Is there someone you need to forgive?

Jesus stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” (Luke 24:36)

How can we be sure that it was really Jesus who appeared to the disciples in the story we have for our Gospel today? What if it were just an evil spirit playing tricks on them? Jesus, later on in the story, assured his disciples, “Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have.” But I think that the best proof that it was truly Jesus who appeared to those disciples huddled and befuddled in Jerusalem was the first thing he said to them, “Peace be with you.”

The last time Jesus saw most of them was probably in Gethsemane, where he was arrested and where they scattered out of fear. Perhaps, while he was hanging on the cross, Jesus saw some of them on the fringes of the crowd, afraid to come close and console him because they might be identified.

It would be perfectly understandable then if Jesus’ first words to them were, “Why did you leave me?” Or “Why weren’t you there when I was suffering?” Or even “See, I told you I’d come back, but you never believed me, you of little faith! Shame on you!” But no. The man who appeared without warning and without explanation greeted them only with, “Peace be with you.” Without a doubt, it must have been Jesus! Who else would be as gentle and as understanding as the Good Shepherd who is always looking out for his sheep? Who else but Jesus would have already forgiven them even before they could even think of saying sorry?

“Peace be with you.” It is not just the empty tomb that is the proof of Easter. It is also a heart emptied of grudges and ill-feelings, of anger and distrust. Easter is when Simon Peter is restored and called again to feed Jesus’ lambs as many times as he earlier denied Jesus. Easter is when Thomas is given a chance to profess Jesus as his Lord and God after pronouncing, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, I will not believe!” Easter is when two downcast disciples on their way to Emmaus are led back to Jerusalem renewed with burning hearts even though they had all but given up on Jesus.

If this is when Easter happens, we who call ourselves an Easter people must be prepared to make this our Easter task. Stop. Is there someone you need to forgive? Is there someone who needs to hear you say, “Peace be with you”? You may not have the courage to go and visit that person now, or call, or even write him or her an email, but at the very least, can you in your heart wish him or her peace? Stop. Before reading on, try letting these words roll off your tongue. “Peace be with you.” How do they taste - especially when you imagine offering them to people who have hurt you?

In 1993, a young man dying of AIDS accused Cardinal Joseph Bernardin of sexually abusing him while he was in the seminary in the 1970s. The rumor mill went into overdrive not only because Bernardin was a cardinal but also because he oversaw the development of the first comprehensive guidelines for processing molestation charges against priests. This was a controversy that was too juicy to let pass, and even before a formal case was filed, many had already passed judgment. Bernardin would later write, “I felt a deep humiliation as inquiring callers made it clear that the accusation had now circled the world, that millions of people would know only one thing about me, that I was charged with abusing the trust and the body of a minor almost twenty years before.”

Shortly after the media had their field day and feasted on Bernardin’s reputation, the young man recanted his allegations. A poorly trained therapist, instead of helping him recapture memories, only succeeded in implanting in the young man’s head false ones. When everything had settled down, Bernardin reached out to the young man named Steven. There is no better way to recount the events than to use Bernardin’s own words from his book, The Gift of Peace:

I thought often of Steven in his lonely, illness-ridden exile... I felt deeply that this entire episode would not be complete until I followed my shepherd’s calling to seek him out. I only prayed that he would receive me. The experience of the false accusation would not be complete until I met and reconciled with Steven. Even though I had never heard from him, I sensed he also wanted to see me...

[When I finally saw Steven,] I explained to him that the only reason for requesting the meeting was to bring closure to the traumatic events… by personally letting him know that I harbored no ill feelings toward him. I told him I wanted to pray with him for his physical and spiritual well-being. Steven replied that he had decided to meet with me so he could apologize for the embarrassment and hurt he had caused. In other words, we both sought reconciliation...

I looked directly at Steven, seated a few inches away from me. “You know,” I said, “that I never abused you.”

“I know,” he answered softly. “Can you tell me that again?”

I looked directly into his eyes. “I have never abused you. You know that, don’t you?”

Steven nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “I know that, and I want to apologize for saying that you did.” Steven’s apology was simple, direct, deeply moving. I accepted his apology. I told him that I had prayed for him every day and would continue to pray for his health and peace of mind…

I then asked whether he wanted me to celebrate Mass for him. At first, he hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to have Mass,” he said haltingly; “I’ve felt very alienated from God and the Church a long time.” He said that on several occasions while in a hotel he threw a Gideon Bible against the wall in anger and frustration…

I hesitated for a moment after that, unsure of how he would react to the gift I removed from my briefcase… “Steven,” I said, “I have brought you something, a Bible that I have inscribed to you. But I do understand, and I won’t be offended if you don’t want to accept it.” Steven took the Bible in quivering hands, pressed it to his heart as tears welled up in his eyes.

I then took a hundred-year-old chalice out of my case. “Steven, this is a gift from a man I don’t even know. He asked me to use it to say Mass for you some day.”

“Please,” Steven responded tearfully, “let’s celebrate Mass now.”

In many Easter stories, the Lord is recognized in the breaking of bread. I am sure that in that Mass celebrated by an accused for his accuser, both realized that Jesus was very much with them. It was an Easter not only for Steven. It was an Easter for Cardinal Bernardin, too.

Fr. Francis was ordained in 2009 and served in the PGH until May 2011. He is currently taking further studies in Sacred Scripture. For feedback on this column, email [email protected].