An Exceptional Easter Sermon

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

The weather this week in Davis has totally gotten the message that it is Easter, that it is spring, that it is time for new life everywhere. The sky is blue, buds are breaking through on trees, flowers are blooming, grass is impossibly green, seasonal allergies are creeping in, and rain is in the forecast. It is fairly easy to look around at this and understand the feelings of celebration that accompany Easter. The eggs and the rabbits and the butterflies, with their metaphorical significance and their Americanized Easteriness, invite us to perhaps eat a few too many jelly beans.

If you went to church on Sunday—no shade if you didn’t, that’s what we’re here for!—the sermon you heard may have made an April Fools Day joke, because Easter fell on April 1 this year. Thanks be to God, it is now the 4th of April and so we are in no such predicament.

Except Easter is still weird! It’s still kind of unbelievable! Last week, churches all over the world walked through the story of Jesus’ last week alive on earth.

Last Sunday, we celebrated Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, subverting the empire in all its glory. On Thursday, we commemorated the last supper with the disciples, renewed our commitment to loving service, and washed each others’ feet. On Friday, we mourned Jesus’ horrific assassination. On Saturday, we sat vigil with the body of Jesus, dead in the tomb. And then, Sunday morning, we gathered to rejoice in the resurrection hope.

Except none of us, here in this room, did that together. We were in different cities, home for spring break, or visiting congregations around town, or weren’t in church all of those days, anyway. When we left this building, it was Lent. And now we’re back, and it’s Easter! No Holy Week required.

Except Holy Week is so, so required. If we’re just at church on Sundays, we go from Palm Sunday—happily waving palm branches and blowing trumpets and cheering—to Easter—happily shouting HALLELUJAH CHRIST IS RISEN INDEED.

Except, in that case, risen from what? If we skip from Palm Sunday to Easter—which, don’t get me wrong, sounds way nice and way easy—the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection doesn’t make sense. If we do not acknowledge and sit with the day on which Jesus died, how can we truly celebrate the day he was raised from the dead?

The feelings of despair on Good Friday and Holy Saturday—days on which there is, truly, no hope—are feelings we do not want to hold on to. We do not want to sit with grief forever. We do not want to sit with pain forever. We do not want to sit with fear forever. We do not want to want to sit with anguish forever. We do not want to sit with uncertainty forever.

The friends and family of Jesus who were present at his death never expected to be there. They were there, just days before, for the big parade! That was awesome! Jesus was changing the world, and they were right there with him!

And then, he was wrenched from their grasp, and with him, their whole vision of the future. Everything they had hoped for, everything they had worked for, everything they loved...was dead. Sometimes you expect life and find death.

The next day was the Sabbath, the first one of Passover, a very holy day. They spent it in a fog, unsure what to do next. Except for three of the women. Mary the mother of James, Mary Magdalene, and Salome spent that day preparing burial spices and ritual action for the following morning. They did what they knew needed to be done to honor the now lifeless body of their friend and teacher. They prepared the spices for anointing, and set out in the pre-dawn darkness for the tomb. They discussed the practicalities of the situation—a huge stone was between them and their work. “Who will roll away the stone for us?” they wonder. The tomb was sealed when they left it. Jesus was dead, and in the tomb, and that was that.

You don’t have to work very hard to imagine their surprise when they arrive and see that the stone has been rolled away. The Gospel According to Mark puts it very plainly: “As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed.” Alarmed? No kidding. “But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.”

This is wild, y’all. Can you envision this scene? I’m thinking wide eyes, open mouths, cold sweat; the spice jars crashing to the ground, clattering around their feet. This stranger—perhaps an angel?—calmly continues. ‘Go, tell your friends that Jesus is alive, and that you should meet him back home in Galilee.’ Oh, okay, sure. Not unexpectedly, the three terrified women turn on their heels and run. They “fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” They were instructed to go home and relay the message, but they were too afraid.

Until they weren’t! The only reason that we are here in this room tonight is because, at some point, they mustered up the courage to blurt out the biggest secret they’d ever kept. JESUS IS ALIVE! They probably shouted. Or perhaps whispered, and had to be asked to speak up. It’s a story too good to be true, isn’t it? It isn’t April Fools Day, but Easter is only for those of us foolish enough to believe the truth.

Sometimes you expect life and find death; sometimes you expect death and discover life.[1]

This unbelievable Easter story comes to us from the Gospel According to Mark, which ends, controversially, with some verses that scholars believe were added in later. In this version of the story, Jesus does not appear to the women or to the disciples. In this version of the story, “all we get is an empty tomb and some terrified women.” [2] Which works for us, because we have all been afraid. We have all been uncertain. We have all been speechless. This version of the Easter story tells us that it is okay to be afraid. This version of the Easter story also tells us that we no longer have to be afraid. That that Easter morning, and this Easter Wednesday night, Jesus who once was dead is now alive.

And, in the interest of full disclosure, I really needed to be told that this year. There has been a lot of death, and a lot of fear, and a lot of pain, and a lot of misinformation, and a lot of uncertainty, and a lot of sleepless nights, and a lot of asking God a lot of questions.

I struggled during Holy Week and even these past few days to get out of the Lenten and Good Friday darkness and into the bright sun of the Easter dawn. I don’t know if that has been true for you, too, or maybe it was last year, or maybe it will be in the future.

Fear is real. And death is real. Jesus knows that as well as anyone. But what Jesus’ resurrection tells us, every Easter, is that fear and death do not win. Fear and death do not have the final say. The power of God brings life into the world over and over and over again. Every morning is Easter morning.

You may have seen that on my facebook this week, in all capital letters. Every morning is Easter morning, from now on. You are a lucky bunch, because this year I have not chosen to sing the song to you, complete with jazz hands, as I have been known to do. So that you don’t feel entirely left out, please know that a very tacky Easter song from my upbringing includes those words—every morning is Easter morning, from now on—and reminds us that not only is Easter a 50-day-long liturgical season, but it is truly a way of life. We are the Easter people.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen, and we, too, shall rise.

[1] On Facebook, I saw this turn of phrase attributed to my friend and colleague, The Rev. TJ Freeman.

[2] I riffed (and ripped) this whole paragraph from the beautiful sermon by The Rev. Christa Compton, without whose proclamation I am not sure I would have believed, this week.

Every Morning is Easter Morning

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! (He is risen indeed, Hallelujah!)

We have said and sung it in just about every grammatically possible way. Jesus Christ is Risen Today! Christ is risen, Alleluia! Alleluia, Jesus is Risen! And maybe you feel like we’re a little late to the party because Jesus Christ was risen on Sunday, and this is Wednesday, but, let me tell you—every morning is Easter morning, from now on.

You may have a heard a story about a cheesy song with those lyrics, but, all jokes aside, it’s the truth. We don’t say “Christ was risen” or “Christ has risen” but “Christ is risen” because the resurrection of Jesus the Christ is not limited to a historical moment, but rather is for all time. Jesus Christ is Risen Today, and tomorrow, and the next day. We can sing these songs throughout the entire Easter season, and really every day except for a handful leading up to the celebration of the resurrection, again.

I read a great article on Sojourners, and shared it on Facebook yesterday, called “Christ is Risen. Now What?” It was written by Kaitlin Curtice, a Native American Christian and author. As the title suggests, in it, she asks, “now what?” Now that Easter Sunday has come and gone, what has changed? What did we spend six weeks of Lent in preparation for? I think it helps us to decide how to look forward if we take a second to look back. Back to the very first Easter morning.

As I read this gospel story, and imagine the experience these women had early that morning, I just sort of shake my head in wonder. They had come to the tomb of their friend to do what they would have done if he had died any other way—they had come to mourn and, as it is written in some of the other gospel accounts, bring spices for funeral rituals. But he hadn’t just died, naturally, he had been crucified publicly but the Roman government. Their whole world had turned upside down, and so they sought comfort in the only shred of normal life they could muster, their duty to their friend, even in death. The other disciples were off, secluded somewhere, afraid and unsure. And here’s the thing—it’s hard to blame them! Jesus has been executed by the state, and so it’s not like the political unrest has come to an end after three days. They were probably still in danger. Leaving the relative safety of the place where they are staying in Jerusalem to go out in the dark and visit the tomb—which is guarded by soldiers, remember—absolutely outs them as friends and supporters of this convicted, executed criminal. Who’s to say they won’t meet the same fate? Peter’s denial of being associated with Jesus, while not exactly brave, is pretty easy to understand.

But something brought Mary Magdalene and the other Mary out into the world that morning. I think that thing was hope.

I read a book called Hope in the Dark last month that I am obsessed with. I underlined like half the sentences, and mailed copies to a bunch of friends and pastoral colleagues I hoped could be similarly affected by it. I will get you a copy, if you want. In it, Rebecca Solnit writes not about a shallow or casual hope, but a deep and serious hope. It’s this true hope that led these women out to the tomb that morning. They weren’t hoping that Jesus would be alive, but they were hopeful that life could go on without him. They were hopeful that they could get up and go do the work that he had called them to do, keep the movement going, one day, one step, at a time. “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.” [1]

The story of Jesus’ resurrection does not have to be a critical dissection of just how it worked, biologically. We can sit here and wonder about how a dead man came to life again, and never get anywhere closer to solving the mystery. I know this question is one that some of you are asking, and it’s a question I ask, too. We talked about this just the other week, when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Since we cannot know the historicity of this event, what about it can we know? What does this story tell us about God? Time and time again in our scripture and in our own lives, something that was once dead is alive again. Something that was seemingly hopeless returns, full of possibility. What does this say about the nature of our God, about the persistence of God’s love and liberation? Jesus the Christ was crucified and died, and then, somehow he lived again. The empire put Jesus to death, but his movement and his followers could not be silenced. The message of the gospel is not quieted by fear, is not silenced by death. The message of the gospel is not to be whispered, but shouted.

The story of the women leaving the tomb to tell their friends about Jesus puts this so clearly. “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy,” it says. There’s a reason that we sing all of our happiest songs for Easter, all the ones with exclamation points in the titles and hallelujahs all over the place. Part of the radical nature of Easter is that, in the midst of political violence and social turmoil, God calls us to bring good news of great joy. “And when you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated, and isolated, joy is a fine initial act of insurrection.” [1]

So, if we circle back to Kristin Curtice’s question--it’s Easter, now what?--have we come to an answer? What do we do, if every morning is Easter morning? Do we go about our lives, quietly? You can, if you want. Or, you can go about your life, as the Easter people, bringing good news of great joy. You can shout HALLELUJAH at all available opportunities. You can rejoice in the knowledge and love of God, you has freed you from the power of sin and death. You can celebrate today, and every day.

In a few moments, we’re going to have the opportunity to renew our baptismal covenants. When you were baptized, if you were baptized, you were baptized into Christ’s death as well as his life. We need not be reminded that there is death in this world, that is thrust before us pretty routinely. But what we do need to be reminded of is that there is life in this world. There is new life in us today because we have heard the story of Jesus’ resurrection and made it part of our own story. We who were dead are alive again. That’s pretty good news.

Be not afraid, sing out for joy! Christ is risen! Hallelujah!

Reach Out and Touch Faith—A Sermon on Thomas' Own, Personal Jesus

Acts 5:27-32

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

Hallelujah! Christ is risen!

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

My friend Emily preached a sermon this week about Thomas, like everyone did who follows the Revised Common Lectionary. She said the usual things that we say about Thomas: he’s not there with the other disciples, he doubts that Jesus has risen, he demands to touch Jesus’ wounds, he gets the opportunity to do so, he believes, he proclaims. What a story, right?

I just love our friend Thomas, who was not convinced that his Savior was risen. His friends, the other disciples, are calling and responding—Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!—just as we have done…and yet Thomas is unsure. He has heard from people he trusts that this is the truth—Jesus the Christ is risen today! Hallelujah!

But Thomas thinks for a moment and says, “I don’t know, y’all. You saw him? I wish I could see him. I’d like to touch his wounds and hear his voice—as you have done—so that I may say, without a doubt, that he is risen.”

And that’s not really too much to ask, is it? The other disciples have seen and touched and heard, shouldn’t Thomas be afforded the same? The reason I brought up Emily’s sermon, is because of what she noticed about Thomas’ uncertainty. Emily is convinced that our friend Thomas was blind. “Thomas,” Emily says, “is [often] called the twin [in scripture]—perhaps because he is usually accompanied by someone to help him navigate busy, bustling streets.” Thomas has navigated the world with someone always by his side. Perhaps, sometimes, it was Jesus who guided him around corners and through crowds. But now, with Jesus gone, and his friends locked in the upper room, terrified, Thomas is, suddenly, out in the world alone.

Just a week earlier, Thomas had stood by and listened, helpless, like the rest of the disciples, as the empire crucified Jesus. Murdered this man who was his teacher, his friend, his Lord. We talk a lot about the trauma of crucifixion for the ones being crucified, certainly, but what about the witnesses? What about the trauma suffered by the disciples and their mothers? It is unlikely that in one week’s time Thomas has forgotten the sound of the nails being hammered into the flesh and wood, or the jeers of the crowd there, witnessing the same horrific scene, but mocking the life and death of Jesus. Thomas and his friends will not easily forget. Trauma like that will haunt their waking and their sleeping for a while yet.

And a week is no time to have grieved the loss of Jesus, either. Thomas may very well still be coming to terms with the idea that all of it even happened. Weren’t they just traveling the Palestinian countryside together, the whole community, a few weeks ago? Weren’t they just riding haphazardly on donkeys in to Jerusalem? Wasn’t Jesus just here?

Everything has been ruined. The man who was supposed to bring about the kingdom of God has been wrenched from their grasp. They’ve been thrown into darkness.

With all this rattling around in his mind, what does it feel like to hear the other disciples proclaim that Jesus is risen from the dead? “‘We have seen the Lord!’ they teasingly announce to the one whose eyes do not see, the one who was not there, the one who faced his own fear outside their safely locked room.”

Thomas has been told that Jesus is not dead—Jesus is alive! He was here! But Thomas is sure that, last week, they told him Jesus had died. Was that real? Did that happen? Was it not Jesus whose face he’d cradled in a final goodbye? Was it not Jesus nailed to the cross, after all? Was this all some kind of trick? Or, what if the disciples are mistaken? What if it is an impostor claiming to be their Lord? Thomas needs to touch this man who claims to be the risen Christ and touch those wounds. This is important. Thomas does not ask that Jesus perform a miracle. Thomas does not ask that Jesus break bread with them. Thomas wants to touch the wounds—Thomas wants to know that the resurrected Jesus continues to be the crucified Jesus. That all of it was real. That Thomas did witness his friend die, and that that friend who really did die is really now raised.

And as he has always done, Jesus appears at just the right time. Jesus knows what Thomas needs. “Put your finger here and see my hands,” Jesus says. “Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” And so, in touching the familiar hands of his friend, Thomas recognizes the resurrected Jesus—the one whose torture and death he had witnessed just two weeks before. It was true, what his friends had said! He is risen! Thomas recognized him, exclaiming “My Lord and My God!”

Now, I don’t know if Emily is right about Thomas’ eyesight. But she’s right about his faith. Thomas’ understanding of Jesus, of the power of God, of the movement of the Spirit, was not based on his ability to see and interpret and rationalize. Thomas knew that the Christian life was about reaching out a hand, experiencing human brokenness, and believing in that connection.

It’s okay if you’re not convinced that Jesus was dead and is now alive. You didn’t see it happen. A good way, I think—and Thomas would probably agree—to investigate, is to reach out. Look around, as you are able, and see the human brokenness all around us. Reach out. Take a risk. Make a connection with someone you’re unsure about. Open your scared, vulnerable self, so that someone might reach out to you. 

We are not eyewitnesses of the bodily resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. But we are, daily, reaching out and touching the wounds of the world. And the healing that is happening in Christian communities where people are not afraid, that’s where I’m convinced. That out of death, we are surprised by life. That out of sorrow, we are surprised by joy. That out of fear, we are surprised by courage.

We are the body of Christ. Broken and made whole.

Dying, he destroyed our death. Rising, he restored our life. The Lord Jesus comes in glory. Amen.