How much do you love me?

Sixty-two years ago, the Rev. Martin Luther King wrote the "Letter from a Birmingham Jail." Responding to criticism by local clergy, he explained that he had led a peaceful demonstration in Birmingham, Alabama, because theirs was the most segregated city in the nation. He told them that "we will have to repent ... not merely for the hateful words and actions ... but for the appalling silence of the good people." 

He added, "Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of [people] willing to be co-workers with God."

King could have been echoing Peter and company, who told the Sanhedrin, "We must obey God rather than human beings." 

Peter and Barnabas were in trouble for continuing Christ's mission in spite of "strict orders" to stop. Of course, this happened after the Holy Spirit had so enthralled and emboldened them that they felt impelled to preach about what God was doing through the risen Christ. Their newfound courage even led them to rejoice, not at being freed from jail, but because persecution assured them that they were carrying on Christ's mission.

In 1963, King explained that he intended to "create a crisis" dramatizing the evils of segregation so that they could no longer be ignored. By risking their lives for others, the disciples were dramatizing Jesus' death and resurrection so that people could see concrete evidence of the freedom and new life available in Christ. 

As we know all too well, proclamation of Christ led to persecution and martyrdom for people like Sts. Peter, Paul, Perpetua, Felicity, Agnes and their contemporaries — like our own contemporaries King, Medgar Evers, Salvadoran Archbishop Óscar Romero, Notre Dame de Namur Sr. Dorothy Stang and countless others.

What convinced these people that their message mattered more than their life? Our Easter Gospels explain that it happened through a process of encounter, love and mission. Today's Gospel illustrates this process.

John's Gospel describes each detail of the story to reflect events of Jesus' life and/or the current situation of his Christian community. This narrative begins with Peter and six others deciding that the hour had come to return to their fishing trade. Their miraculous catch suggests that fishing was fine, but that Christ offered them much more. Peter's near-naked leap into the sea recalls baptism's immersion and rising anew. Jesus waiting on shore near a charcoal fire evokes the memory of the fire near which Peter denied knowing Jesus. The fish Jesus was preparing were the exact kind that they all had enjoyed at the miraculous sharing of John 6.

Even with the shout of "It is the Lord!" and the inexplicable catch, the disciples remained uncertain. No one dared to ask, "Who are you?" Their wobbly faith was beginning to get stronger.

In the dialogue between Jesus and Peter, Jesus' question, "Do you love me?", serves as both a question and a command. We could interpret Jesus to be saying," I want you to really love me as who I am, not just your idea of me or what I can do for you." 

He adds, "If you really love me, you will live in me and I in you and you will care for my people with the same love and courage that I have."

Each time Peter repealed his denials by proclaiming his love, Jesus explained that loving him implied doing what he had done: "Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep." The kind of love Jesus sought was not friendship or admiration, but such a profound union in love that Peter would share his passion for doing the Father's will by giving himself for others. 

This evokes the Last Supper discourse when Jesus told his disciples that loving him implied living his command of universal love and his prayer that they would be one in him as he was with the Father (John 13).

This last section of the Gospel of John prompts us to contemplate our own Gospel vocation. Let us call to mind and heart the insights or events that have moved us to express our faith in action, how our work contributes to Christ's mission, and the meaning of our baptism and communion. We express gratitude for how our faith has been strengthened in mission and vice-versa. 

Then, with King, we will not forget that the reign of God is not inevitable but depends on the efforts of those who accept the grace of being coworkers with God. That will continually draw us into the mystery of the resurrection.

When, try as I might, I could not be at peace with other options, I finally gave in to what I sensed as a call to religious life, knowing full well that it was no longer in style. Nationally, religious practice was waning among the young, and women were beginning to speak out about how the church failed to recognize us, our ability to contribute and our full status as members of the body of Christ.

For me, becoming a woman religious was about belonging to a community in mission, and I accepted being an oddity, even among Catholics. Sensitive about the choice, I didn't want anyone to know about it until I took a definitive step. Although I felt fairly certain of my vocation, I had no idea how I would be changed by joining with others who shared the same call and mission.

The idea of unpredictable personal change leads me to today's Liturgy of the Word.

Today's Gospel pulls together at least seven themes: fear, peace, evil overcome, forgiveness, mission, and apostolic faith — all of which are Easter experiences. The disciples who locked themselves into safety had heard the women proclaim the Resurrection, but they didn't really believe it. They continued hiding from the danger that flowed from their relationship with Jesus. 

Then, he burst in on their desolation. His response to their fear? "Peace."

"Peace," revealed his experience of death overcome, of the evil and suffering incapable of eliminating him, of the Father's assurance that all he had said and done had been true. "Peace," communicated his gift of the Spirit and the freedom to forgive anything and everyone. "Peace" commissioned his disciples to act in his name. 

Peace gave them courage and would be the hallmark of their apostolate, the sign that they were moving through him and with him and in him. Peace communicates divine mercy, the reality that God shares our experience and remains present in our need.

Today's selection from the Acts of the Apostles reveals the results of receiving the gift of peace and God's merciful presence. First, it helps to remember that the title "apostle" is broader than we might think. Jesus appointed exactly 12 apostles to symbolize a new Israel, but others like Paul and Barnabas also claimed the title. Calling people apostles indicated that Christ had empowered them to spread the Gospel. Of course, Mary of Magdala holds the honor of being the first one delegated to announce the Resurrection. 

By the time Gentiles were becoming the majority among Christians, the label designated a risky job description more than an honorary title. That's why some "others" avoided being identified with the followers of the executed Jesus. For the next 313 years, it was risky to be branded as a follower of Christ. It still is for many.

This leads us into today's selection from the Book of Revelation. The author explains that he shares in common with his readers a confounding combination of distress, kingdom, endurance, and exile: the exact sort of circumstances that the "others" shunned. 

And yet, as we heard in the readings for Easter Sunday, such hard times help us recognize the presence of God, the one who says, "I am the first and the last, the One who lives." At some level, in spite of all our disturbance, we can believe that God-Emmanuel is somehow still near.

Our tradition tells us that Thomas did not believe. Of course he didn't! Those who told him that Christ was risen were still hiding out, displaying no signs of sharing in Jesus' peace. They hadn't changed. Belief in their unsubstantiated tales would have been a shallow and easily lost conviction.

When Jesus and Thomas faced each other, when Thomas could see scars healed and heard the crucified one speaking, he knew that his Master was truly in and with God. Then, he experienced Christ's peace, a faith that changed him irrevocably. Having known the depths of doubt and sorrow, he was prepared to be an apostle.

The Easter season is longer than Lent, perhaps because it's easy to do penance, but allowing Christ's peace to permeate our hearts and minds takes much longer. The Easter season offers us the opportunity to let ourselves be perplexed and even to doubt as we wait for the good news to saturate our souls.

How to do that? We can't begin without gazing on and touching the living Christ's wounds in our own time, letting the suffering in our world move us as Christ's passion moved Thomas. Evil is as present today as then. We need to grieve over the situations that break our hearts and challenge our faith. 

From that vulnerable space, we can hear Christ's "peace," and we will be transformed as authentic apostles.