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Throughout the Easter season, our first reading often comes from the Acts of the Apostles, offering us a glimpse into the early life of the Church.

Acts answers questions like:

How did the the Apostles react to news of the resurrection?

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Remember, while Jesus is being crucified, most of them run away and hide.

They remained hidden until the Risen Lord appears to them inside a locked room in Jerusalem, transforming their grief into belief.

In fact, their sudden reverse in behavior becomes one of the first arguments for proof of the resurrection.

How else do you reconcile the fact that these men were cowering in fear one day, then boldly preaching in public the next?

They saw the Risen Lord. Jesus wasn’t a ghost. He was real. He was alive again. 

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The faith of the Apostles, which we see so clearly in the Book of Acts, is meant to teach us  how to live out our own faith. Allow me to offer just two examples.

First, they had courage.

They risked their lives preaching about Jesus. Even a good flogging couldn’t stop them. 

Jesus was alive. No amount of suffering would stop them from sharing this. They were determined to tell the world. 

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Secondly, they knew their destiny.

So many of these first Christians experienced persecution, separation from their families, and untimely deaths.

But they weren’t afraid; they believed that strongly in the resurrection.

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I wonder if that faith has been watered down at all today. After being handed on for nearly 100 generations, do we have the same faith and courage of the Apostles? 

Or have we lost some fire in our bellies?

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I don’t mean to compare ourselves to them in a negative sense. Rather, the opposite.

These first Christians didn’t let anything disturb them because they knew that heaven was just around the corner.

Jesus had been raised from the dead. And so would they be, so long as they remained faithful.

Perhaps this current state of affairs reminds us of how important our faith is. The Coronavirus is scary, yes. Along with numerous other things that threaten our health, like cancer.

But the Apostles remind us that all is well that ends well.

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As it’s written in the Letter to the Hebrews: “Jesus Christ is the same; yesterday, today, and forever.”

So should the Church be.

Whether we’re first generation Christians, the 100th generation, or the 1,000th generation, our faith should never change.

Jesus Christ conquered death. And, thankfully, so shall we.

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Someone said recently, “This was the Lentiest Lent I’ve ever had.” 

The Coronavirus stripped us of so much – social interaction, physical touch, even the Eucharist.

Although our 40 day Lenten journey ended last week, it feels like we’re still stuck in it.

Globally, two-million people have contracted the Coronavirus. Over 130,000 have died from it. Millions of Americans have lost their jobs. Our children remain at home. The economy has tanked.

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At its peak, the virus was killing one New Yorker every three minutes.

Making matters worse, families can’t be at the bedside of their loved ones, console each other in person, or even gather to bury the dead.

How are we supposed to embrace the joy of Easter when death seems to be winning? 

Celebrating life seems out of place. 

Right now, we mourn the fact that people are suffering; that people are dying alone; that so many have lost their jobs; that there still is no vaccine or cure.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, hasn’t this felt like a half-hearted Easter?

It’s an Easter filled with joy and sorrow.

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The first Easter wasn’t much different. 

Look at Doubting Thomas.

By now, the other disciples have seen the Risen Lord. But Thomas missed him, because he was grieving by himself.

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side,” he says skeptically, “I will not believe.”

If I were Thomas, I would’ve doubted, too! 

Think about it.

His heart’s been broken by the death of Jesus, and now his pride’s been wounded. He’s been left out. Why would Jesus appear to the others, but not to him? 

It sounds like a cruel joke.

How many of us feel like Thomas, stuck on Good Friday? As if the Risen Lord has excluded us from Easter joy?

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But notice how Jesus appears to him. 

He’s resurrected but still wounded. 

“Put your finger here,” Jesus says, “and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side and do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

Jesus’ body has been scarred; ripped open. Although Jesus isn’t bleeding, Thomas can still slide his finger right into Jesus’ side.

I wonder if Jesus winced, if he squinted his eyes and pulled back a bit when Thomas touched him, showing him that his wound was real. 

The Risen Jesus appears to be a paradox. He’s wounded and resurrected. 

But that’s precisely the point.

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Good Friday and Easter Sunday aren’t two separate books. It’s not like we close one and open the other. They’re part of the same story. 

They happened to the same person. 

This wounded, resurrected Christ shows us that it’s okay to mourn and to celebrate this Easter; to cry and to hope; to be sorrowful and to rejoice; to be wounded and resurrected.

We are people of Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

We can admit the catastrophic losses our world has endured – including our own personal grief – while still rejoicing in the promise of the resurrection. 

As the old saying goes, “All’s well that ends well.”

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In the interim, in the midst of this crisis, we turn to the Risen Lord who offers us his peace.

In fact, this is the first word that Jesus says to his disciples after his resurrection, “Peace.” In Hebrew, “shalom.”

Shalom doesn’t only mean the end of war or the end of the Coronavirus; it also means inner peace; harmony; wholeness; prosperity; health.

It what Jesus offers us now. It’s also what we extend to our neighbor at Mass during the sign of peace.

Shalom. 

The fact that we cannot physically offer each other the sign of peace at Mass right now reminds us of how many people don’t feel it but need it.

So, who am I in this Gospel? 

Am I Doubting Thomas, filled with skepticism and grief? Or am I one of the other disciples who’s experienced the shalom of the Risen Lord?

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Whether or not we feel it, shalom begins with an open heart, a heart that is not, “unbelieving but believes.”

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Yes, it’s been the Lentiest Lent ever.

But perhaps the Lentiest Lent leads to the most Easterly Easter, because our Easter joy doesn’t only stem from the fact that Jesus is risen.

It stems from the truth that Jesus died … and then was raised from the dead. He is a God who’s felt both our suffering and our joy.

He’s a God who shows us, “All’s well that ends well.”

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There are now over 644,000 confirmed cases of the Coronavirus in the U.S. 

It’s a staggering number. Our healthcare system is nearly tearing at the seams. 

But what’s even more incredible is the fact that no one is apparently turned away. If someone is in serious or critical condition, that person is treated.

Doctors and nurses aren’t discriminating against their patients. Somehow, they make room for everyone.

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In the Gospel, the disciples have gone fishing, a sign they’re returning to their former way of life. It was a place of comfort, their trade before meeting Jesus.

Although they’re professionals, they don’t make a single catch. When the Risen Lord appears, however, he commands them to cast their nets again.

Suddenly, they’re stuffed; filled with 153 large fish.

Why 153? Why not 150 or 160 fish? Why even count them at all?

Some scholars say the number was symbolic. For example, it was believed that 153 different types of fish swam in the Sea of Galilee.

Their nets were large enough to catch them all.

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The nets themselves are also symbolic.

They represent the Church. Meaning, the Church should make room for everyone. It will not tear at the seams.

Just as no one is turned away from a hospital if that person is in serious or critical condition, so no person should be turned away from the Church.

Even the greatest of sinners.

“For I did not come to call the righteous,” Jesus says, “but sinners.” We can welcome everyone. The nets of the Church will not break.

So how can we extend our nets a little deeper into society?

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That’s a question that’s often discussed on a macro-level, because it has moral and theological implications.

But it’s also a question we answer ourselves. How can I cast my net deeper into my home?

How can I be more welcoming in my workplace, in my community, and in my parish?

It boils down to how we treat one another, whether or not we accept people for who they are. That’s the groundwork.

So is my first impression of others driven by judgment? Must they meet a set of preconditions to be accepted? Or do I love others for simply being human like me?

As our relationships build, we encourage one another to become holier, happier people. 

It’s what Jesus himself did. He never wagged his finger at the sinful or the weak. He loved them and encouraged them to be better.

But he always led by example.

“Love one another the way that I have loved you,” he says.

Our hearts – and our Church – can be big enough to welcome everyone, much like our hospitals who are welcoming everyone in need.

The Lord assures us we’ll never tear at the seams.

It’s simply a matter of being open to the Spirit, who expands our hearts.