A Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter (or Sunday of Divine Mercy)
Readings: Acts 2:42-47  1 Peter 1:3-9  John 20:19-31

The site is secure. No one is going to intrude. There is time to catch a breath and talk it out, though fear suffuses the spot. What is going to happen now that Jesus is gone?

With no little empathy for this gathering of disciples, St. Peter Chrysologus accurately perceived that fear can paralyze. 

No darkness of night can be compared with the gloom of grief and fear because they are incapable of being tempered by any light of either consolation or counsel (Sermon 84:2).

He was speaking of the disciples who had gathered behind closed doors just after the death of Jesus, before they became convinced that he had risen from the dead. But I am speaking of young mothers going to confession. 

My empathy for them cannot claim great understanding. I have never experienced anything remotely similar. Nonetheless, here is a partial picture of their situation as I have seen and heard it.

They are exhausted. And this is not the sort of tiredness that comes from a period of great exertion leading to a time of rest. This fatigue is so ingrained in the life they lead that they no longer recognize how tired, how depleted, they are. 

They are resolute in meeting the needs of their children, but how could they have ever foreseen how relentless those claims would be? For food, for hygiene, for health care, for stimulation and learning, for attention, for protection, for play, for comfort? And this is a best-case scenario. What is it like for the single mother, the mother facing insurmountable financial challenges or the mother with a child with special needs? 

The older I grow, the more uncomfortable I am with priestly formations that emphasize the extraordinary sacrifices that priests make for Christ and the church. Those demands are real, and they are unique, but they are not exceptional. Any Christian vocation lived well demands sacrifice. 

What makes all vocations so challenging is the difficulty we have remembering our lofty goals during daily exertions that, while purposeful, lack any sense of dignified resolve. How does one find self-actualization in endlessly changing dirty diapers? 

Young mothers share something with those locked away disciples. Great fear which, as Peter Chrysologus noted, can incapacitate us. 

Fathers and mothers both confess that they have been harsh with their children, that they have lacked patience, that they have failed to be as present to their children as they should. Why are young mothers more afraid than young fathers? Perhaps because their presence to their children is typically more constant, more relentless. 

I know that I lack the imagination to be comprehensive in cataloguing those fears. Is my child healthy? Am I doing something that would threaten my children’s health? Have I given my children what they need to grow strong and confident? Have I assuaged their fears without increasing their paranoia? Are my emotional responses to them helping them to find their own footing in the passions? Will something I could never have foreseen scuttle everything? Fear of the unknown is always the greatest because our imaginations remain unchecked, unchanneled. 

But here is the most extraordinary feature of the confessions young mothers make to me. They are looking for Christ. They understand that they are serving the Lord, but they worry that they are wandering from a living relationship with him. 

Is it their inattention to prayer? 

No, it is their inability to find time for contemplative prayer, for prayer in which they simply enjoy the presence of Christ. You can work like a slave for your spouse, but that cannot be sustained for long without the emotional support, the presence of your spouse. 

Young mothers, priests and religious share something with all vocations of the Christian life. Labor without the refreshment of love will have a limited run. 

Young mothers want to pray. They want, more than ever, to be with Christ. Perhaps the desire, which is stronger now than it was when they were single, surprises them. 

When they speak of this frustrated yearning, I cannot simply repeat to them what so many a saint has said: that we should always sacrifice the consolation of prayer for the demands of charity. They know this. They do not need to be tutored. 

Perhaps more to the point would be St. Augustine’s teaching that the strong desire to pray is already a form of prayer. The failure to be satisfied, while discomforting, is nonetheless a real manifestation of the Spirit’s presence. 

For the desire of your heart is itself your prayer. And if the desire is constant, so is your prayer…. The constancy of your desire will itself be the ceaseless voice of your prayer. And that voice of your prayer will be silent only when your love ceases (Discourse on the Psalms, 37:13).

But perhaps, in the crisp light of Easter, something St. Cyril of Alexandria said about Christ coming into the closed room of the disciples is sustaining enough.

When Christ greeted his holy disciples with the words “peace be with you,” by peace he meant himself, for Christ’s presence always brings tranquility of soul (Commentary on the Gospel of John, 12:1).

As odd as it sounds, if you are aching for Christ’s presence, you can be sure he is not absent.

The Rev. Terrance W. Klein is a priest of the Diocese of Dodge City and author of Vanity Faith.