Homilies
Skeptic or Realist? - Who are we in light of the Resurrection?
The first Sunday after Easter often feels quieter than the triumphant tones of Easter morning. The lilies are beginning to fade, the hallelujahs are softer, and there’s a sense that we’ve moved from celebration to reflection. But this quieter Sunday offers something deeply powerful: an invitation to consider not only what we believe about the resurrection—but how we see the world in light of it.
Are we optimists, always expecting things to get better? Pessimists, expecting the worst? Skeptics, cautious and needing proof? Or realists, holding the tension of both faith and facts?
In Acts, Peter and the apostles are hauled before the authorities. They’re told to be quiet, to stop speaking about Jesus. But Peter, once too afraid to even admit he knew Jesus, now says boldly: “We must obey God rather than any human authority.”
This isn’t bravado. Peter isn’t being reckless or naïve. He’s living from a place of deep transformation. The resurrection didn’t just change Jesus—it changed Peter’s entire worldview. He no longer fears the consequences, because he’s seen the truth of God’s victory over death. Peter’s is a realism that includes courage, truth, and obedience—not because danger is gone, but because Christ has overcome it.
John’s vision in Revelation lifts us beyond our personal struggles to a cosmic scale. He writes from exile, from isolation. He’s not unaware of suffering—in fact, he’s immersed in it. But his response is not despair. It’s worship. It’s a proclamation: Jesus is the Alpha and the Omega.
This is not escapist optimism. It’s Christian realism. It says: Yes, things are hard. But Christ reigns. And because of that, our suffering is never without meaning, and our future is never without hope. Then there’s Thomas. Poor Thomas, forever tagged “the Doubter.” But Thomas is not unbelieving—he’s honest. He wants to believe. He wants to encounter the risen Lord for himself.
And Jesus doesn’t shame him. Jesus meets him, wounds and all. That moment reminds us: doubt isn’t the opposite of faith—it can be the path to it. Faith doesn’t require blind acceptance. It welcomes honest wrestling. And when Thomas finally sees, he gives one of the clearest confessions in all Scripture: “My Lord and my God!”
So, Who Are We?
Maybe we’re a bit like the Israelites by the Red Sea—afraid, unsure if God will show up. Maybe like Thomas, we want to believe but need something to hold onto. Maybe like Peter, we’re learning to be brave. Or maybe like John, we’re trying to understand a chaotic world through a Christ-centred lens. To be a Christian realist means we hold both cross and resurrection together. We see pain and promise, suffering and salvation. We do not deny the brokenness of the world—but we do not let it have the final word. As we proclaim in the Eucharist: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come We live between locked doors and parted seas. Headlines filled with conflict, households bearing the scars of fractured relationships, futures that feel uncertain. And yet—we proclaim hope. Not fluffy optimism, but hope anchored in the risen Christ.
In our homes, we might face grief or loneliness. In our workplaces, we may feel powerless or unseen. In our world, we witness injustice and despair. But we also see Christ—showing up in unexpected ways. In the kindness of a stranger, in a word of Scripture that speaks right to us, in the silence of prayer, or in the breaking of bread.
And how did Jesus get into that locked room? We don’t know exactly—but we do know that locked doors aren’t a barrier to the risen Christ. He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He steps in. Even in fear. Even in doubt. Especially in despair.
So perhaps it’s not a question of whether we’re optimists or skeptics. It’s whether we’re open. Open to encounter. Open to transformation. Open to the Christ who comes—even when we least expect it.
Let’s be resurrection realists. Let’s be people who—
Sing like Miriam, even before the victory is fully seen.
Speak like Peter, even when it costs us.
See like John, even in exile.
Wrestle like Thomas, and still stay in the room.
And through it all, may we be faithful. Not because we’ve figured everything out, but because we trust that Christ is with us—even now. Amen.