Mercy. What are we asking for when we ask for God's mercy? Because we use the word during the penitential rite in our Eucharist, we often think of the plea for mercy as a petition for forgiveness, but that's not at all what the Scriptures tell us.

Not only that, but the word mercy (eleos in Greek) is nowhere near as common in the Gospels as we might think. While John never used the word, Luke might be its champion with about 10 references to the mercy of God and Jesus or the good Samaritan and the prodigal father. In today's Scriptures, the only time we hear the word is in 1 Peter which praises God for showing us mercy by giving us new birth through the Resurrection.

What it comes down to is that mercy is an action, not an emotion. If we look to Luke's human examples, we first see mercy was what the Samaritan did as he risked his life and put his goods at the service of a person in need. In the father and son story, the father practiced mercy by embracing his son and throwing a party for him. (Although the wayward son talked about sin, the father said absolutely nothing about sin or forgiveness — that was the role of the older brother.) Mercy is thus a concrete and generous response to another's need. This leads us to ask what today's readings tell us about divine mercy.

Today's Gospel takes place on the evening of the day of the resurrection when Jesus appeared in the midst of the disciples. Although classical artworks depict this scene with Jesus and the 11, there is no reason to assume that the group, like that at the Last Supper, did not include other women and men. John takes care to remind us that it was evening and the doors were locked. It was as if, after seeing Jesus' empty tomb, the disciples had made a sepulcher of their own meeting place. They who had mourned his death had become like the living dead, ashamed of their cowardice, afraid, and unable to believe Mary of Magdala's announcement that she had "seen the Lord" (John 20:18).

John tells us that Jesus came and stood among them. Earlier, Mary of Magdala had sought him. Now Jesus sought out the disciples. To Mary, he had said, "Do not cling to me … but go and tell my brothers 'I am going to my Father and your Father.' " By saying this, Jesus handed over his mission, authorizing Mary as the first Christian apostle. Later, when he came to the disciples, the mission he handed over was more than a simple proclamation: "As the Father has sent me, so I send you. Receive the Holy Spirit."

Whether in the garden cemetery or the locked room, Jesus' appearances were not just revelations of the resurrection; they aimed at transforming disciples into apostles. Jesus expressed his active mercy by breathing into them the Holy Spirit, the vital principle of his own life. Jesus mentioned nothing of their failure to stand with him, rather, like the father who restored his wayward son as an heir, Jesus gave them his mission: specifically, a mission of forgiveness.

This tells us not only about mercy, but also about forgiveness. If we think about it, Jesus never focused on sin. He mightily criticized people who denigrated or excluded others, but sin was never his focus. For Jesus, acts of mercy restored people, empowering them to live the fullness of their potential. In the long run, that asks much more of people than simply being sorry for sin.

Where does this leave us on Divine Mercy Sunday? Peter seems to summarize it as he tells us, "Rejoice in the God who gives you new birth to living hope." It's too easy, almost egoistic, to dwell on our failings and feel sorry. The God who proclaimed that sacrifices "have become a burden to me" (Jeremiah 6:20) has no need or desire for our sadness, but beseeches us, "Let justice surge like a river" (Amos 5:24).

On this Sunday, Mary and the other disciples would probably tell us, "Be careful about asking for God's mercy! It comes with the uncomfortable grace of a vocation." After the Resurrection, the church is irrevocably called out of hiding and into mission. Pope Francis tells us to abandon fear of mistakes, but instead to fear "remaining shut up within structures … rules … habits … while at our door people are starving" (Evangelii Gaudium, 49).

On this Divine Mercy Sunday, can we be bold enough to ask for and act out divine mercy?

How easy it is to say, "I know" someone. Yet, the more we know one another, the more we realize that human beings are ever-unfolding mysteries. So too with our faith. Each Sunday, we recite the profession of faith as if we really understood the words we are saying. On occasion, we even pay attention to them. Today, we hear Peter proclaim a creed describing the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Peter was addressing Cornelius and his household, gentile people who were already following God's Spirit, ready to go where the Spirit would lead.

By telling the story of Cornelius about halfway through the Acts of the Apostles, Luke implies that Resurrection faith is not a one-time event, but a process. This realization helps us as we read John's multilayered account of "the first day."

John opens this story as the very beginning of the new creation: "On the first day of the week … while it was still dark." This description awakens tremendous admiration for Mary of Magdala as someone who could face the darkness and chaos, if not with hope, at least ready to honor and lament what had been. Unlike the disciples who had vanished from the public eye, she was willing to confront the void in public.

Then the void exploded into an unintelligible chasm: the tomb had been disturbed, the realm of death had been disrupted. The only possible explanation — someone had stolen the body. There was nothing more to do than to search for her friends who had gone into hiding. She announced the unthinkable truth as she understood it: "They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don't know where they have laid him." ("Laid" is a literal translation for "put.") When Peter and the other disciple followed Mary's lead and went to the tomb, the scene awaiting them looked nothing like a grave robbery. Who would steal a body and first remove the burial cloths? All of this to hint that Jesus' death was nothing like the death they understood.

Today's Gospel ends enigmatically. On the one hand, the Gospel writer tells us that the other disciple "saw and believed." On the other hand, the last thing we hear is that, "They did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead." When we ask, "which was it?" perhaps the best answer is "both."

The first time Jesus speaks in John's Gospel, he asks, "What are you seeking?" When dumbfounded disciples reply that they wish to know where he dwells, he responds, "Come and see." Through the entire Gospel, disciples try to understand who Jesus is; although they continually miss the mark, they remain with him and gradually grow in their knowledge. On the first day, after seeing all their hopes dashed, the disciples were confronted with the mystery. The very best they could do was believe in mystery, open themselves to hope that life was not what they thought it was after the Crucifixion. They believed even while they did not understand.

We would expect a better story for the principal liturgy on Easter Sunday. But that was the work of the Easter Vigil, the most exquisite of liturgical pageants that takes us through salvation history from creation to Christ's resurrection. Last night we heard the announcement, today we begin the joyful pilgrimage of the Easter season that moves us bit by bit, not only into believing, but into understanding better what this feast means for our lives.

Perhaps one exercise to celebrate Easter Sunday would be to listen to a musical rendition of today's sequence, an ancient hymn of praise that invites Mary of Magdala to tell the story from her experience. If you listen to it in Latin, you might first glance at the translation of the sequence, but then let the music carry you into appreciation of beauty that you cannot fully grasp. That is a preparation for the next step.

In an era before YouTube and Renaissance music, St. Paul encouraged the Colossians to let Easter faith permeate them and their outlook. Today, Paul invites us to allow faith in the risen Lord orient our lives. His call to "seek what is above" is not an appeal to abandon this life, but to believe that Christ and his resurrection have revealed that everything is oriented to union with God. That's the mystery we know and try to understand.

Most of us would say that we know what Easter signifies. Today's liturgy invites us to a bit more humility about God's ever-new creation. Today, let us join Mary and the disciples who believed so firmly that they could accept the fact that they did not understand. Remember, the Easter celebration that begins today is 50 days long.