Lord's Day Reflection: Wounds, doubts, and divine disruptions

In memory of Pope Francis

By Jenny Kraska

On this Divine Mercy Sunday, the Church gathers in the light of the Resurrection with heavy hearts and hopeful spirits. John’s Gospel takes us into the locked room where the disciples, confused and afraid, encounter the risen Christ. “Peace be with you,” He says—words that pierce through fear, failure, and doubt. It is this peace, this divine mercy, that becomes the first gift of the Risen Lord to His Church.

Today, as we reflect on this Gospel, we do so in the shadow of Pope Francis’ passing—a shepherd who, like the Lord he served, consistently spoke peace into a world locked in fear. His papacy will be remembered for many things, but above all for his unwavering proclamation of mercy. He lived Divine Mercy. Whether embracing the poor, calling the Church to the margins, or offering tenderness to the wounded and forgotten, Pope Francis bore witness to a Church that breathes with the compassion of Christ.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus shows the disciples His wounds. He does not hide the marks of His suffering, but rather transforms them into signs of love. It is from these wounds that mercy flows. And it is through these wounds that Thomas comes to believe—not by argument, but by encounter. Jesus meets Thomas in his doubt and draws him into faith through mercy.

Pope Francis often reminded us that mercy is not abstract. It has a face—Jesus Christ—and it has hands, our own, which must reach out to the suffering, the doubting, the excluded. In this way, the message of Divine Mercy is not just about receiving forgiveness, but about becoming instruments of mercy in the world.

As the Church mourns the passing of Pope Francis, we are reminded that mercy is the heart of the Gospel and the heart of the Church’s mission. His final witness, even in death, invites us to return again to the essentials: to Christ, to compassion, to community.

We are invited—like Thomas—to place our hands into the wounds of Christ. Not to probe for proof, but to be healed. Not to satisfy curiosity, but to believe more deeply. We are invited to proclaim with him, “My Lord and my God,” and to allow that confession to shape our lives.

May we remember Pope Francis with gratitude—for his courage, his tenderness, and his unwavering trust in the mercy of God. May the Church he served so faithfully continue to walk the path he helped to illuminate: a path marked by humility, encounter, and love.

As we pray today for the repose of his soul, we do so with Easter hope. For the Risen Lord who breathed peace upon the disciples now welcomes home his servant with the same words: “Peace be with you.”