Second Sunday of Easter – Divine Mercy Sunday 2026

On this Second Sunday of Easter—Divine Mercy Sunday—we listen to the same Gospel each year. And that is not accidental. The Church wants us to linger here, to remain in this moment, to let it sink deeply into us.

Because what we are given today is not simply a story—it is a gift. An Easter gift.

The Gospel draws us into that upper room: doors locked, hearts fearful, wounds still raw. And into that space comes the Risen Christ. His first words are not reproach, nor accusation, not even disappointment. His first words are: “Peace be with you.”

And then—astonishingly—He breathes on them and entrusts to them the power of forgiveness:
“Those whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven…”

Reconciliation, peace, forgiveness—these are not abstract ideas. They are the very first fruits of the Resurrection. They stand among the last words of the dying Christ and the first words of the risen Redeemer.

And yet, the Gospel makes something very clear: these are not automatic. They are decisions.

Jesus places before the apostles—and before us—a responsibility. You can set people free, or you can leave them bound. The decision is yours.

That is confronting. Because forgiveness does not come naturally to us. Our instinct is to repay hurt with hurt, wrong with wrong. The Resurrection interrupts that instinct.

It shows us another way.

On the Cross, Jesus prayed: “Father, forgive them.” And now, risen from the dead, He places that same mercy into our hands.

This is why the Church also calls today Divine Mercy Sunday. It is not an afterthought to Easter, it is an unfolding of Easter.

Some years ago, Pope Francis, in proclaiming the Jubilee of Mercy, wrote that “Jesus of Nazareth, by his words, his actions, and his entire person reveals the mercy of God.” And more than that, he said: “Mercy is the very foundation of the Church’s life.”

What we read of today in the upper room is precisely that: the face of mercy.

Not a mercy that ignores sin, a mercy that overcomes it. This is a mercy that enters locked rooms.
It is a mercy that does not wait for perfection, a mercy given to fragile, imperfect people.

And this is where it becomes very real for us.

Because reconciliation is not only sacramental—though it is profoundly that. It is also deeply personal. It is the daily decision of the heart to forgive, to apologise, to begin again.

Even children know this. They know what it is to break relationships—and to mend them.

We also know that though we pray, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”, it is not easy.

We see it in families. We see it in communities.
We see it in our nation, especially in the unfinished work of reconciliation with our Indigenous brothers and sisters.
We see it across the world—in places torn apart by conflict, where the failure to reconcile leaves wounds that fester across borders and down through generations.

Only last week, Pope Leo reminded us that the ability to reconcile lies at the very basis of any future marked by justice and solidarity. Without it, there is no peace. And without peace, there is no true human development.

The Risen Christ comes among us—not simply to console us—but to commission us: to be people of mercy who refuse to let resentment have the last word.

To be people who, like Thomas, move from doubt and fear to that great cry of faith: “My Lord and my God.”

Thomas’ journey is our own. He doubts, he hesitates, he struggles—and yet he encounters not rejection, but mercy. And that encounter transforms him.

That is what mercy does. It changes people. It changes relationships. It can change the world.

This is why prayer for reconciliation and peace is never an optional extra. It is not something we add on at the end. It is essential.

To pray for reconciliation is to open our hearts to God’s grace.
To seek the courage to apologise.
To ask for the strength to forgive.
To mercifully accept forgiveness when it is offered.

Pope Francis said that mercy is not an abstract idea but a concrete reality through which God reveals his love. And today, that reality is placed into our lives.

So this is the question the Gospel leaves us with:

What will we do with this Easter gift?

Will we hold onto old wounds, or will we let them be healed?
Will we keep others bound, or will we set them free?
Will we remain behind locked doors, or will we step into the new life Christ offers?

Reconciliation is not easy. But it is possible—because it is first God’s work in us.

As we will hear in the Eucharistic Prayer: Reconciliation changes hearts. It changes relationships.
Reconciliation can change the world.

It is not just a good idea.

It is the gift of the Risen Christ.

And it is mercy—Easter mercy—entrusted to us.

Most Rev. Anthony J. Ireland
Archbishop of Hobart
12 April 2026