Second Sunday of Easter - The Divine Mercy Sunday
Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
On this beautiful Divine Mercy Sunday, the Church invites us to stand in the light of something deeper than all human failure: the inexhaustible mercy of God. We have just celebrated the Resurrection. The tomb is empty. Christ is alive. And yet, the Gospel today meets us not in triumphal perfection, but in a room full of fearful, wounded, uncertain disciples. Into that room, Jesus comes not with condemnation, not with anger but with peace. “Peace be with you.”
We need to hear that today because if we are honest, our hearts are not only filled with Easter joy. They are also burdened. Burdened by confusion, by pain, by scandal, and yes, by a deep sense of injustice. Many of you know that our diocese, along with others, is facing the consequences of terrible sins committed by some members of the clergy. The settlements - financial and moral - are heavy. They affect every parish, even those that had no involvement, no guilt, no connection to these crimes.
And so we ask: Where is justice in this? Why must we suffer for what we did not do? How can this be right?
These are not easy questions. And I will not pretend they are. But today, the Word of God does not ignore suffering. It speaks directly into it.
In the First Letter of Saint Peter, we heard: “You may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith… may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”
Saint Peter does not deny the trial. He does not minimize it. He names it. But he also tells us something essential: suffering does not have the last word if it is lived in Christ.
Let me be very clear: The abuse of children is a grave evil. It cries out to Heaven. It wounds victims in ways that can last a lifetime. Those who suffered deserve compassion, justice, and care. The Church must never turn away from that truth.
But there is another truth we are living right now: many who are innocent are carrying a burden that feels unfair. Entire parishes, like ours, are asked to sacrifice, to pay, to struggle financially, even though we were not responsible for these sins.
This tension is real. It is painful. It feels unjust. And yet, into that tension, the Acts of the Apostles gives us a striking image: “They devoted themselves… to the communal life… They would sell their property and possessions and divide them among all according to each one’s need.”
Notice something: the early Christians did not live by the logic of strict individual fairness. They lived by the logic of communion. If one suffered, all responded. If one was in need, all gave.
This was not because everyone was guilty. It was because everyone belonged.
And that is the mystery and the challenge of the Church.
We are not just an organization. We are a body. The Body of Christ. And in a body, when one part is wounded, the whole body feels it. Even parts that are healthy must sometimes carry the weight of healing.
That does not mean what is happening feels just. It means it is part of a deeper, painful solidarity.
Let me share a simple story.
Years ago, in a small town, there was a family whose house caught fire in the middle of the night. They lost everything. Now, the fire was caused by faulty wiring - something they didn’t even know about. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t their neighbor’s fault either.
But the next morning, something beautiful happened. The whole town came together. People brought clothes, food, money. One man even gave up his own spare room for months. No one said, “This isn’t my responsibility.” No one said, “I didn’t cause the fire.” They simply saw the need and responded.
Why? Because they understood something deeper than fairness: they understood belonging.
Brothers and Sisters, we are living in a moment where the Church - our church - is like that wounded house. The fire was real. The damage was real. The pain is real. And yes, the cost is real.
And we may feel like saying, “But I didn’t light the fire.” And that is true.
But we still belong to the family.
And in a family, sometimes we carry burdens we did not choose.
Now, I want to speak to you personally, from my own heart.
As your priest, I share in this burden in a particular way. I serve two parishes. I receive only half a salary from each. And now, like you, I feel the weight of these financial obligations. It is not easy. There are moments when I, too, struggle with the sense of injustice. I am pissed-off like most of you because tens of thousands of dollars of my money I offer to this parish will go to the survivors and a large part of it to their lawyers.
I am not guilty of these sins. You are not guilty. And yet, we are asked to give.
And in those moments, I have to return to Christ. Christ, who was completely innocent… Christ, who bore a burden He did not deserve… Christ, who carried a cross that was not His own…
If anyone could have said, “This is unjust,” it was Him.
And yet, from the cross, He did not say, “This is unfair.” He said, “Father, forgive them.”
This is Divine Mercy.
Divine Mercy is not the denial of justice. It is the transformation of suffering through love.
Let me offer another small image.
A woman once told me about caring for her elderly mother, who had Alzheimer’s disease. Her mother no longer recognized her. She would sometimes become angry, even accuse her daughter of things that were not true. It was deeply painful.
One day, the daughter said to me, “Father, it’s not fair. She doesn’t even know what I’m doing for her. She doesn’t thank me. She doesn’t understand.”
And I said, “Why do you continue doing this?”
She paused, and then said, “Because she’s my mother.”
That’s all.
Not fairness. Not recognition. Not justice. But love.
My dear Friends, today we are invited into something very difficult but also very holy.
We are invited to carry a burden not because we caused it, but because we belong to a Body that is wounded.
We are invited to give, not because it feels fair, but because there are real people – survivors - who need healing, support, and acknowledgment.
We are invited to trust, even when the systems of this world - legal, financial, institutional - feel harsh and unmerciful.
Many feel that there is “no mercy from the lawyers.” And perhaps, in human systems, mercy can be hard to find. The law operates by its own logic.
But here is the crucial point: We do not take our example from the lawyers. We take our example from Christ.
If we wait for the world to be merciful before we are merciful, we will wait forever.
Divine Mercy Sunday reminds us that mercy begins with God and flows through us.
So what does that mean practically for us as a parish?
It means we stay united.
The Acts of the Apostles tells us the early Christians were devoted “to the teaching of the Apostles, to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread, and to the prayers.”
We must not let this crisis divide us, discourage us, or make us withdraw. We continue to gather. We continue to pray. We continue to support one another. We continue to care for those in need.
And yes, we carry this financial burden together - with honesty, with transparency, and with faith.
Saint Peter tells us: “Although you have not seen Him, you love Him… and you rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy.”
That sounds almost impossible in times like this.
And yet, it is precisely in these times that faith becomes real.
Anyone can believe when everything is easy. But to believe when things are difficult - that is precious in God’s eyes.
So where do we find hope?
We find it in the Risen Christ, who enters locked rooms. We find it in the wounds that are not erased, but transformed. We find it in a community that chooses love over resentment. We find it in small acts of generosity that say, “We are still one body.”
And we find it in Divine Mercy.
Today, I invite you to bring your honest feelings to God.
If you feel anger - bring it. If you feel confusion - bring it. If you feel injustice - bring it.
God is not afraid of your truth. But do not stop there.
Ask Him for something more difficult: Ask Him for a merciful heart. A heart that does not deny pain, but transforms it. A heart that does not cling to resentment, but opens to grace. A heart that can say, even through struggle: “Jesus, I trust in You.”
Because in the end, that is our anchor.
Not the fairness of this world. Not the decisions of courts. Not the systems that sometimes fail us.
Our anchor is Christ. And Christ is Risen. And His mercy is greater than every sin, every injustice, every wound.
So let us walk forward together - not pretending everything is easy, but trusting that God can bring good even out of what is broken.
Let us look again at the Acts of the Apostles. They sold their possessions and divided them according to need. Who is in need today?
First, the survivors are in need. They need healing, justice, and validation. Our payment is a tangible sign of our sorrow for what they suffered. Even if we are innocent of the abuse,
we must be guilty of compassion. We must pay to help bind their wounds.
Second, our parish is in need. We need to keep our doors open, [our food pantry stocked]. We must be like the early Christians. We must look at what we have - not what we’ve lost - and share it.
Saint Peter tells us: "Although you have not seen him you love him; even though you do not see him now yet believe in him, you rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy."
We do not see a way out of this financial hole right now. We do not see the justice we crave. But we believe in Him. And because we believe, we can act with a love that the world considers foolish.
My Friends, I am not asking you to like this settlement. I am not asking you to pretend it is fair. I am asking you to transcend it. I am asking you to trust in the "living hope" that Saint Peter speaks of. Our gold is being tested by fire.
If we pay this debt with grumbling and bitterness, we have lost our souls. But if we pay this debt with a spirit of sacrifice - if we say, "Lord, this is unjust, but I offer it up for the healing of victims, and for the purification of Your Church" – then this money becomes a spiritual offering. It becomes a ransom.
We are one family. We will pay this price. We will feel the sting. But we will not close our doors. We will not abandon the altar. We will not stop feeding the poor.
Let us pray for the survivors, that they may find the peace the world denied them. Let us pray for our parish, that we may be generous in our poverty. And let us pray for ourselves, that we may find the strength to turn an injustice into an act of Divine Mercy.
May the Risen Christ, who paid the debt He did not owe to save us, give us the courage to pay the debts of our past so that our future may be holy. Amen.