Preached on April 12, 2009 at the Historic Church on the Tallmadge, Ohio circle.
John 20:1-18
Dedicated to my wife Betsy; and always to the glory of God.
In the time when Jesus lived and died, the people of Israel and much of the Mediterranean world lived under the rule of Caesar. Caesar was Lord. Caesar was called the prince of peace, because the Roman Empire enforced peace within its borders: pax Romana, it was called. Caesar was even called the Son of God - his right to rule divinely ordained. Caesar was Lord of the kingdom of Rome. He kept peace by quashing dissidents, and putting down rebellions by the sword and the cross. And so the cross was the inevitable conclusion to the life of Jesus, because Jesus was a rival to all the titles of Caesar: Lord, Prince of Peace, Son of God.
Jesus proclaimed a rival kingdom, the kingdom of God, that was near, at hand, even within you. His followers called him Lord instead of Caesar. They called him the prince of peace and the Son of God. Except that his peace came through love instead of force, it came from mercy instead of condemnation. And so the empire executed him, and the crime they posted above his head was that he claimed to be king. King of the Jews, read the sign. The empire claimed that there could be only one Lord, and that was Caesar.
Jesus had spent his ministry building the kingdom of God. It is not a kingdom with borders – its geography is the heart, mind, and soul, in which people are healed and fed, no matter who they are; in which saints and sinners are welcomed equally to the banquet; in which our measure of greatness is not to be admired and waited on but to serve one another. But the ones who were great in the kingdom of Rome said no to all of that. They remind us that there are parts of us that say no with them. Like them, there are parts of us that choose the peace that comes from forcibly protecting our interests. There are parts of us that do not want our community to include the wrong kinds of people. And so we join the ones who said no to the kingdom of God in Jesus Christ, at least in part.
Thankfully, there are also parts of us that know what it’s like to be an outsider, yearning to be welcomed inside. We know what it means to be forgiven, to have our slate wiped clean. And we have discovered the mysterious joy of turning our attention outward in service to others. There are parts of us, the greater part of us, that grieves when we see the giant word NO in the cross that ended the life of Jesus Christ.
And that brings us to today. Because when the world said NO to Jesus, God said yes.
To the inclusive compassion of Christ, the world said no. But God said yes.
To the kingdom of God that he proclaimed, the world said no. But God said yes.
To his very life, his waking and breathing, the world said no. But God said yes.
When God raised Jesus Christ, God said yes to life, said yes to reconciliation, said yes to healing, said yes to justice for the poor and the oppressed, said yes to compassion for the outcast, said yes to love which casts our fear, and mercy that overcomes evil. God said yes to all that Jesus proclaimed and did. And God said no to the powers of this world that killed him.
It may seem at times as though the powers of no will carry the day, but they will not have the final word. It may seem for a time that darkness rules, but night will not last. The true light came into the world in Jesus Christ, and not even the darkness of the tomb can shut it out.
On Easter, God said yes to Christ and to all that he stood for and lived for. But on this day we need to remember that God’s yes is not only in the past tense. It isn’t just that God said yes to Jesus a long time ago, and that means that we get to keep living after we die. Easter is about our lives right now. Today, God says yes to the light of Christ wherever it is found shining.
You see, it makes Easter too small to think that it only means that Jesus conquered death so that we too will live again after we die. It does mean that, but it means much more than that. Jesus conquered darkness and death in order to open a doorway through darkness and death and to hold it open for you and I to walk through. We walk though that door in this lifetime, because when we have walked through it, when we have come through the empty tomb, then we have nothing to be afraid of. We are free to live in the kingdom of God, become great in service, to extend love mercy freely instead of trading it in exchange for something in return.
There’s a difference between celebrating the death of Jesus and his resurrection on Easter as something he did so that we don’t have to do it, and celebrating it as something that Jesus enables us to do with him. I believe that his death and resurrection blazes a trail to new life that we follow. That’s why he told his disciples to take up their crosses. He meant for us to follow.
Let me put it this way, by telling a story that I just recently realized is a story about Easter. One of my favorite Olympic moments is from the track at the Barcelona games in 1992 – a semi-final heat in the men’s 400 meter. The British runner Derek Redmond was in top form, having recovered from injuries earlier in his career, and had won his first two heats. But on this race, as he enters the back straightaway, suddenly his hamstring goes – he reaches back to hold it as he limps to a stop. He later said that it felt like he’d been shot. After kneeling on the track while the other runners approach the finish and the Olympic officials rush on to the track, he gets up and resumes the race on his one good leg, limping down his lane. He is coming painfully around the final bend, when out of the stands runs his father, who pushes past a track official to take his son in his arms. Derek hobbles now, as his father holds him up. And as they walk the final 100 meters, long after the other runners have finished, the stadium rises to its feet to cheer him on.
We are, all of us, like Derek Redmond. There is a part of us that desires the kingdom of God with a passion, but there is a part of us also that holds us back, that tries to keep us in the kingdom where we are Lords of our own lives. Derek’s father didn’t come down to the track in order to say “don’t worry son, you stay here and I’ll finish the race for you.” He didn’t offer to do it on his son’s behalf. He came to take Derek himself to the end and beyond it.
And so it is for us on this Easter morning. The world has said no to Jesus Christ, no to the kingdom of God. But God says yes. And when we proclaim that Christ is risen, we proclaim that we are risen too. We are risen to new life, to the life of Christ, and to the kingdom of God, where there is good news for every person we know, and every person who has yet to cross our paths. Christ is risen. There is no power stronger than the life of the kingdom of God.
I will close, as I did last year, with the words of Saint John Chrysostom, who spoke these words on an Easter Sunday in 4th century Constantinople, to proclaim the good news of Easter.
“Whoever you are, come, celebrate this shining happening, this festival of life.
Let everybody, therefore, crowd into the exhilaration of our savior.
You the first and you the last, equally heaped with blessings.
You the rich and you the poor, celebrate together
You the careful and you the careless, enjoy this day of days.
You who have kept the fast and you that have broken it, be happy this day. The table is loaded. Feast on it like princes. Because no one need fear death for our savior himself has died and set us free. He confronted death in his own person and blasted it to nothing.
Poor death, where is your sting? Poor hell, where is your triumph?
Christ steps out of the tomb and you are reduced to nothing.
Christ rises and the angels are wild with delight. Christ rises and life is set free.
Christ rises and the graves are emptied of dead.”
1 comment:
Thank you for a moving sermon, and some new insights into how to think about Easter.
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