Second Sunday of Easter
Peace Be With You
Rev. James A. Wickersham

There is a moment in the Gospel today that is easy to miss if we move too quickly. The doors are locked. The apostles are inside. And they are afraid. This is where we find them after everything that happened—after the arrest, the scourging, the crucifixion. After they ran. After Peter denied. After almost all of them disappeared. None of them gave a strong showing. And this is where the risen Lord comes.

He does not wait for them to get their act together. He does not stand outside and demand an explanation. He does not send word ahead to see if they are ready. He comes into the room they have locked, stands in their midst, and says, “Peace be with you.” This is where it changes. Because the story of the apostles is not a story of men who got it right the first time. It is a story of men who failed, who scattered, who were afraid—and who still waited for the Lord to come back to them. And he did.

Even Thomas, who wasn’t there the first time. Even Thomas, who says he will not believe unless he can see and touch the wounds. The Lord comes back for him too. He does not dismiss him. He does not write him off. He comes again. He invites him closer. He lets him touch the wounds. And Thomas says what all of them are beginning to learn how to say: “My Lord and my God.”

This is how the Church begins. Not with perfect people, but with forgiven people. Not with men who proved themselves, but with men who were found again. And that is where this Gospel meets us. Because if we’re honest, most of us don’t give a strong showing either. Not in the dramatic way of the apostles, maybe. But in quieter ways. We get busy. We get distracted. We forget. We move through days where the Lord is not really at the center.

Spring comes, and life fills up. Schedules get crowded. There are things to do, places to be, responsibilities that press in. And the Lord does not text us to remind us. He does not complain about us. He does not force his way in. But he waits. He waits for the moment when we remember, when we turn back, when we realize again that life without him starts to close in, like those locked doors in the Gospel.

And when we do turn back, we find something very simple. He is already there. “Peace be with you.” Not, “Where have you been?” Not, “Explain yourself.” Just, “Peace be with you.” That is divine mercy. On this Second Sunday of Easter, that is what the Church puts in front of us: the mercy of the risen Lord is not a reward for getting it right. It is how he brings us back when we have not.

The apostles ran from him, but they did not cut themselves off from him. And when he came, they received him. Because it is one thing to drift. It is another thing to stay there. At some point, each of them had to unlock the door. At some point, they had to receive the peace he offered. At some point, they had to step out and begin to live differently. And that is the invitation for us.

Spring will stay busy. Life will not slow down on its own. There will always be something else pressing in. But the question is whether we will return, whether we will make space again for the Lord, whether we will let faith and hope take hold again so that our love begins to reorder our lives. Because when he is at the center, everything changes. The joys are deeper. The burdens are lighter. The conflicts do not have the final word. Even suffering begins to take on meaning. Without him, life closes in. With him, it opens.

This world is not the final act. It is not where the story ends. So if you find yourself this week a little distracted, a little distant—don’t stay there. Return. Open the door again. And hear him say: “Peace be with you.”