I want to remind us of the Easter story as it appears in the Christian New Testament. Many of you know the story. Jesus was a Jewish spiritual leader at a time when the Roman Empire occupied the Jewish Homeland. Jesus opposed the Roman Empire in a very particular way. He didn’t say, “Let’s attack the Romans” or “Let’s kill the Romans.” He said, essentially, “Let’s build God’s Kingdom.” He said, to all those who would listen, to build God’s kingdom we must do two things: “Love God with all our heart, mind, soul and strength; and love our neighbors as ourselves.”
This was a peaceful message, a non-violent message, a loving message. But there were still those to whom this message was threatening. There were still those who were frightened of Jesus. There were many who feared the idea of a new kingdom whether they understood what it meant or not. They did not want to see a new king rise up. And so the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate, gave permission for Jesus to be crucified.
The crucifixion took place on the sixth day of the week—today we know it as Good Friday. After Jesus died, Joseph of Arimathea got permission from Pontius Pilate to take Jesus’ body off the cross. He placed the body in a tomb—a cave—and rolled a stone in front of the entrance. As the story goes, on the third day after his death, Jesus rose from the dead. Resurrection. Here’s what it says in the book of Matthew,
Chapter 28, verses 1-9.
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of God, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3His appearance was like lightening, and his clothing white as snow. 4For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he* lay. 7Then 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.’ 8So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9Suddenly Jesus met them and said, ‘Greetings!’
I have been hearing this story all my life. I have always loved it. I have never believed it to be literally true. I have never felt that the significance of Jesus of Nazareth had anything to do with the miraculous story of his resurrection. I have always felt that the significance of Jesus of Nazareth had everything to do with the message he preached: “Love God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.”
Still, I have loved the story. And while I have never believed it to be true, I have also been unwilling to let go of the possibility of resurrection.
I have been unwilling to let go of the possibility that a spirit of love and justice pervades our world and pervades our lives; and as much as this spirit itself suffers defeat—as much as it lies wounded and exhausted and worn down in the mud and muck of evil—as much as it wears a crown of thorns—it rises up again and again and again. It rises from death. Rises in human hearts; inspires the work of human hands; and makes the world new again.
I have been unwilling to let go of the possibility that in response to this spirit—in the presence of this spirit—whether we encounter it within us or beyond us—we find the capacity to rise from the blue winter tombs of our lives.
I have been unwilling to let go of the possibility that in response to this spirit—in the presence of this spirit—we find the capacity to rise again from the depths of our most difficult moments; from the depths of our most painful moments; from failure, from defeat, from suffering; from illness; from the deaths of our loved ones; and in response to the reality of our own deaths.
I have been unwilling to let go of the possibility—may we be unwilling to let go of the possibility—that in response to this spirit we have the capacity to reclaim our lives, to live again, to live well, to live fully with love and compassion overflowing in our hearts.
I have been unwilling to let go of that impulse at the heart of all springtime celebrations, that impulse at the heart of Easter, that impulse behind the theological idea of resurrection, that joyous and hopeful impulse engendered each year by the arrival of spring, that impulse to celebrate the renewal of life, that impulse to revel in the creativity of life.
I have been unwilling to let go of the good, green earth that renews itself every year in springtime.
I have been unwilling to let go of that sense of awakening, that sense of coming back to life so beautifully and prayerfully expressed in the words the choir sang this morning; “Come, lovely spring—O bounteous Goddess, come—and from her wintry grave awaken slumbering earth.”
Like Mitsuo in our story this morning, I have been unwilling to let go of the enduring signs of spring’s annual rebirth; of spider webs glistening with dew, each drop shining like a small sun; frogs croaking to welcome the morning; bees gathering nectar from wildflowers in the garden; a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, drying its beautiful wings in the warn mid-day sun; or a tiny speckled bird sitting on its eggs.
I have been unwilling to let go of that holy cry of Hallelujah, echoing through the ages in a vast array of rhythms, calling out praise, calling out joy, calling out thanks.
I have been unwilling to let go of that springtime conviction that hope for humanity is justified; that hope for the planet is justified.
I have been unwilling to let go of that springtime conviction that peace among the nations is not only attainable but will be the reality some day.
I have been unwilling to let go of that springtime conviction that love for humanity and love for the planet and love of the sacred matter immensely, that love in all its forms matters immensely.
I have been unwilling to let go of my fondness for blue skies in springtime and the feeling of awe and oneness they instill in me.
The story of Easter doesn’t have to be literally true. At the heart of any story of resurrection there are passions and desires, celebration and joy, hopefulness and love. And I am unwilling to let go of any of it. This Easter, may we be unwilling to let go of any of it. Amen and Blessed Be.
