Day of the Church Year: Easter Sunday
Scripture Passage: Luke 24:1-12
On the first day of the week, the women travel to Jesus’ tomb. They had watched where Jesus’ body had been laid on Friday, had rested on the sabbath, Saturday, and now, they return to the tomb with spices for his body. Surprisingly, the stone is rolled away and Jesus’ body nowhere to be found. Suddenly, two men in dazzling clothes appear and ask: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here—but has risen.” Because they are dressed in dazzling clothes, we assume the men are angels, messengers of God, sent to proclaim this most important news. The women come to the tomb because that is where they had seen Jesus’ body laid. The women come to the tomb because they assume that the dead stay dead. The women come to the tomb because they wish to honor their friend and teacher. At first, the women don’t remember what Jesus had shared—that he would be handed over to sinners and be crucified and on the third day rise from the dead. So, of course, they come to the tomb looking for Jesus. Of course, they come looking not for the living but for the dead. Of course, this seems obvious, but it leads me to wonder: are we looking for the dead too or for the living?
This morning, Easter Sunday, anticipating perhaps a celebratory lunch after worship, a day of lilies and joy, a day of eggs hunted and candy eaten, are we looking for the dead or the living? Are we looking for a savior of old, limited to the pages of the Bible, for all intents and purposes dead in the pages of history or are we looking for a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice in a world torn apart by hatred and indifference? The men in dazzling clothes ask the women: why do you look for the living among the dead? Because they know: Jesus is risen. Jesus is living. And the women are not going to find the living Jesus in the tomb.
This past week, in reflecting on the Easter story, a seminary professor shared about a time she traveled to the Holy Land, to Israel and Palestine, the land of Jesus, a pilgrimage many people of faith take to see what Jesus saw, to walk where Jesus walked, to understand more clearly the biblical context. Her husband was talking with their eldest son about her trip, and her son asked: Why? Why is mom going to the Holy Land? Her husband was confused. For a family rooted in the church, their son knew the obvious answer to that question. “Well, you know, Jesus” her husband told their son. And then her son made an equally obvious observation: “Tell her he’s not there.” Tell her the risen Christ is not there anymore.
If we are seeking the risen Christ, where in this war-torn, natural disaster bearing, climate changing, violence-loving world will we find him? Our lack of clear answers to life’s most difficult questions may lead us to assume that, actually, seeking a risen savior is fruitless, even today, even on Easter. Instead of a risen savior, perhaps the best we can hope for is a religious tradition that grounds us in an ethical way of life. Instead of a risen savior, perhaps the best we can hope for is a Sunday morning tradition that brings structure and order to our lives. Instead of a risen savior, perhaps the best we can hope for is a tradition that helps give meaning to our days. But dear friends, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! And as valuable as an ethical way of life, a Sunday morning tradition, and meaning in this life are, we have reason to hope for more. We have reason to hope for a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice, a force beyond any one of us. We have reason to hope that what the women heard is true: Jesus is not here—but has risen.
One of the most perplexing tasks in my life is to explain to people I’ve just met why I love Grace Lutheran Church. Especially to people who aren’t keen on religion. Me either, I say! Heavens, the church at large has not followed Jesus very well. But to my new friends, I describe our small congregation, an always-shifting, never perfect, “isle of misfit toys,” to quote Brian Flatgard. Individually, we are simply people, invested in our own agendas and purposes, struggling with our own challenges. Individually, you all are lovely, but individually, we are not all that extraordinary. Together, though, something happens, something I don’t quite understand. I guess this is the point. The risen Christ happens. Somehow, in a way that eludes explanation, when we get together, something far more than any one of us can be or do happens. And the more people who join us in this being and doing, the more that happens. The risen Christ shows up as a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice that makes heat respite possible every summer and pancake breakfast possible every week. The risen Christ shows up in relationships built across lines that would seem to divide. The risen Christ shows up to make many ministries possible, to provide the funding for a building nearly a hundred years old that is forever breaking. The risen Christ grow bonds between Grace and the other congregations that worship here and Trunk Space that lifts up the community through music and the Montessori preschool where children learn and grow. The risen Christ gives us the courage to ask how we will respond to the changes in our neighborhood and how we will serve all those of downtown Phoenix. The risen Christ shows up in the gathered community where we do God’s work with our hands. We are the living, breathing creative force of love and justice, not individually but in community.
Poet Marge Piercy reflects in her poem The Low Road on the loneliness and powerlessness of one person acting alone. But two people, three, four, six are a delegation, a committee, a wedge. She goes on:
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;
ten thousand, power and your own paper;
a hundred thousand, your own media;
ten million, your own country.
It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again and they said no,
it starts when you say We
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.
We are the risen Christ two thousand years after the resurrection, after the ascension, after the day of Pentecost, after the rise and fall of empires, after wars and pandemics. We are the risen Christ, the people of God gathered to do God’s work with our hands. Are we looking for the dead or for the living? The resurrection of Christ calls us to join our hands and hearts with the hands and hearts of others—to be a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice. Before his death and resurrection, before healing and forgiving sin, before feeding people and performing miracles, before preaching and teaching, Jesus gathered a community, the disciples. He gathered the women and, according to the gospel of Luke, a group of 70 whom he sent out to work in his name. Today, Christ gathers us to do God’s work with our hands that We might be the risen Christ. Today, we look for the living, and indeed, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen.