Reflection for April 27, 2025

​Second Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy)

Acts 5:12-16 | Psalm 118:2-4, 13-15, 22-24 | Revelation 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19 | John 20:19-31

​Though Easter Sunday has already passed, the Easter season is far from over. In fact, the joy of Easter continues for 50 days—stretching all the way to Pentecost Sunday, which falls on June 8 this year. Today, as we celebrate the Sunday of the Divine Mercy, we are lovingly reminded that Jesus longs to make us whole again. But for us to truly receive this gift of restoration, we must learn to trust fully in His mercy. Yes, it’s only human to wrestle with doubt or hold back in fear—but even in our uncertainty, Jesus gently calls us to draw near. He invites us to bring our wounds, our brokenness, and our questions before Him, trusting that His mercy is greater than anything that weighs us down. To help us reflect more deeply on this beautiful truth, I’d like to share some insights inspired by the life and witness of our Holy Father, Pope Francis—a shepherd who continues to echo Christ’s message of compassion and mercy in our world today.

​In July 2013, during his visit to Rio de Janeiro for World Youth Day, Pope Francis quietly slipped away from the day’s schedule to visit St. Francis of Assisi Hospital—a humble facility that offers free treatment for people battling drug and alcohol addiction. There, he encountered the human face of suffering and hope. To those in recovery, he offered not only his presence but his whole heart. He listened. He embraced. He prayed. He reminded them: “You are never alone… The Church is close to you, it loves you, and it wants to help you.” Among the patients was Carlo, who looked into the Pope’s eyes and asked, “Is there hope for me? Will I be made whole again?” The Holy Father took his hand, held him close, and responded, “You can get up. You can stand up. It’s difficult, but it is possible—if you want to.” Pope Francis called this place a "shrine of human suffering," but also a sacred ground of healing, where God's mercy flows. He reminded everyone there that each person, especially those wounded by addiction, is the suffering Body of Christ—and therefore infinitely loved. Pope Francis' visit was more than symbolic. It was a father’s embrace, a shepherd’s voice, and Christ’s own love in action. In that hospital room, he affirmed what so many long to hear: God wants you to be whole again.

God, in His great mercy, desires that we be healed and made whole—body, mind, and spirit. In the Acts of the Apostles, we see how His healing flowed through Peter and the other apostles, bringing hope to the suffering. That same mercy reaches us today. God wants to heal your neighbor who is dependent on drugs, your relative who struggles with alcohol, and even you—carrying wounds no one else sees. His mercy is not limited to physical pain; He wants to restore what’s broken inside us. When we open our hearts to Him, He lifts our guilt, forgives our sins, and embraces us with love. Healing begins when we let His grace renew us from within.

Jamie, a teenager wrestling with his identity, began distancing himself from the Church. He often felt out of place—questioning whether someone like him truly belonged in a community meant to reflect Christ’s love. One evening, while browsing YouTube, he came across Pope Francis’ 2013 interview. The words pierced his heart: “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?” Curious and moved, he later read the Pope’s 2023 interview in a magazine, where the Holy Father explained, “being homosexual is not a crime, yes, but it is a sin. I should have said, 'It is a sin, as is any sexual act outside of marriage.' It's also a sin to lack charity with one another.” Jamie took these words as a personal message from God. He understood that he was not alone in his failings—that sin touches all lives, gay or straight. And yet, he is still deeply loved. Remembering Romans 3:23, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” Jamie returned to his parish—not as someone perfect, but as someone embraced by God’s unfailing mercy and invited to live in His grace.

In our second reading from Revelation, the Apostle John is overwhelmed by the vision of the Risen Christ, but Jesus gently tells him, “Do not be afraid.” These same words are spoken to us today. Like John and St. Faustina, who also encountered Jesus and was entrusted with the message of Divine Mercy, we are called not to cower in fear but to trust in the Lord’s loving gaze. His mercy is for all—not only the righteous but especially for the wounded, the sinful, the broken. Even if you struggle with drug addiction, alcoholism, gambling, materialism, sexual immorality, or come from a broken family, God's mercy is for you. Christ does not come to condemn, but to forgive, to heal, and to restore. There is no shame too deep, no darkness too great for His light to reach. All He asks is that we approach Him with sorrow, hope, and trust. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus and echo this simple but powerful prayer: “Jesus, King of Mercy, I trust in You.”

In moments when words fail, tears speak. The stories of Glyzelle and Emanuele show us how crying becomes a powerful language of the heart—revealing truths too deep, too painful, or too sacred to be spoken aloud. In January 2015, 12-year-old Glyzelle, a child who had experienced life on the streets, stood before Pope Francis in Manila and began to ask why children like her had to suffer. But before she could finish her question, tears overcame her. She cried—not just out of pain, but from a place of deep vulnerability. In that moment, she wasn’t just asking a question; she was exposing her wounded soul. Pope Francis didn’t respond with a complex theological answer. Instead, he embraced her—a silent but profound recognition of the weight her tears carried. Three years later, in April 2018, 8-year-old Emanuele approached the Holy Father in Rome with a trembling heart. His father, an atheist, had just passed away. Through sobs, the boy whispered his fear: could his father, who had lovingly baptized all four of his children, still go to heaven? Emanuele’s tears flowed freely, and again, Pope Francis listened with compassion. Once the boy had calmed, the pope offered words of hope—that God would not abandon a good father. In this encounter, Emanuele's tears revealed a longing for assurance, for mercy, for peace that only God could give. Crying is not a sign of weakness; rather, it is a sacred release—a way for our hearts to express what words cannot.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reveals His wounds to Thomas, not to condemn, but to show love. He doesn’t conceal His pain; instead, He presents it as a source of healing. In doing so, He invites us to offer Him our wounds, doubts, and tears as well. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel broken. Let the tears fall and cleanse our souls. When we cry before the Lord, there’s no need for pretense. He sees us, understands us, and loves us unconditionally. Jesus, our Lord of Divine Mercy, meets us in these moments of woundedness. From His pierced side, He pours out mercy and grace—offering healing to the doubtful heart, peace to the suffering soul, and hope to the weary mind. So if you find yourself overwhelmed, let the tears flow. Let them speak the prayers your lips can’t form. And trust that in your weeping, Jesus is near—offering healing, offering hope, offering Himself.

Eternal Rest grant unto your servant Jorge Mario, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon Him. May he rest in peace. Amen.