Acts 5:12-16 / Rv 1:9-11, 12-13, 17-19 / Jn 20:19-31
After fifty years of marriage to the same woman, a man died and was about to be buried when his grieving widow found the will. He'd left the whole of his fortune to another woman! The widow was outraged, and rushed to the stonecutter to change the inscription she'd ordered for his tombstone. "Sorry, lady," said the stonecutter, "I already inscribed it, 'Rest in Peace,' just like you ordered."
"Very well," said the widow grimly. "Just add, 'Till We Meet Again.'"
In today's gospel the apostles meet Jesus again for the first time since his arrest and crucifixion. Think what a happy moment that must have been, when he first entered the upper room and slowly looked around at each of his old friends!
Better think again. In fact, it was a moment of sheer horror because each one of those apostles could remember exactly what he was doing when Jesus saw him last. And that was running, deserting Jesus, and in the case of Peter, denying with many curses that he even knew him.
And now Jesus was back. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Their legs were turning to jelly. And then Jesus spoke. "Peace be with you," he said. He didn't lecture or wag his finger or shame them. He just forgave them, even before they could get up the courage to ask. "Peace be with you," he said. It was a Jewish blessing, a very big Jewish blessing, and it meant, "May you become whole in the sight of God."
That reunion in the upper room was a defining moment in our relationship with God. Because with those simple words of blessing — "Peace be with you" Jesus let us know once and for all what God is really about: healing, not wounding or punishing, just healing, building peace, making people whole. He also let us know what we're to be about, the very same thing, healing, building peace, helping to make people whole.
So if, at any moment, we want to know how we stand with God, that is our litmus test.
Have we used our gifts to build the foundations of peace and help make people whole?
Have our brothers and sisters become more — more whole, more full, more alive — because we have been brother or sister to them?
A "no" to those questions is the ultimate admission of a failed life. A "yes" is the only thing that really matters for time or eternity.
May God grant that we so live every day that when the shadows grow long, and the evening comes, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done, our final "yes" to peace will speak itself into eternity.
