On the evening of that first day of the week, when the doors were locked ... Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. [Jesus] said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.” (Jn 20:18-23)
Which is to say, I'm thinking about the wounds in my own life that need healing, and what Our Lord teaches us in His actions about the importance of reconciliation. So, while I'm writing just to work through this in my own life, I'd also like to share some thoughts.
I guess the first thing that occurs to me here is that phrase, the doors were locked. Isn't that always the case in times of conflict? We hide behind locked doors, out of a place of shame or regret or distrust. We get wounded, and rather than immediately reaching out we lock ourselves away. And the wound festers.
What's worse is all that is said in the unspoken words. As we lock ourselves away to heal, we find that healing is not a solitary action. Silence may give us time to make peace with God and stitch ourselves up, but it doesn't bring us real healing. Instead, we begin to make assumptions about what is done and left undone - their intentions and attitudes; subsequent encounters with them; we even question the basis of the relationship and begin seeing even wounds that had previously been healed begin to surface.
Each party finds themselves waiting for the other to reach out, to be the first to build a bridge - and of course, nobody wants to do that because that involves stepping into the unknown realm of will they forgive me? will they apologize? will we be able to recover? As I said, we hide out of distrust.
It is into this locked room full of fear and distrust that Our Lord enters - and mysteriously, He enters speaking Peace. There is so much that could be said about this Shalom, about the unexpected and radical mercy being offered. It is an invitation, of course; but beyond that, I think it also serves as a reminder that the Christian life must be lived in relation to others, and - especially within the Mystical Body of Christ - we should be anxious to reconcile and restore, because what affects one of us affects the entire Body.
All this being said ... I think it would be a mistake to see this Shalom as an excuse to move on without addressing the elephant in the room. I know on an important level, Our Lord showing His wounds is about demonstrating the bodily Resurrection; but beyond that reading, we can see how necessary it is to acknowledge the wounds we have received at the hands of others. It is an act of vulnerability to show others where we have been hurt, inviting them to a place of compassion and empathy, and inviting them to realize the need for reconciliation. We can't just move on, and the peace being offered needs to come with a humble admittance that there is brokenness that requires healing. Otherwise it's just words.
How crucial is it, though, that Our Lord shows His wounds without coming from a place of woundedness? This is not a lashing out - no accusations or finger-pointing, no shouting. Certainly no veiled threat that His offering of peace is contingent on their asking forgiveness. But it occurs to me that He didn't even specifically state what they had or hadn't done; rather, He showed the wounds He had received and invited them to come to see the fault of their inaction in light of their sorrow at the pain He endured.
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Friends, there are some wounds within the Body of Christ this evening (as if this is at all a surprise). I think it is so much more complicated within the Church, because there is such a temptation to just move on and seek that artificial half-peace of pretending the wounds aren't there. Or generally avoiding dealing with them, as if they will go away. There is a place for giving time to heal and return with cooler heads, but at some point you have to properly heal, rather than simply patching over it.
I have to confess that - insofar as I see myself in this story as Christ - the one wounded - I failed to be Christ. I waited longer than I should have to reach out and offer peace, which just made things awkward for a bit. And when I offered the peace, there were no words that went along with it - nor was there any acknowledgement of what had happened and the wounds I have experienced. I still have the intention of doing so, but I am distinctly aware that the Enemy is clever and makes us avoid these opportunities for reconciliation because of further fear of rejection.
Of course, the reality is that I am also the disciples locked in the upper room - avoiding doing my part, avoiding acknowledging my own responsibility in the situation, and wishing I wouldn't have to be the one to move first. When it was pointed out recently that I hadn't done my part or left the metaphorical room, I have to confess that my initial reaction was from that place of woundedness - shouting where were you?
So much for blessed are the meek (or peacemakers, or poor in spirit). Brother Francis, pray for me!
It's funny, in a way, how a situation can get so confused and uncomfortable without any real interaction even taking place - just festering. You think I would know this by now, because I've been here before in my divorce.
So, here we are, preparing to move up the stairs and knock - or coming to the door and opening it - depending on which side of the door I see myself on at the moment. Uncomfortable conversations are uncomfortable, but I would much rather grace flow freely again than leave these wounds in the Body of Christ.
