “Peace be with you.” Not correction. Not disappointment. Not, “Where were you?” Peace. Because before anything else can happen… they need to know they’re not being rejected.
And maybe that’s something we need to hear too.
Because sometimes we assume that if God really saw everything… He wouldn’t come near. That if He really knew… He would keep His distance. But the Gospel shows the opposite. He comes closer.
And then He does something unexpected. He shows them His wounds. He doesn’t hide them. He doesn’t erase them. He doesn’t pretend they didn’t happen. He reveals them.
Because the wounds are not a problem to solve, they are the place where mercy is revealed. And that matters. Because it means that what looks like the worst part of the story… becomes the place where God’s love is most clearly seen.
And everything begins to change.
That’s why the Church gives us this Sunday as Divine Mercy Sunday. Because if you miss this, you miss everything. Renewal doesn’t begin when we finally get our lives together. Renewal begins when we allow ourselves to be met by the mercy of Jesus Christ.
And you see it not just in the Gospel, but in the first reading. Acts tells us about the early Church: “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread and to the prayers… All who believed were together… they shared everything… they ate their meals with exultation and sincerity of heart.”
It’s this beautiful picture. A vibrant community. Joyful. Alive. Growing. It’s the kind of thing people look at and think—How did that happen? Where did that come from?
But don’t miss this—That community is made up of the same people who were hiding behind locked doors just days before. The same fears. The same personalities. The same weaknesses. Nothing externally has changed that much. But internally, everything has changed.
It’s because they encountered mercy. And that changed them. And when they were changed… everything around them began to change.
That’s how renewal works. Not from the outside in. But from the inside out.
And I think sometimes we get that backwards. We think: If I fix this… If I improve that… If things around me change… If I just try harder… then maybe I’ll be different.
But the Gospel says the opposite.
Let Jesus meet you where you are. Let Him speak peace into your fear. Let Him touch the places that are wounded. And then something new begins.
Saint Peter, our patron, says in the second reading: “By His great mercy, we have been given a new birth… to a living hope.” A new birth. Not a slight improvement. Not a minor adjustment. Something new. A new way of seeing. A new way of living. A new way of understanding who you are.
And that’s not just something that happened 2,000 years ago. It’s something God is doing now. In lives. In families. In communities. In the Church.
Even when it doesn’t look like it yet. Even when things feel uncertain. Even when, if we’re honest, there are still some “locked doors” in our lives. Places we don’t want God to enter. Places we don’t want to give over to God. Places we’re not sure can change. Places where we’ve kind of made peace with the way things are. Places where we’ve quietly decided, “This is just how I am.” “This is just how things will be.”
And Jesus comes anyway.
He doesn’t wait outside until you’re ready. He enters. And He speaks peace. And He shows you that even your wounds even your failures even your sins… are not the end of your story. They can become the very place where God’s mercy is revealed.
And that’s where renewal begins. Not out there somewhere. But right here. Right now. In the places we thought were closed off. In the places we have locked ourselves in.
Because God doesn’t just see what is. He sees what can be. And His mercy is what makes it possible.