Imagine yourself in that room with the disciples. They’re so distraught, not sure what to think. The pain and sorrow and ache they feel deep inside is almost unbearable. They have lost a friend. They have lost the one that they had so much hope in. Hope that He would save them all. But perhaps, more tangibly at that point – they have lost a brother. One who had become their teacher, their mentor. One who they had put so much trust in. They had come into Jerusalem just a week prior on such a high. Crowds were cheering, laying palms in their path. Seven days later, Jesus is dead, and their life is changed forever – and in their minds, changed for the worse.
Think about a time when you’ve experienced immense sorrow, maybe when you lost a loved one suddenly. You go from everything is normal to everything is just spiraling out of control, and you feel this deep, deep ache in your chest, this nausea in the pit of your stomach, this haze in your mind and the feeling that the world is closing in on you. I’m picturing the disciples, sitting in the room behind locked doors, with this same exact feeling, blank looks on their face just staring out into space, thinking, what just happened, and asking themselves, what do I do now?
I can imagine this, because I have been in a room like that. I was 11 years old, but I remember it like yesterday. I had awoke that morning to learn that my oldest brother was killed in a car accident. My family was huddled in the kitchen, the same ache, pain, and disbelief was there, in that room. I will never forget the looks on my parents’ faces, and now, having my own son, I can only begin to imagine the pain that they must have felt. The moment has always stuck with me and remained an example about how life can change in an instant. And so, in my mind, I can picture the scene in that locked room, that upper room in Jerusalem 2000 years ago with these disciples and what they must have been feeling. I know that many of you understand this, and have experienced this as well.
It’s in times like these that we question. We ask, why God? Why does a good God allow suffering? Why do seemingly good people have to suffer so much? Some more than others? Why did your Son need to become man and then suffer on the cross? Even Jesus asked this on the Cross.
But it’s also in times like these where we most often come together. What seemed big and important before is no longer big and important. The only things that truly matter are your family and friends, and God. Everything else is falls lower on the list. And so I think that this is the only way, in our fallen nature, that we can become closer to Christ, and strengthen our resolve and faith in Him, is through these times of suffering, sorrow, and sacrifice.
In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
– St. Peter
We have to be tested, and purified, and humbled through fire. Through suffering. Sometimes for our own merit. Sometimes for the merit of others. Sometimes we have to sacrifice to come closer to God, and sometimes we are the sacrifice, where we come home to Him and draw others closer. This is the only way we come closer to God.
God Himself played both these roles. And so must we. And it’s in the realization of seeing God amidst the times like these where we truly grow our faith.
The biggest thing I remember from my brother’s death, aside from that morning I woke up, was the family being together, and the friends showing up around the house. It was through Jesus seemingly working through others to lighten a burden – and I saw this at 11 years of age. And again and again, through times like this, as I’m sure many of you have experienced, and as hard and painful and disorienting as they are – they show you what life is all about. They make you ponder eternal life, and through all the heartache, God is there, drawing you closer – even if the doors of your heart are locked.
It’s about community. Just as it was for the disciples as they built Christ’s Church that we hear about in the Acts of the Apostles today, and just as it is in the Gospel, where He came to them in their sorrow, in that lockup up room. Everyone always focuses on Thomas as we reflect on this Gospel reading today, about how he was doubting. But we are all doubting Thomases. And when we’re distraught with pain and sorrow, we all act similarly. Had James or John not been there in that first appearance – we’d be talking about doubting James or John.
Regardless, Jesus comes to us. Rarely, it might be directly through a locked door, but most often, in times like these, Jesus comes to us through the community. Through other people in our lives. Our family. Our friends. Our parish. Either way, Jesus is coming to us in the flesh, in a clear, tangible way. We just have to be open enough to see it.
I’ve seen, as I’m sure many of you have, how God comes to us through others when we are in pain. I’ve witnessed, how I’m sure many of you have, those blessings that come from our trials – the humility, the reliance on God, the reconciliations that occur, and the gratitude that eventually settles in on us. And it’s this ugly, despicable, painful, joyous, beautiful, grace-filled blessing we call life, that teaches us this. Anytime we encounter sorrow in our lives, we must know that it is a bridge – a bridge crossing a gap between you and Christ. It’s another appearance of Christ in our lives, even though the doors of our heart are locked, that continues to bring us closer to Him, and truly graces us with His Divine Mercy throughout. Let His mercy flow from His heart into yours.
We see this every day. We experience it every day. Jesus comes to us in tangible ways every day. May we simply persevere through it all and let Him transform us, with every passing moment – good or bad – and know that every moment can bring Him deeper into our hearts.
God Bless
