April 27, 2025: Celebrating Divine Mercy and Remembering Pope Francis
Readings and Virtual Homily for April 27, 2025, Second Sunday of Easter; Thinking About Pope Francis
Readings for Mass, April 27, Second Sunday of Easter:
Acts of the Apostles 5:12-16
Psalm 118:2-4, 13-15. 22-24
Rev, 1:9-13, 17-19
John 20:19-31
Dear Friends and Family,
The Second Sunday of Easter has been, since sometime in the reign of JP 2, also known as Divine Mercy Sunday. Not surprisingly, this week's readings focus on and underscore the mercy of God. Rather than try to synthesize some grand homiletic ambition with these readings, I am just going to take each in turn, letting it speak to us in its own fashion, about this attribute of the Divine Being -- the attribute of mercy.
The first reading from Acts of the Apostles gives vibrant testimony to the mercy of God in its description of the cures and healings which abounded in the time of the apostles and the founding of the Church. This outpouring of the Spirit among the disciples resulted in "great numbers of men and women" becoming Christian (vs. 14); that is to say the mercy of the Lord, in working so many miracles of healing, built up the early Church.
The psalm is going to sound a lot like Easter Sunday's psalm because it is, once again Psalm 118. Not only the same psalm as was read at Easter, but even some of the same verses. The passage this week begins with an affirmation of God's merciful love,
"Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his mercy endures forever. Let Israel say: his mercy endures forever. Let the house of Aaron say: his mercy endures forever. Let those who fear the Lord say: his mercy endures forever" (vss. 1-4).
Folks sometimes say to me that God as described in the Old Testament (the Hebrew Scriptures) is a God of vengeance and punishment. They usually add that they cannot relate to such a description of God. I typically answer that passages in the Old Testament which so depict God should be carefully interpreted. In fact, the Hebrew Scriptures give abundant evidence of the Jewish faith in a God of love, of forgiveness, of abundant mercy; mercy which, indeed, "endures forever." Psalm 118 is a good example of this understanding.
The passage from Revelation, describing in part John's vision of the heavenly Messiah, suggests Jesus' mercy, even though John is so struck by the vision that "I fell down at his feet as though dead" (vs. 17). John goes on to assure us that Jesus "touched me with his right hand and said. 'Do not be afraid. I am the first and the last, the one who lives. Once I was dead, but now I am alive forever and ever'" (vss. 17-18).
The image of the Messiah John encounters is one of great power; this is significant as to be merciful, one must have some degree of power. Mercy derives from a loving power -- or powerful love, if you prefer. Jesus assures John he has the power to show mercy; he assures John as well that "I hold the keys to death and the netherworld" (vs. 18). As he holds these keys, Jesus has the power to deliver us from death and the netherworld. He died to bring about that deliverance; we should trust in his mercy.
Finally the Gospel passage from John is the "proof text" of the Scriptural basis of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. It is Easter Sunday evening and the disciples (except Thomas, evidently) are gathered at the big house in Jerusalem. We know from last week's passage from Luke that the two disciples who had encountered Jesus on the road to Emmaus had just returned, breathless, to the gathered community, and that as they were telling their story, Jesus appeared in their midst (Luke 24:33-36). Mark also attests to the Easter Sunday evening appearance of Jesus to the gathered disciples (Mark 16:14).
Only John includes the rather significant detail that Jesus breathes upon the apostles and says "Receive the Holy Spirit, whose sins you forgive are forgiven them; whose sins you retain are retained" (vss. 22-23). The Catholic and Orthodox churches understand that this power, the power to forgive sin, is a component of ordained priesthood. As with all other priestly powers it is passed down through the generations by the Apostolic Succession, guaranteed by the unbroken line of bishops going back to the apostles themselves, on whom this power was first conferred,
If that last paragraph seems like a theological mouthful, that would be because it IS a theological, an ecclesiological, a sacramental mouthful. Books have been written on the Apostolic Succession; academic careers built up on it. The point I want to make is that Catholic and Orthodox understanding of this passage is that the power to forgive sin is an extension of Jesus' priestly ministry throughout the ages, and Jesus himself conferred this power upon his priests.
The Protestants, of course, have a different interpretation. What I have most often heard in terms of the Protestant understanding of this passage is that the power was granted to the apostles only and that this aspect of Jesus' ministry died when they did. That is, the forgiveness of sin by men ceased with the apostolic age. You have probably heard Protestant Christians say that they have no need of a priest -- they confess directly to God. Our reply is largely outlined above. I will add that, in nineteen years as a priest, I have seen the floodgate of graces that accompanies sacramental confession. I have been witness, countless times, to the mercy of God, in this sacrament. And I have, of course, in my own confessions, been the recipient of that mercy myself.
I do not want to take more time with this, because this homily is long enough, but I want to close in pointing this out: The Sacrament of Reconciliation is itself the very embodiment of God's mercy. It is the reason Jesus hung on the cross: to forgive our sins. The Sacrament of Reconciliation is God's mercy made manifest. It is that mercy which we celebrate today.
I woke up Monday morning around 720, ahead of my alarm, set, as always when I have the parish morning Mass, for 730. As (almost) always, I reached over for my iPhone, turned off the alarm and took a quick look at my messages, texts first, e-mails second. Not too many come in over the course of the night, but this all the same is how I tend to start my day.
I was surprised at the number of texts, which I looked at first. And then I was really surprised, as I began to read the texts. The Pope had died just a few hours earlier. A dozen or more of my friends had sent me the news by the time I woke at 720. By the time I came back up into my rooms after the Mass, at about 840, there were several dozen texts and maybe fifteen e-mails; friends and parishioners wanting to make sure I knew that Francis had died. The tone of several, more than several, quite a few of these texts and e-mails, was one of condolence. Shock, yes; everyone I think, felt that. But many of my friends and acquaintances were trying to console me on the death of our Pope, almost as if I had known Francis personally.
I really appreciated that. I appreciated, as well, the shock and sadness of my parishioners at the morning Mass Monday. All of us had seen the bright and joyful photos and video out of Rome only the previous day: Francis in the Popemobile, greeting the Easter Sunday crowd in St. Peter's Square. Most of us were aware that he had met with J. D. Vance Sunday afternoon, as well. It had seemed that Francis was beginning to resume some aspects of his regular schedule; it had seemed that he was better.
I never met Francis, but I saw him several times up close, at World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro, in July, 2013. This was just months after his election to the papacy. I remember being in the long long line of us, I mean a line that stretched three or four miles, Catholic leaders, lay and clerical, and so many, many teens and twentysomethings, standing eight or ten deep on each side of the broad promenade along Copacabana Beach, as the Popemobile, open to the beach breezes and the crowd, came into view. I remember how Francis would have the little vehicle stop, whenever he saw someone in a wheelchair -- and it happened every evening and several times. He would have the vehicle stop; he would get out and walk over to the person in the wheelchair; he would embrace that person. You could see that it drove his security team frantic, God bless them. I mean, I got and get their concern. Anyone with assassination on his/her mind might have pulled up to the front of the crowd in a wheelchair and been hiding a revolver under their blanket...
Nonetheless, Francis stopped the motorcade repeatedly, each evening, there in the blue-grey tropical twilight of Copacabana; he insisted on embracing anyone who had made it to the promenade in a wheelchair. He also kissed a lot of babies, who were put forward to him again and again and again. And again and again and again.
That is really my only personal memory of Francis. Though I at various times during his papacy talked of leading an Italian pilgrimage, where we could see him in the general audience on Wednesdays in St. Peter's Square, for one reason and another, I never did lead that hypothesized pilgrimage.
I admired Francis for his love of Mother Mary (he honored her at every single Mass). I loved his outreach to leaders of other faiths, especially his outreach to the Muslims, among whose leaders he counted several good friends. I loved his admonitions to bishops and priests that we be real shepherds to the flock; I love that he had no tolerance for "airport bishops," that is, bishops who were always jetting off somewhere for some important set of meetings with other high-ranking clergy, rather than being with their people in their dioceses. On the subject of today's homily, I loved his insistence that we priests make manifest to the people in the confessional the mercy of God. I loved his emphasis on the need to take Matthew 25 seriously: "I was hungry...thirsty...naked... a stranger...ill...imprisoned."
The Good News, really, is pretty basic, pretty simple, pretty direct. Francis got that, and he put that understanding into practice in a way that changed the way a lot of the world, the non-Catholic world, I mean, views the Church. He didn't just theorize about evangelization. He lived it. And the world took notice.
The Good News, after all, IS GOOD NEWS. It is joyful, not angry. It is hopeful, not fearful. It is generous, not mean-spirited. It is understanding, not condemnatory. It is humble, not self-righteous. It is loving, not hateful. And it is for everyone, not just the fortunate few.
Francis got that. Francis lived that. And the world, as I say, was engaged. I am talking here about literally hundreds of friends, acquaintances and family members. People who never gave the Catholic Church a second thought; dismissed it out of hand as, at best, irrelevant, at worst, arrogant and hateful. I am talking about people out there in contemporary culture, un-evangelized, who took a moment to take second look at Francis. He gave them reason to consider whether there just might be something in this whole "Christian message thing."
Jesus shocked the Pharisees. "This man eats with sinners," the self-righteous leaders of first-century Judaism said, in objecting to Jesus (Luke 15:2). It never seemed to occur to the Pharisees that the same would have been true, when Jesus ate with them. But though Jesus shocked and enraged the self-satisfied and (to their minds) holy ones of Israel, he attracted those who needed what he had to offer.
So did Francis. I am grateful to him for that. A lot of the non-Catholic world is grateful to Francis, for that. In my view, Francis' papacy was Evangelization 101.
May he rest in peace. In peace and more. In joy, in light and gratitude, amid graces abounding. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God -- which we celebrate today -- rest in peace, rest in joy.
That'll do it for this one. Take care. God bless. A bright and joyful Easter Season to you.
Love,
Fr. Brawn