TOUCHING YOU, TOUCHING ME
Divine Mercy Sunday
Acts 5: 12-16; Revelations 1: 9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; John 20: 19-31
They must have been rough, those hands of the carpenter from Nazareth. In an age without gloves or skin creams, he shoved stones into place, absorbed splinters, hewed timber, and gripped lumber with bare-fisted fingers. In a day without sunscreen lotions, he labored under the blistering Middle Eastern sun. In an era without modern machinery, he raised houses, erected buildings, fashioned furniture, and repaired children’s toys. His hands must have developed a thick layer of protective hide that was obvious to those who shook his hand or felt His touch.
But, oh! what gentle hands. Never squeezing too hard, touching too roughly, or overzealously slapping another’s back.
What powerful hands! Those hands touched the lame and they walked; they restored sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf. They brought the dead back to life and blessed the little children who ran up to him. Jesus wasn’t afraid to touch others. Leprous skin didn’t repulse him, nor did he hesitate to handle the filthy feet of his disciples in the Upper Room. Those hands . . . that touch! Intimate, powerful, transformational.
What wounded hands! They bore the scars that no lotion could heal, no oil could help, no cosmetic could hide. And it was those hands that Jesus showed to his Apostles – his calling card to prove that it was he – no ghost, no impostor, HIM, their master, their teacher, and now, their Lord and their Savior. RESURRECTED! ALIVE! Those hands . . . that touch! Intimate, powerful, transformational STILL! Those hands . . . that night, restored the intimacy of a relationship, demonstrated power over death, transformed fear into faith.
But in today’s Gospel, it is not Jesus who touches. It is he who is touched. The incredulous hands of Thomas touch the nail marks and probe the wounds. For almost two thousand years this Apostle has borne, perhaps unfairly, the moniker of the “Doubting Thomas.” But you know, I wonder if the other ten Apostles were actually jealous of Thomas. The week before, to them, Jesus merely showed his hands and his side. To Thomas, he extends the invitation to touch.
Touch is perhaps the most personal of the five senses. To touch and to be touched by another person is an intimate and personal experience. There is something wonderful about the touch of the human hand. Friends shake hands. Sweethearts hold hands. There is some indeterminate healing in the touch of a mother’s hand on a sick child. There is reassuring peace in the touch of a father’s hand on his child after a bad dream during the night. Yes, there is something wonderful about the human touch. And that night, in that room, Jesus extends to Thomas the invitation to touch . . . “Thomas, put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side."
In the Old Testament, the place where God chose to meet with his people was a place of “contagious holiness.” It was so supercharged with holiness that merely touching the very instruments of worship in the tabernacle would make a person holy. Concerning things like the altar, the altar of incense, the lampstand, the utensils, and even the vestments worn by the priests, God instructs Moses, “You shall also consecrate them, that they may be most holy; whatever touches them will become holy.” (Exod. 30:29). And so, Jesus’ invitation for Thomas to touch the wounds on his glorified body was nothing less than an invitation for Thomas himself to be made holy. The same invitation is extended to us.
Today’s Gospel isn’t just that Thomas came to believe, and was moved to exclaim, “My Lord and my God.” Today’s Gospel isn’t just about the result; it’s about the process. It’s important for us to not only see what happened but appreciate how it happened.
As we heard, Jesus first appeared to the apostles while Thomas wasn’t there —and Thomas was incredulous. He didn’t buy it. It sounded too good to be true. Show me, he said. So, Jesus appeared a second time. This time, Thomas was there. He saw and believed.
And that transformation in Thomas was able to happen for one reason: because Jesus gave him another chance. He offered him another opportunity—a way back from doubt to faith, from skepticism to belief. He knew what Thomas needed. He knew what was lacking. So, Jesus, the font of Divine Mercy, returned to that upper room a second time in a gesture of mercy that left Thomas profoundly changed. A skeptic became a saint.
It happened for Thomas. It can happen for all of us. This is what lies at the heart of Divine Mercy Sunday. And it’s what lies at the heart of Sacrament of Reconciliation—the opportunity to begin again, to start anew. Jesus didn’t give up on Thomas. And he doesn’t give up on us. God is waiting for us. Grace is waiting for us. Mercy is waiting for us.
Have you ever seen the painting entitled The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio? (See above.) It shows Thomas with his finger poking into the wound in Christ’s side, his right forefinger nearly halfway into Jesus’ side, and leaning over to examine it aggressively with what one critic described as a “clinical and forensic determination.” On this Second Sunday of Easter, Jesus encourages us to penetrate the wound even deeper and to touch his heart – the Heart of Mercy – to puncture his heart and have the streams of his mercy pour over us, wash us, transform us.
What consolation it is to know that God is ready to forgive us all our sins! We need but to reach out with our finger and touch the heart of the Risen Jesus, for the wound in his side has remained open in order that he might show us his mercy. Our scars, our brokenness, our sins do not need to define us. For we are Easter people!
This Sunday, we mark Divine Mercy Sunday, when we embrace the power and beauty of God’s forgiveness. It’s a time for fulfilling the promise of the Resurrection, the glorious hope of Easter. Christ has left the tomb. If we choose to, so can we. We can step out of the tomb of selfishness and sin. We can feel the healing light of God’s care. We can take that second chance. God’s mercy, Divine Mercy, assures it. The Sacrament of Reconciliation enables it.
As we gather around the table of the Lord this Sunday, and prepare to receive him in the Eucharist, let us invite Jesus into our own locked upper rooms and pray that he will break through all the barriers that might be keeping him out of our lives. Let us pray as well that, as we touch his pierced heart, that our hearts too may be touched . . . touched by his tender and Divine Mercy. And let us pray, that with contrite humility, yet also the joy of Easter discovery, we might cry out, “Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.”
