Keeping the Season

"Pieta - Death of Christ 01" by Waiting for the Word, on Flickr

Reading for the Annunciation of Our Lord: Luke 1:26-38
Reading for Good Friday: John 18:1-19:42

Mary Speaks
by Madeleine L'Engle

O you who bear the pain of the whole earth, I bore you.
O you whose tears gave human tears their worth, I laughed with you.
You, who when your hem is touched, give power, I nourished you.
Who turn the day to night in this dark hour, light comes from you.
O you who hold the world in your embrace, I carried you.
Whose arms encircled the world with your grace, I once held you.
O you who laughed and ate and walked the shore, I played with you.
And I, who with all others, you died for, now I hold you.
May I be faithful to this final test, in this last hour I hold my child, my son;
His body close enfolded to my breast:
The holder held, the bearer borne.
Mourning to joy, darkness to morn.
Open, my arms; your work is done.

--
The Crucifixion
Anonymous, Irish

At the cry of the first bird
They began to crucify Thee, 0 Swan!
Never shall lament cease because of that.
It was like the parting of day from night.
Ah, sore was the suffering borne
By the body of Mary's Son,
But sorer still to Him was the grief
Which for His sake
Came upon His Mother.

"Still Life Xmas Card" by Derek Finch, on Flickr

Reading for the day: John 12:20-36

from We Would See Jesus
by Ann Weems

That it had to come to this!
That Jesus had to die
in order for us to live!
Just as wheat dies to the earth
and later bears much fruit,
Jesus had to die to the world
that he could live again
for all of us
that we through him could live.

I had a plant that died one winter.
Because of the ice-covered earth,
I put the plant in the garage,
thinking I would throw it away
when the ice thawed,
wash out the pot, and replant.

When spring came, I went to
the darkness of the garage
and there in the pot
the plant boomed green.
Resurrection in my face.

"Palm" by brooklin, on Flickr

Luke 19:28-40
After he had said this, [Jesus] went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.

When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

--
Friends, here we are, again, at the beginning of the end. Palm Sunday, our entry into Holy Week, the first movement of a long and difficult story that leads to death, and then to resurrection.

Palm Sunday is the beginning, which makes it a bit of a challenge to preach, because every sermon seems unfinished. Jesus has come to the city, but for what? We don’t actually hear the most important parts of the story until later in the week.

This year, as I kept pouring over the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem, I found myself thinking most deeply about the disciples, and about how joyful and confident they are in their faith today, and I started thinking about how their faith will crumbles as Jesus gets closer and closer to the cross.

Did you notice, when we read from Luke’s gospel today, that unlike the other gospel writers, he doesn’t say anything about palm branches? And the word “hosanna” doesn’t show up? And there aren’t huge crowds of people and children. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem is heralded only by the disciples (who are doing their best to make some noise) and the Pharisees (who are trying to hush them up).

Jesus comes down the path, and it is the disciples, the faithful ones, who can't hide their excitement about Christ their king, who is is Son of God, Ruler of the Universe, teacher, healer, redeemer. In this moment, they aren't ashamed of who they are or what they believe.

They "praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen" and they shout, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” It's a reprise of the song of the angels at Jesus' birth

Right now, on the hillside, with nobody but a few religious authorities to see them, they don't care that they are making a ruckus, they aren't worried that their shouting might offend the empire. When the authorities rebuke Jesus for this unsightly and unsanctioned demonstration, he says that if the disciples weren’t shouting, the very stones along the path would be crying out.

The stones and the disciples alike trust that Jesus is the one who brings cosmic love, forgiveness, redemption, salvation, peace, and grace to the deepest longings and groaning of the universe. I have no doubt that the disciples were sincere and earnest as they cheered alongside the road. They have noble and grand intentions.

But things are about to get unsafe. And difficult. And real.

There will be an awkward washing of feet and a last family meal. There will be an armed cohort rushing them in the garden, and a kiss of betrayal, and all of the sudden, the obnoxious but neutral Roman occupation will start to feel threatening, and Jesus will be treated as a common criminal, and all of the sudden, all of the beautiful, idealistic visions of Jesus's promised kingdom will seem less immediate and less important than keeping a low profile to save their own skins.

Do I think that the disciples intended to desert Jesus in the garden? Do I think that Judas, when he first started following Jesus, intended to become cynical and greedy and bent toward betrayal? Do I think that Peter intended to deny Jesus around the fire? Do I think that the disciples, looking post-resurrection, intended to be so afraid that they would lock themselves away in an upper room?

I don't think the disciples intended any of this.

They followed Jesus as far as they did because they believed in his vision of an upside-down kingdom. Every miracle that he did, every person he healed, every parable he taught revealed to them a beautiful world of hope and healing, running counter to politics and power as usual.

But maybe they hoped that Jesus was exaggerating when he said that this kingdom could only come through suffering and his death. And when things start to look dangerous and bleak for Jesus, and for the disciples by association, their fears start to overcome their faith. Giving into the anonymity off the masses starts to sound appealing. Staying silent seems more prudent than crying out.

As I've been preparing for Holy Week this year, I've started to latch on to the absurdity off this holy story at the very heart of our faith. That we need Jesus to be a servant, to give his body for us, to give up his pride and his life on the cross. That somehow death and resurrection bring salvation. It is a crazy-hard sell.

So I guess what I’m saying is that on days then the stakes aren’t so high, I’m right there with the cheering disciples who praise Jesus as king. And I am great at talking a big game about how Christ’s suffering redeems our suffering…when there is nothing in particular riding on those words. And sure, I can stand up here and preach inside the safety of the sanctuary that Jesus is Lord.

But ask me the last time I started a conversation about the saving grace of the suffering Christ with an acquaintance down at Java John's. Ask me if I always have the courage to believe that God really is suffering along side me when I am feeling lonely as I grieve for myself or for the world. Or ask me the last time that I shamelessly stood up for the plight of the poor, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless, the immigrant, the refugee, the outcast or the outlaw...without either first putting a disclaimer on my words, or following up my words with an apology.

I totally understand the reluctance of the disciples to keep up their cheering as the pathway led closer and closer to the cross. Sometimes, when the stakes get high, it seems far more practical and neutral to stay quiet, lest you offend anybody, and to stay hidden, lest you accidentally admit to yourself or others that maybe you don't have your faith all figured out.

This is exactly why we can’t skip from Palm Sunday to Easter.

I mean, if life were all Palm Sundays and Easter mornings, then faith would be only confident hosannas and joyous alleluias. And we’d send out the message that being a person of faith means that you always get it right, and you always live up to your end of the baptismal covenant, and that nothing bad happens and nothing ever scares you and somehow faith means that death or despair aren’t real.

Except that today we laud a king who is marching into Jerusalem not to pretend that everything is perfect, but to take on every fear, every doubt, every frailty. Jesus did exactly what we could never do. He took the difficult, awkward, painful, shameful, weak stuff in our hearts and in our world, and instead of bringing shame or judgement, he brought redemption and resurrection.

It is how salvation is meant to work.

God shows up in fragile places: in a helpless baby, in a mortal human form, in an outcast, a suffering servant, one who washes feet and touches lepers and reinterprets himself as the Passover lamb, one who is mocked, tripped, unjustly accused, hungry, thirsty, bleeding, dying.

It is the cross that exposes God. It is the cross that exposes us. It leaves nothing hidden and, more importantly, it leaves nothing unredeemed.

What a crazy story our faith is. That the God of everything would be brought to nothing so that all of your own weak and worried parts would be brought to new life. So that all of the dark shadows of this world might not win the day. So that the hidden things might be uncovered, and all might be brought to light. Your fear and your shame, our brokenness and our ailing creation. All of it revealed. All of it redeemed. All of it saved.

So maybe….maybe we give a little grace to the disciples this week. And maybe we give a little grace to ourselves. It is okay if we don’t have it all together this week, because honestly, the whole story of our faith is about to come unhinged. It’s going to get scary and painful and confusing.

So if you get squicked out on Maundy Thursday at the thought of someone washing your feet, it’s ok.
If you get angry at Judas for betraying Jesus and if you get angry at Peter for denying Jesus, it’s okay.
If you cry on Good Friday when Jesus dies, it’s okay.
And if you spend Holy Saturday in a fog, because you really aren’t exactly sure what happens in the waiting space between death and resurrection, it’s okay.

If you have grand intentions in faith, but get scared, it’s okay.
If you love Jesus but don’t have it all together, it’s okay.

The disciples didn’t have it all together, either.

And yet…Jesus died to save them anyway.
And he died to save you too.

Amen.

"Color" by Thomas Wiborg, on Flickr

Common Dust
by Georgia Douglas Johnson

And who shall separate the dust
What later we shall be:
Whose keen discerning eye will scan
And solve the mystery?

The high, the low, the rich, the poor, 

The black, the white, the red, 

And all the chromatique between, 

Of whom shall it be said:

Here lies the dust of Africa; 

Here are the sons of Rome; 

Here lies the one unlabelled, 

The world at large his home!

Can one then separate the dust? 

Will mankind lie apart, 

When life has settled back again 

The same as from the start?

anatomy" by Ben Giles, on Flickr

Acts 3:12–19
When Peter saw it, he addressed the people, "You Israelites, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk? The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected in the presence of Pilate, though he had decided to release him. But you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you. And now, friends, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers. In this way God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, that his Messiah would suffer. Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out.

1 John 3:1–7
See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. And all who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure. Everyone who commits sin is guilty of lawlessness; sin is lawlessness. You know that he was revealed to take away sins, and in him there is no sin. No one who abides in him sins; no one who sins has either seen him or known him. Little children, let no one deceive you. Everyone who does what is right is righteous, just as he is righteous.

Luke 24:36b–48
[Jesus said,] "Peace be with you." [The disciples] were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, "Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, "Have you anything here to eat?" They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence. Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you — that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.
---

So you may have noticed that today’s gospel reading from Luke, on the surface, sounds suspiciously similar to last week’s gospel reading from John. Nope, you haven’t stepped into a weird time warp where you are stuck repeating Easter 2 over and over and over again like the movie Groundhog Day, I promise!

Today, we have another story of the resurrected Jesus showing up among the disciples. Like last week’s account from John, the disciples are gathered together in a room, hidden away. Like last week’s gospel, Jesus shows up among them and says, “Peace be with you.” Like last week’s gospel, Jesus shows them his hands and feet, and the disciples, eventually, come to believe.

What is different between John’s gospel last week and Luke’s gospel today is the question of what the gospel writers were trying to prove about the resurrected Jesus. John, I think, was trying to establish the identity of Jesus post-resurrection. Jesus appeared to the disciples and to Thomas as if to say, “hey look, it’s me, Jesus, and not somebody else!” When Thomas finally gets his chance to encounter the risen Christ, he responds with a declaration of identity: “My Lord and my God!”

Luke’s gospel is less concerned with the identity of the risen Christ, and far more concerned with his bodily reality.

Maybe it’s because tradition says that Luke was a physician that he seems more concerned than the other gospel writers with matters of Christ’s humanity, even from the very outset of his gospel. Luke is the only gospel that gives us a real birth narrative. Luke’s gospel is concerned with establishing Jesus as the real human savior for real human needs like hunger and pain and poverty and oppression. And here, after the resurrection, Luke takes care to establish not just the identity of the resurrected Jesus, but also his bodily reality. For Luke, it is important that the disciples and all of us know that Jesus, who fully died, has been fully raised.

"Why are you frightened?” Jesus asks, “And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet.

But even having seen these wounds, Luke tells us that the disciples, even in their joy, were yet also disbelieving and still wondering, and so Jesus takes it one step further: He said to them, "Have you anything here to eat?" They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence. Ghosts, spirits, disembodied souls: they do not need to eat. But bodies do.

And so he shows his hands and feet and eats a snack to prove that he is, indeed, resurrected in the flesh, because anything less fleshly would cease to be resurrection and would cease to be salvation.

In the opening stanzas of his marvelous poem, “Seven Stanzas for Easter,” John Updike writes,

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The heart of our Christian faith rests upon this truth that Christ was born - really born; body, mind, and spirit - and that Christ died - really died; body, mind, and spirit - and that Christ then rose again - really rose; body, mind, and spirit. He's not a ghost. He is touchable. He is hungry. He has wounds and scars. He - his body - is resurrected from the dead, so that our bodies will also will be resurrected at the end of all things.

Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, writing in the fourth century, said “That which He has not assumed He has not healed; but that which is united to His Godhead is also saved.”

By this he means that Christ had to take on flesh so that we, as children of the flesh, might be redeemed. More than this, the very death and resurrection of Christ’s own body has united us with God and, in the words of 1 John, has made us “children of God; and that is what we are.” 1 John goes on to say that when Christ is finally revealed, “we will be like him.” Just as Christ was raised not on in spirit but also in body, so will we be like him in our own resurrection - raised not only in spirit but also in body.

This is the same message as we get in Peter’s sermon in Acts today. The crowds have just watched the apostles heal a lame man at the entrance to the temple, and they are amazed, so Peter starts preaching. He asks, ”Why do you wonder about this? Is the power to heal bodies not the very power of God, the same power that forgives sins and the same power that raised Christ from the dead?” Peter’s message here is that the power of God to raise Christ in the flesh is the power of God to forgive us and to heal our human bodies and to save our created world.

Even though we live a bodily, earthy, dirty life, I think that it is sometimes much easier for us to imagine the work of God taking place the spiritual realm, the neighborhood of the soul, the purification of minds and desires, than it is to understand the work of God on behalf of bodies, and not just human bodies, but animal bodies and plants and trees and the entire body of creation.

But when we, in our confession of faith, proclaim, “I believe in the resurrection of the body,” we are confessing that we have a God who cares about not just souls, but bodies; a God who cares not just for the heavenly realm, but for the created matter of this universe; a God who cares not just for matters of the spirit, but for matters of flesh, too.

And why is this so very important, that God cares about bodies?

It is important because somewhere, there is a transgender youth who is trying to figure out what to do with a body and an identity that don’t fit together.

It is important because somewhere, there is a 99 year old man whose joints are failing who feels creaky and useless as he waits out his days in a care facility.

It is important because somewhere, there is a 45 year old woman who has been yo-yo dieting since she was 14, who believes that her body will forever remain unloveable.

It is important because somewhere, there is a college wrestler with an eating disorder who believes that his whole worth is tied u pin how well his body can perform.

It is important because somewhere, there is an infertile couple who feel like their bodies have completely failed them.

It is important because somewhere, there is a woman with a physical deformity that makes her feel excluded and invisible.

It is important because somewhere, there is a child with leukemia who has been sick for more days in their life than they have been well.

This is the power of the bodily resurrection: That Christ in his flesh has won for us the salvation of our bodies and the body of this world.

This is the power of the bodily resurrection: That Christ in his flesh has ushered the kingdom of God into our midst as it unfolds here and now and in the real stuff of crumbling housing projects and cancer and the dirty feet of children whose shoes have holes and the sunken faces of families who don’t have enough to eat.

This is the power of the bodily resurrection: That Christ in his flesh empowers us to feed hungry people and clothe naked people and march for justice and weep over prejudice and care for the frail and heal broken bodies; to care about carbon emissions and polluted water and to be conscious of how much trash we generate and which animal habitats we are destroying.

This is the power of the bodily resurrection: That Christ comes to us each week in this holy meal, where we touch and taste his body, and remember with our hearts and our tongues and our bodies and our spirits that Christ is here, among us, and that this bread and wine that we can touch are the elements of our salvation.

Brothers and sisters, just as the disciples touched the risen Christ, in the body, and by touching were assured of their salvation, so also do we touch Christ not only in the elements of communion, but in the body of Christ gathered here. If you were to reach out and touch the shoulder of the person next to you, you would be touching Christ’s body. If you were to clasp your own hands, you would be touching Christ’s body. If you were to plant your feet firmly on the ground to feel the strength of the foundations of the earth below, you would be touching Christ’s body.

Whatever you feel about your body - love it, hate it, whether it is strong or weak, a finished product or a work in progress - your body is blessed and saved and will be resurrected, and it is given the very power of God to be a blessing in the world.

So let us close by blessing these very bodies that God has given us, through which we know God, by which we are called to be a blessing in the body of this world.

You have heard the holy and saving gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. Now receive the sign of that gospel on your body and in your heart, that you may know the Lord and the power of his resurrection.

As a sign of God’s endless love and mercy for you,
Receive the + sign of the cross on your forehead.

That you may hear the gospel of Christ, the word of life,
receive the + cross on your ears.

That you may see the light of Christ illumining your way,
receive the + cross on your eyes.

That you may sing the praise of Christ, the joy of the church,
receive the + cross on your lips.

That God may dwell within you by faith,
receive the + cross on your heart.

That you may bear the gentle yoke of Christ,
receive the + cross on your shoulders.

That God's mercy may be known in your work,
receive the + cross on your hands.

That you may follow in the way of Christ,
receive the + cross on your feet.

May God bring you in peace and joy to fullness of life in the risen Christ. May the God of all grace, who has called you to glory, support you and make you strong, now and forever. Amen.
(from the ELW “Welcome to Baptism” rite)

"Holy Saturday" by elizabethgrayking, on Flickr

"Sunset Fields" by Amanda, on Flickr

"Dulverton - Saint Stanislaus - Palm Sunday Painting" by david cronin, on Flickr

Mark 11:1-11
​When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, [Jesus] sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’ ” They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

---
At the Minnesota State Fair,
walking through the livestock barns,
we came eye to eye with the tallest horse we’d ever seen.

His back, as tall as the top of my head;
his eyes, the size of oranges,
long-lashed and omniscient.
His head, towering above and
his mane, trailing down the slope of his neck.

Strong-stepped and graceful,
terrifying and gentle,
fully creature and yet otherworldly.

Next to his giant hooves, we were
but ants
or rodents.
The usual categories of “big” or “small”
seemed too narrow to contain
the height and weight and depth and length
of such a beast.

To ride such a creature would be to lord over all creation below.
Speed, height, strength, divinity, all conveyed
by the outline of a giant gentle beast.

But it was not upon this massive steed that Christ rode into the city.
It was not upon a Clydesdale, nor a racehorse, nor a wild horse from Chincoteague.

It was upon a mockery of a horse that this Savior came to town
(himself to be mocked).
He rode in on donkey.
On a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Humble beast of humble beasts,
low to the ground, pot-bellied,
like a zebra without its stripes.
Barely enough room for one man to ride,
slow-stepping, stubborn, clumsy,
a loyal but low down beast of burden.

Upon this ordinary creature,
an extraordinary Savior
crept in the back door of the city.

Pilate, doing political duty,
marched in the front gate
making an appearance (as politicians do).
The Passover festival meant a city
crowded with constituents.
His procession was
the hand of Rome marching to the heart
of Jewish celebration and identity;
He was a governor, lord over an occupied people,
marching in to celebrate with them
the ancient circumstances
of their liberation.

Through the front gate,
the noble procession of the Roman governor,
whose fanfares and banners and stewards preceded him,
who waved to a wide road
flooded with tourists and travelers and subjects.

Jesus entered the city from the other side.

Concerning Jerusalem,
Jesus did not hold the keys to the kingdom.
Concerning his entrance into Jerusalem,
there were no banners raised, no trumpets sounding,
just the cloud of faithful witnesses,
turning their garments into a fervent, pathetic red carpet,
decorating the path not with streamers and ribbons,
but tree branches plucked from the side of the road.

Who is this king of Glory?
The Lord, strong and mighty?
Is it this one, who totters in on a donkey’s child,
along a back road littered with leaves and muddy overcoats?

Hosanna! Blessing! -
to the one who comes in the name of the Lord,
who does not exploit the name of the Lord,
nor the fame of Pilate,
but turns his face toward Jerusalem,
setting his course,
riding in
knowing that he will not ride out
until his resurrected body will
ride up on the clouds.

Hosanna! Blessing! -
to the one who takes the back roads
into the back gates of
the holy city
but who does not turn backward
from his terrible destiny.

Palm Sunday is a story for
all those who sneak in the back door,
who arrive late,
who leave early,
so that no one will catch their gaze
or notice them
or judge them.

It is a story
for those who hang back
because of
fear shame vulnerability
grief anxiety secrets
doubts humility—humiliation.

Ride on,
ride on in majesty, king Jesus,
through the back streets,
through the back pews,
through the back doors,

ride on in pomp
to suffer
to die
to take on the depth
of our shadows and our tears.

Palm Sunday Jesus
took on flesh to save us in the flesh;
took on life to give us life;
took on the prick of pain and sting of death
to poke fun at the powers of
sins, devils, deaths…
and to trample them underfoot,
like broken palm branches marched over
by hoof and foot alike.

Hosanna! Blessing! -
if we were not shouting,
the very stones would cry out,
for the King of kings and Lord of lords
has come near,
has come here,
to fling wide the gates,
to be our courage,
to return our dignity,
to restore our lives,
to lead us from the back gates
to the pearly gates.

Hosanna! Blessing! -
to the Christ who comes in the name of the Lord.
He enters the city.
His face is set like flint

For this city,
the Jerusalem for whom Jesus wept,
is his destiny.

It is not his kingdom,
it is not his destination,
it is not his glory.

It is his self-emptying.
It is his demise.
It is his end.

And it is our beginning.

Hosanna.
Blessed is the one who comes
in the name of the Lord.

Hosanna.

Kelly Renee Gissendaner with the theologian Jürgen Moltmann in 2011, when she completed a prison theology program. Credit Ann Borden/Emory University; photo from New York Times

Genesis 17:1–7, 15–16
When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the LORD appeared to Abram, and said to him, "I am God Almighty; walk before me, and be blameless. 2And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous." 3Then Abram fell on his face; and God said to him, 4"As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 5No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 6I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you. 7I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you. 15God said to Abraham, "As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. 16I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her."

Romans 4:13–25
13For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. 14If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. 15For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. 16For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, 17as it is written, "I have made you the father of many nations") — in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. 18Hoping against hope, he believed that he would become "the father of many nations," according to what was said, "So numerous shall your descendants be." 19He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah's womb. 20No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, 21being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised. 22Therefore his faith "was reckoned to him as righteousness." 23Now the words, "it was reckoned to him," were written not for his sake alone, 24but for ours also. It will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, 25who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification.

Mark 8:31–38
31Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things." 34He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. 36For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels."

---
There are times that you sit down with the lectionary and can think of a million different directions to preach. And then there are times when you don't have any clear idea, and so you pray - beg, even - for the Holy Spirit to show up. The problem is that sometimes, when you beg, the Holy Spirit indeed shows up...and you sort of wish she hadn't.

Today is one of those days. I'm sure that if I hadn't begged for the Spirit's inspiration, I would have preached some bland but nice sermon about God's covenant promise with Abraham and about the covenant promise that God makes with us through the cross of Christ. But instead, I prayed for the Holy Spirit.

And in a five-minute span, two things happened.

First, I read anew today’s reading from Paul's letter to the Romans, where he contrasts the judgement of the law with the promise of faith: "The law brings wrath,” he writes, and “for this reason [our inheritance] depends on faith, in order that [God’s] promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants.”

Second, I did a quick check of the news, and tripped face-first over the story of Kelly Renee Gissendaner, someone for whom the wrath of the law and the promise of faith stand in dire opposition.

See, Ms. Gissendaner is a death row inmate in Georgia. She was sent to prison in 1998 for orchestrating the murder of her husband at the hands of her boyfriend. Earlier this week, her final petition for clemency was denied by the Georgia board of parole, and she is scheduled to be executed by lethal injection this Monday (tomorrow).

In 2010, Ms. Gissendaner joined some of her fellow inmates in a year-long theology course, run by Atlanta-area divinity schools and universities. She became a dedicated student of theology, passionately devouring works by the likes of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Rowan Williams, and Jurgen Moltmann. As it turned out, Ms. Gissendaner's theology professor was friends with Professor Moltmann. If you aren't quite up on your contemporary theologians, Jurgenn Moltmann is a biggie. He's eighty-something years old and his works are pretty much required reading at all seminaries and divinity schools. With nothing to lose, Ms. Gissendaner asked her teacher whether it might be okay for her to write to him, thanking him for his writings, which had so moved and inspired her. The two became unlikely pen pals, sharing their faith and their insights with one another. Professor Moltmann even offered a commencement address for Ms. Gissendaner and the ten other inmates who were graduating the year-long theology course.

Ms. Gissendaner continued her theology studies even after the program ended, and has kept up her friendship with Professor Moltmann. She has leaned on her ever-deepening faith to sustain her through these last years in prison, and now into these last few days of her life. She has served as spiritual advisor and counselor to other women in prison with her. She has admitted to the brutal and broken circumstances of her crime. She has prayed and confessed and become a sign of the mercy of God. She has turned to God with her moments of trust and moments of doubt and moments of anger. And now, she looks to God as the giver of resurrection and life as she stares her own mortality squarely in the face.

Jesus says, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?"

Yes, Jesus says, the value of life is infinite, incomprehensible. So what does it profit any one of us to gain the whole world, and in the meantime, lose our lives? What is the cost of losing a life, either outside the law or at the hands of the law? What does it profit any one of us to be arbitrator of life and death? In the grand scheme of things, knowing that none of us will escape the cost of death, what is the true value of our lives, and where does that value come from?

Jesus, being no stranger to human life, human suffering, and human death, is also no stranger to being handed a life sentence. I have to believe that these words about the way of the cross are, at least in part, born out of the terror and grief of staring down his own untimely death at the hands of an empire, a law, and a people who will fail him.

We, as humans, routinely, spectacularly fail one another. Abraham and Sarah had failed one another in their childless old age. Peter had failed Jesus in a moment of weakness (and would continue to do so). Kelly Renee Gissendaner, by her actions, failed herself and her boyfriend and her husband and the social contract. And parole boards and prosecutors and judges and juries have now failed her. Someday, we, too, will be failed by our systems and structures, and ultimately, by our mortal bodies themselves.

The threat of death makes us honest, I think. Makes us see more clearly what really matters. Makes us more desperate to imagine a future with hope. Makes us more concerned with finding a word of promise to leave for those who will come after us.

This word of promise doesn't come from laws or institutions or human logic. Friends, our justice system will not save us. Neither will any attempts at vigilante justice. Neither capitalism nor Congress, banks nor universities, hospitals nor public servants will be able to guarantee us health, happiness, and life.

But Abraham and Sarah's story, the fervent and effective witness of Peter and Paul and all the apostles, and the very resurrection of Christ serve as reminders to us that the promise of God is an unbreakable promise for a future, and a future with hope, no matter how unlikely it seems. A future that is bigger than we are, a future that does not depend upon fallible human hands and hearts. A future of reconciliation and mercy and beautiful justice that God is ushering in despite all of our best attempts to mess it up.

My heart grieves, it breaks, for Kelly Renee Gissendaner. And for all criminals on death row. It breaks for their friends and peers and for their jailers. It breaks for lawyers and for parole boards and judges and juries. My heart breaks for the victims of violent crimes and their families and friends and supporters. I mean...my heart breaks for a lot of things. Basically, it breaks for all the ways that the laws of this world, written and unwritten, miss the mark in securing a hopeful future for all of our weary world.

The antidote to our grieving, breaking hearts? It is to lose ourselves in faith; to be absorbed by the divine light who gave us life; to put down the cross of anxiety or fear and to take up the cross of Christ; to be willing to lose everything that we might, at the mouth of the empty tomb, gain back everything we hoped for and more. Christ's resurrection is our unshakable assurance of God's promises fulfilled, of the perfect completion of the covenant that God makes with each of us.

When we set our minds on these divine things, rather than on human things, we will see that, though none of us is righteous by our own means, we yet receive righteousness reckoned to us by faith. And whenever and however our mortal lives are taken from us, it is by our faith in the gospel that we - and even Kelly - will yet receive life everlasting.

In the words of the aforementioned Jurgen Moltmann, from his work, Theology of Hope:

Faith…becomes itself a contradiction to the world of death. That is why faith, wherever it develops into hope, causes not rest but unrest, not patience but impatience. It does not calm the unquiet heart, but is itself this unquiet heart in man. Those who hope in Christ can no longer put up with reality as it is, but begin to suffer under it, to contradict it. Peace with God means conflict with the world, for the goad of the promised future stabs inexorably into the flesh of every unfulfilled present.

The promise of God for us and for all creation is permanently marked on each and every one of us, in that oil-drawn cross on our foreheads, given to us in baptism. The oil may have long faded away, but the cross marks us forever. It remains our assurance of hope, but is also stands as a testament to our calling.

May we bear God's hope into the world in many and various ways, but specifically as we, the baptized, take seriously our vocation: To live among God's faithful people; to hear the word of God and share in the Lord's supper; to proclaim the good news of God in Christ in word and deed; to serve all people, following the example of Jesus; and perhaps most importantly in our current world, to work for justice and peace in all the world; not peace as the world gives, but peace according to the compassion of Christ.

I pray today for you and for me, that God would raise up in our hearts a fire for justice and an tenderness toward all creation. I pray that we might not fear, but be bold in our proclamation that God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's promise of hope is deeper than human ambition. I pray for Kelly and those who love her. I pray for her murdered husband and all who love him. I pray that we, as a society, continue to question and struggle and seek ways to protect and preserve life. I pray that each of us, driven by our faith, will anticipate God's risen and restored future, and work to bring about glimmers of that light-filled kingdom, however imperfectly.

We pray, come, Holy Spirit, come. Live in us. Move in us. Breathe in us. Challenge us. And send us out as signs of hope, symbols of peace, living witnesses to Christ, our savior, our redeemer, and the life of the world.

Amen.

First Coming
by Madeleine L’Engle

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

"All saints' Day - Kära farmor" by Capelson, on Flickr

"They live on, those giants of our childhood. They manage to even take death in their stride. Death may take them, but it can never take our relationship with them. However else they still live on, they still live on in us. Memory is more than looking back to a time gone by; it is looking into another kind of time altogether. A time where everything that was continues to be – and grows and changes with the life that is in us.

The people we loved and who loved us; for good or for ill, taught us things. Dead though they may be, as we come to understand them in new ways, it is though they come to understand us – and we come to understand ourselves – in new ways too.

Who knows what 'the communion of saints' means, but surely it means that these people we once knew are not just voices that have ceased to speak. They are saints because though them the power and richness of life not only touched us once, but continues to touch us still.

They have their business to get on with – moving 'from strength to strength' – whatever that means. We might imagine ourselves on a fading shore as they move on to whatever shore may await them. But they carry with them something of us, as we do of them. And so, to think of them is not only to remember how they used to be. It is, in some way, to see and hear them as they now are.

If they had things to say to us then, they have things to say to us now – as we have to them. And the things now spoken may not be what they once were."

-Frederick Buechner

"Floating Lantern Ceremony" by Ron Paul, on Flickr

"Crumbs" by Jonathan Green1, on Flickr

Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means! I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew. For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy because of their disobedience, so they have now been disobedient in order that, by the mercy shown to you, they too may now receive mercy. For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.

Matthew 15:21-28
Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon." But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, "Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us." He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me." He answered, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered her, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly.

--
The world is heavy these days, my friends. You know it as well as I do.

Conflict continues at the Russia/Ukraine border, as both tensions and weapons mount, and as the world still struggles to piece together an investigation of Malaysian flight 17 that was shot down by rebels.

Conflict continues to shake the Middle East, as Israel and Palestine struggle over the Gaza Strip; rockets are flying, violence continues to put civilians and refugees in increasing danger.

Political turmoil and violence churn in Iraq, as terrorist groups continue to sweep through villages and into the mountains, killing women and children in their wake.

The Ebola virus has claimed more than a thousand victims in west Africa, and the Center for Disease Control has issued its highest alert, confirming the outbreak as a world health emergency.

There has been a surge in the number of unaccompanied immigrant children at our border, children who are making a dangerous and uncertain journey for the hope of a better life as they flee violent or abusive or situations in their home countries.

It has been a week of grief in Ferguson, Missouri, after the police shooting death of Michael Brown, which has given way to protests, violence, curfews, and questions about justice and the reach of law enforcement.

A cloud of suspicion and shock surrounds the death of NASCAR driver Kevin Ward after being hit on the track by rival driver Tony Stewart.

Hollywood and society are shocked and saddened by the untimely death of actor Robin Williams, which has sparked an important national conversation about depression and suicide.

And then, of course, we each have our own personal list of troubles and fears to add to this list. Broken relationships. Illness. Addiction. Food uncertainty. Job uncertainty.

I consider myself an intensely hopeful person; a die-hard optimist. It’s in my nature and in the nature of my faith to see hope beyond despair, to trust the promise of the resurrection. But friends, I’ll be honest. The world outside is dark and heavy right now, and holding on to hope feels a bit like scrambling for crumbs beneath the table.

“Lord, help me,” the Canaanite woman begged.

The woman’s world was dark and heavy. Her beloved daughter was tormented by a demon, and surrounded by the power of darkness. This child was in need of more than healing; she needed salvation.

“Lord, help me,” the woman pleaded to the disciples and to Jesus.

And in what is perhaps the most disturbingly out-of-character moment of Jesus’ whole life, he turns to the woman and dismisses her. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel,” he says. “I am only for the chosen.”

And just like that, things have gone from bad to worse. The Canaanite woman’s fear for her daughter suddenly becomes fear of being rejected by God himself.

This fear of rejection is also the fear of the Jewish community in Rome to whom Paul is writing in our first reading. They fear that if God, through Christ, has opened salvation to the Gentiles, that it might mean he has rejected - turned his back - on the Israelites, his chosen people.

We can sympathize with these fears that God has turned his back on us. When we see the horrors on the news, and look at a world that seems to be getting worse and not better, it can feel like God has rejected us, because we just don’t know how else to make sense of the darkness and pain that we see.

A friend and colleague of mine has recently been dealing with ongoing relapses with a chronic illness. Earlier this month, she wrote a piece about the difficulty of reconciling faith and hope with the struggles of facing one bad turn after another.

She says,

I don't know where I am on the "how much control does God actually have?" spectrum anymore. I used to attribute every blessing in my life to God. Every good news. Every happy moment. Every joy. Every meaningful coincidence. Every learning opportunity. It was all: thanks be to God. But lately I'm wrestling with how reasonable it is to give God the credit for every good thing but never for the bad things. That's how I've been operating. "Thanks be to God" for the good stuff. But "it's not God's fault...God can't control it" for the bad stuff. [But] It doesn't seem logical [anymore] to try and make a matching pair with those two cards.

This is the struggle of the Canaanite woman, the struggle of the early church in Rome, our struggle: how to deal with the problem of a God who gets credit for the good stuff, and a God who might seem at best, absent, or at worst, at fault for the dark and heavy things in our world.

I don’t think our gospel reading today gives us an answer as to why bad things happen, why it sometimes feels like God has turned his back on us. Our gospel reading is difficult and problematic and forces us to look at a cranky side of Jesus that we don’t quite believe actually should exist.

I could debate with you, as theologians do, about whether Jesus was just testing this woman, or whether he was just grumpy and tired, or whether he really meant it when he said that she wasn’t included in his plan for salvation. I could try to say something clever that would bring a satisfactory resolution to the encounter, tie the story up with a nice, neat bow.

But I can’t do any of that. I don’t pretend to see the obvious moral truth in this story, I don’t know what Jesus was thinking or intending, and all attempts to turn this messy story into something neat and today seem like gloss in the face of a world that appears to be falling apart.

So let me tell you what I do know.

I know that the Canaanite woman had faith. I know that she had heard about Jesus - about his healing power, about his care for the broken and the outcast. I know that she, out of blind faith, chose to believe that there was yet hope for her and for her daughter, even when it looked like the Son of God was going to turn his back on her.

She knew that even a crumb of hope, a speck of healing, a tiny taste of salvation would be enough. Maybe not enough to make everything all better forever and forever, but enough to get her through another day.

When the choice laid before her was hope or despair, she chose hope, and grasped at crumbs, and looked God in the eye, saying “You know that you aren’t in the rejection business. You know that you are in the business of salvation.”

And her reward for having even a few crumbs of hope was receiving wholeness and more hope. Her few crumbs of hope gave way to a giant loaf of hope bread. Because even a little bit of hope, even a little scrap of faith was enough to see through her fear, to see straight into the heart of God’s love, a love that dealt with all of the crap in our world by showing up on earth, in the flesh, and making a beeline for the cross, that we might know that there is no suffering that is unredeemed and no chaos that is beyond reordering and no fears that fall on deaf ears.

I can’t promise you that if you just go toe-to-toe with Jesus you’ll always get what you want. I can’t promise you that if you just pray hard enough, the world will right itself. I don’t want you thinking or worrying that salvation for our broken world somehow depends on how much strength you can muster, because friends, I know how hard it is to keep faith sometimes, and I know that there are days when it takes every bit of energy that you have just to pull yourself out of bed for the day.

But I can promise you that the mystery of God’s love and salvation is brighter than any darkness this world tries to throw at it. And I can promise you that even the tiniest bits of hope and faith will get you through to the other side of this present darkness. I can promise you that God’s gifts and God’s callings in your life are eternal, without strings attached. I can promise you that God hasn’t turned his back on you or the world, even when it really really feels that way.

Because the crumbs of bread that we will share today around this table bind us together in the one hope of Christ, who himself called out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you rejected me?” but who three days later walked out of that empty tomb, stomping down darkness and death beneath his feet. Christ, our bread of life, knows both rejection and resurrection, and when we eat and drink the bread and wine, we share in that hope that our own fears of rejection will also give way to the promise of resurrection, for ourselves and for our world.

So catch a few crumbs from under God’s table today. Taste the bread and the wine that are sweet with salvation. Let these crumbs sustain you through all fear or despair. Hold onto whatever bits of faith you have. Praise God for the light, even if you do not understand the darkness. Even a crumb of grace and a sliver of faith will be enough to sustain you, for God promises that his hold on you is for all eternity. There will be light. There will be hope. There will be salvation. Thanks be to God for that.

Amen.

"Women Arriving at the Tomb" by He Qi

Matthew 28:1–10
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

---
It is a gray, rainy Easter morning. A far cry from the brilliant sun of the resurrection dawn that we would like to see shining above us.

But, truth be told, there is something telling about the gray morning.

We awake to so many gray mornings in our world. All it takes is a few minutes of watching or reading the news, and even the sunniest morning can turn gray. My news reading this morning included stories about Russia’s aggression in the Ukraine, about the continued search efforts for Malaysian flight MH370, the aftermath of the Korean ferry accident that claimed more than 100 lives, ongoing concerns over the Heartbleed Bug and internet security, landslides out west, shootings in Chicago…

We don’t have to look very hard to find the power of sin and death in our midst.

The author Sara Miles writes, ”Death, and the fear of death…drive so much on earth. They lie under all human violence, drive our sad struggles for domination, allow the manipulations of religion and empire to thrive. As a war reporter, surrounded by terror, I’d experienced the power death had to make me betray or refuse to help others. I’d seen people who were, in their souls, no more than walking dead: they were completely ruled by fear of the grave. I believed in my own churning guts, those mad days and nights, that violence was the real force driving the world. Death seemed unstoppable.”

Friends, this is where our Easter story truly begins. We, with the Marys and the disciples, approach the garden, feeling deep in our hearts that death is unstoppable. The doubting parts of our hearts keep expecting THIS to be the year when we do find Jesus' broken body there in the tomb, just like the usual way things work.

I don't think it mattered how many times Jesus told his friends and disciples that he would rise from the dead; they still came to the tomb expecting to grieve his body, not to find the cave empty.

We expect death. We expect what we know, what is usual.

Which is why we need the earthquake.

Did you notice the earthquake in today’s gospel? Matthew, in his gospel, isn’t subtle. The Marys don’t come to a peaceful garden where the mouth of the tomb is already gaping open. They arrive to a closed tomb, and then the whole earth begins to tremble. The ground beneath their feet shakes, the trees quiver and birds fly from the branches in fear, dust and pebbles shake loose, and a messenger of the Lord, descending in a flash of light, moves the stone from the mouth of the tomb in dramatic fashion. The scene is so startling, so overwhelming, that the guards at the tomb fall to the ground, paralyzed.

I had a Sunday School teacher who liked to say, “God sends bricks,” meaning that when God wanted to tell you something, there’d be no question, no mystery about it. God sends bricks to hit you over the head.

On this Easter morning, perhaps we should instead say, “God sends earthquakes.”

The earthquake happens to that there might be no question about the power of God. Jesus is risen. He is risen indeed. Resurrection is real, and life, and the whole earth trembles before the power of God to do the impossible. The unthinkable. The terrifyingly unexpected.

We come to the empty tomb again and again, because we need to be shaken up, because we forget, because we keep believing that death is the final word, because we still never expect resurrection because it just doesn't make sense.

The resurrection is the surprising, startling good news that death does not win, that dry bones will live again, that the floods will not overwhelm us, that sin has no hold on us, that we are not doomed to endless night, brokenness, shame, or fear.

The resurrection is new life springing up from the cracks. It is the sunshine rising in the morning, and new shoots rising from the well-watered earth. It is the power of God to break through stony hearts with the unlimited power of grace and mercy. The resurrection is what makes our hearts leap for joy, knowing that even though we die, we will live, and that whoever lives and believes in Christ will never die.

The resurrection is the flash of new creation before our eyes, the jarring news to our souls that when we pray “your kingdom come, your will be done,” this kingdom has already come, and God is already here, doing his will in us and among us.

I still hear the words of last night's Easter Vigil ringing in my ears as we sang,

Rejoice, now, all heavenly powers! Sing, choirs of angels! Exult, all creation around God’s throne! Celebrate the divine mysteries with exultation; and for so great a victory, sound the trumpet of salvation.

Rejoice, O earth, in shining splendor, radiant in the brightness of your King! Christ has conquered! Glory fills you! Darkness vanishes forever.

Rejoice, O holy church! Exult in glory! The risen Savior shines upon you!
Let this place resound with joy, echoing the mighty song of all God’s people.

Today the sun rises on a world triumphant. The darkness of Good Friday and the finality of death have been dispelled by the shining brightness of Christ's resurrection. This resurrection shakes the whole cosmos and redeems it.

I do not know what is going to happen in the Ukraine, nor do I know how to ease the grief of those missing loved ones after plane crashes and shipwrecks. But one thing I do know: I know that my redeemer lives.

Sara Miles finishes her opening thought by saying this: “Christ, crucified, has come to sweep away fear. The power to reject and hurt and kill is shown by Jesus as, finally, irrelevant, in the face of the power to love so unreservedly that you gladly pour out your life for others. God’s weakness turns out to be stronger than human strength. Even death is over"(Jesus Freak, p. 125-126).

Yes, I know that my redeemer lives.

I know that the redeemer of the whole world passed through death, and carried with him the weight of the world, so that neither life nor death, angels nor demons, things present or things to come, neither height nor depth or anything in all creation can separate us from the love and life of God.

I know the hope to which I cling: that in Christ is life and life abundant, hope for our weary world, peace for our restless souls, water for our parched lips, nourishment for our hungry spirits.

I may know nothing else, but I do know that my redeemer lives.

And so we say with confidence,

Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed!

Alleluia!

"poppies sunrise" by C-Smooth, on Flickr

---

Easter Morning
by Ann Weems

The stirring wildness of God
Calls brittle bones to leaping
And stone hearts to soaring.
Old women dance among the stars.

"Pebble balancing..." by Giulia Torra, on Flickr

---

Mary Magdalene, Remembering:
by Madeleine L'Engle

All time is holy.
We move through the dark
following his footprints by touch.
He walked the lonesome valley.
His time is holy.

We will break bread together.
We will move through the dark.
He has gone away from us.
The wine is poured out.
We will eat broken bread.

That Friday was good.
We will move through the dark.
Death died on Friday.
The blood-stained cross bore hope.
His Friday is good.

We will hold hands
as we move through the dark.
Saturday he walked through hell,
making all things new.
We will hold hands.

This is the meaning
of our walk through the dark.
Love’s light will lead us
through the stone at the tomb.
He is the meaning.

He called me by name
as I stood in the dark.
Suddenly I knew him.
He came. Then he left us,
he will come again.

"unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" by Aaron Klinefelter, on Flickr

---

In Harvest
by Sophie Jewett

Mown meadows skirt the standing wheat;
I linger, for the hay is sweet,
New-cut and curing in the sun.
Like furrows, straight, the windrows run,
Fallen, gallant ranks that tossed and bent
When, yesterday, the west wind went
A-rioting through grass and grain.
To-day no least breath stirs the plain;
Only the hot air, quivering, yields
Illusive motion to the fields
Where not the slenderest tassel swings.
Across the wheat flash sky-blue wings;
A goldfinch dangles from a tall,
Full-flowered yellow mullein; all
The world seems turning blue and gold.
Unstartled, since, even from of old,
Beauty has brought keen sense of her,
I feel the withering grasses stir;
Along the edges of the wheat,
I hear the rustle of her feet:
And yet I know the whole sea lies,
And half the earth, between our eyes.

"Raising of Lazarus" by Jason Watson, on Flickr

John 11:1-45
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, "Lord, he whom you love is ill." But when Jesus heard it, he said, "This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God's glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it." Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.

Then after this he said to the disciples, "Let us go to Judea again." The disciples said to him, "Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?" Jesus answered, "Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them." After saying this, he told them, "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him." The disciples said to him, "Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right." Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, "Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him." Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, "Let us also go, that we may die with him."

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again." Martha said to him, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day." Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" She said to him, "Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world."

When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, "The Teacher is here and is calling for you." And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, "Where have you laid him?" They said to him, "Lord, come and see." Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, "See how he loved him!" But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?"

Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, "Take away the stone." Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days." Jesus said to her, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, "Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me." When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, "Unbind him, and let him go."

Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.