A Divine Mercy Sunday Reflection

Placing Jesus in the tabernacle, where mercy waits in silence.

It always happens the same way. The communion hymn is coming to a close, and I watch the deacon reverently carry the ciborium toward the tabernacle. My eyes follow every step. As the door opens and the consecrated Hosts, what remains of the Body of Christ, are placed carefully inside, I bow my head and whisper quietly, “My Lord and my God.”

This is not just a habit or a line I repeat because I was taught to. It is my way of professing belief in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. Hidden under the appearance of bread is the same Jesus who walked with the apostles, who died on the Cross, who rose again, and who once stood in a locked room with Thomas, the apostle I have come to identify with the most.

As I knelt there this Divine Mercy Sunday, that line echoed louder in my soul than ever before: “My Lord and my God.” The very same words Thomas proclaimed when Jesus invited him to touch His wounds. I saw myself in him, because for so long, I was a doubter just like Thomas. Not because I questioned God’s existence, but because I lived like He was not there. I denied His presence through pride, sin, and distance. I pushed Him away with my stubbornness. And still, Jesus came after me.

That is what struck me in Sunday’s Gospel reading. Jesus walks through locked doors and speaks directly to our fear, our doubt, and our shame. He says it clearly: “Peace be with you.” He does not barge in with fury. He does not bring condemnation. He brings peace. He brings mercy.

Divine Mercy. Those two words have taken on deep meaning for me over the past few years. Divine Mercy is not just a devotion or a beautiful image. It is the very heart of Jesus. It is His love poured out for sinners like me. It is His blood and water, like the rays flowing from the image Saint Faustina gave to the world. One hand raised in blessing, the other pointing to His heart. From it flow red and white rays, the blood that is the life of souls, and the water that makes them clean.

That water brought me back to the Easter Vigil, just a week ago. I watched with awe as the newly initiated were baptized. I saw the water pour over them, washing away every sin, every doubt. They were made new. They were made into new wineskins, ready to be filled to overflowing with the mercy and love of Jesus.

The Church offers this water, and the mercy of the confessional, as a gift for our weary hearts. And yet, how often have I resisted it? How many times have I looked at my life and thought, “Not even God can fix this”? But Divine Mercy Sunday reminds me that Jesus loves the unlovable. He forgives the unforgivable. He came not for the perfect, but for the broken.

I have lived that. I have wandered. I have fallen. I have hidden. And yet, Jesus never stopped seeking me. When I closed the doors of my heart, He still came in and whispered, “Peace be with you.” He did not ask me to clean myself up first. He came into the mess. And He stayed.

Thomas needed to see the wounds to believe. I understand that. Sometimes we need to feel the mercy of Jesus touch our real wounds before we can believe He is truly with us. That is why I say it every time the tabernacle is closed. That is why I bow and whisper, “My Lord and my God.” Because I believe. Not just in theory. Not from a distance. But with my whole heart. That Host in the tabernacle is Jesus. Not a symbol. Not a memory. But Jesus Himself.

And Jesus does not want us to just believe. He calls us to live out that belief. Divine Mercy Sunday is not only about receiving mercy. It is about becoming mercy. It is about being sent, just like the apostles were. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” He told them. We are called to bring peace. We are called to forgive. We are called to love those the world has given up on. We are called to pour out mercy, even when it feels undeserved.

That is not easy. Some wounds still ache. Some people seem too far gone. But Jesus kept His wounds after the Resurrection. He did not erase them. He let Thomas touch them. That tells me something. Our wounds, too, can be transformed.

So I return again to the tabernacle. I bow. I whisper. And I remember. I remember the doubt, the wandering, the pain. But more importantly, I remember the mercy. The peace. The love.

Divine Mercy Sunday is not a one day event. It is a reminder of what is true every day. Jesus is alive. Jesus is merciful. Jesus is here.

He still says to me, again and again, “Peace be with you.”

And with all my heart, I respond, “My Lord and my God.”