2nd Sunday of Easter - C 2025

Nearly twenty-five years ago, on April 30, 2000, Pope St. John Paul II established the Feast of Divine Mercy Sunday, to be celebrated each year on the Sunday after Easter. He recognized a pressing need to spread the message of God's infinite mercy — a message entrusted to a humble Polish nun, St. Faustina Kowalska, in the early 20th century.

Though she was an uneducated sister in a modest convent, St. Faustina received extraordinary visions and messages from Jesus, urging her to make known His boundless mercy. At first, these reports were treated with caution and suspicion. But over time, after careful and prayerful discernment, the Church approved her revelations. One fruit of her mission was the commissioning of the now-familiar image of Christ: His right hand raised in blessing, His left hand pointing to His heart, with red and white rays flowing forth — symbolizing the blood and water which gushed from His pierced side. This image now graces churches and homes around the world.

But what is at the heart of Christ’s message to St. Faustina? It is strikingly simple: Jesus asks us to trust in His mercy, to seek His mercy, and to show His mercy to others. His mercy is not measured in teaspoons; it is infinite and inexhaustible. As He told St. Faustina, "I am love and Mercy Itself. There is no misery that could be a match for My mercy, neither will misery exhaust it, because as it is being granted — it increases" (Diary, 1273).

We are living in a time of mercy — but mercy, like manna, must be gathered while the time permits. And there are two primary obstacles that often keep us from receiving this grace.

The first is a lack of trust in God’s mercy. After a serious fall into sin, the enemy seizes the opportunity to turn us against ourselves. We hear the familiar whisper: "What is wrong with me? I’m no good. God could never forgive someone like me." Shame and self-reproach coil around the soul and suffocate hope.

But mercy is a gift, not a wage. If we had to deserve it, it would cease to be mercy. The greater the sin, the greater the claim to the heart of Christ! He came precisely because we could not save ourselves. To imagine we must make ourselves worthy before approaching God is to miss the entire point — it is like a man refusing to wash until he is clean. When we humble ourselves and plunge into the ocean of God's mercy, we console the heart of Jesus and slake His thirst from the Cross. He thirsts for us to plunge into the ocean of His mercy.

The second obstacle is a failure to recognize the role of our free will. Mercy is not imposed; it must be chosen. Many presume upon God's mercy, as though heaven were automatic, regardless of the choices we make. But Christ respects our freedom even to the end. He will not force forgiveness upon a heart that does not seek it.

The primary way we open ourselves to this mercy is through the Sacrament of Confession. Listen again to the words of Jesus to St. Faustina:

"When you approach the confessional, know this — that I Myself am waiting there for you. I am only hidden by the priest, but I Myself act in your soul. Here the misery of the soul meets the God of mercy. Tell souls that from this fount of mercy, souls draw graces solely with the vessel of trust. If their trust is great, there is no limit to My generosity" (Diary, 1602).

Christ Himself instituted this sacrament, saying to His apostles: "Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained." To neglect Confession, or to presume forgiveness without it, is to turn away from the very fountain Jesus opened for us at such a cost.

So today, on this great Feast of Mercy, I encourage each of us to examine our hearts:

• What sins do I need to confess?

• What fears or obstacles keep me from seeking the Lord’s mercy?

• Where have I fallen into despair or into presumption?

If we find we have distanced ourselves from the wellspring of God’s mercy, let's not lose heart. Rather, ask for the grace to return — and to trust, as little children trust — in the infinite love that never grows weary of forgiving.