Easter, hidden and revealed.

“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your[a] life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.” Colossians 3:3-4

The Easter morning accounts in the Gospels recount the experience of the witnesses of Jesus’ resurrection.  Mary Magdalene, the “other Mary”, presumably Jesus’ mother, along with Peter and the other disciples, all receive special revelation of Jesus himself, risen from the tomb.  But we live by faith, as those who are “blessed, but have not seen.”  To us God’s victory in the empty tomb seems hidden.  The effects of that victory are the new life in Christ that we have, which are “hidden with Christ in God,” as St. Paul writes in the quote above.  Dealing with this hiddenness is hard, but there is wisdom in it, and the presence of the Holy Spirit to help us in our pilgrimage of faith.  Christ’s victory gives hope, and is powerful in the world.

The hiddenness of God’s victory, of God’s presence, of God’s truth helps explain the suffering, the sin and the reality of death that we experience in the world around us.  But this is a natural truth as well.  In fact, life is hidden in death all around us. Look at seeds. They die in the ground, but when the conditions are right, when there is water, and warmth, and good soil, they germinate. They sprout and grow. What seems dead actually has life hidden within it all along, waiting to appear.

This is the truth of God in Jesus Christ’s life, death and resurrection. There is the truth of what we see, and there is the truth of things that are hidden.  God is manifest in creation in Christ Jesus, hidden so to speak, in the form of a man.  For his unfailing faithfulness to God’s will, he was betrayed to human government and religious laws, was tortured, and executed.  God’s eternal life is hidden in the death of Jesus on the cross. In the resurrection, God’s eternal life is revealed, but only openly momentarily.  It is subsumed again in the growth of the church.  Since you have been baptized into Christ’s death, you have died, and like a seed, lie hidden and awaiting germination.  You and those like you in faith germinate to become the new body of Christ, a new creation.

There is a story of old WWII Prisoner of War in Japanese camp in Singapore. The atmosphere of the camp changed dramatically when the inmates heard of the collapse of the Japanese war effort in early 1945, because one of the inmates had a short wave radio.  Although they were all still imprisoned, and wouldn’t be rescued for a while, they knew that the victory had been won.  Their release was hidden from them, but they grasped it already.  Their experience of the camp, of their imprisonment, of each other changed radically.  They all began to laugh and cry, as if they were free already.

In the same way, Easter proclaims Christ’s victory over sin and death, while, for the time being, they continue to hold sway.  To our experience, to our senses, sin and death maintain their power over us.  Indeed, they seem rampant in our lives, and the world around us.  But Easter proclaims Christ’s victory!  It may be hidden from view, but it awaits its full revelation.

Your life is hidden in Christ, but Christ is risen!  And so you live, even though you die.  And the power of Christ’s life is hidden, for now, in the way life seems defeated in our world.  You who are tired, or confused, or ambivalent, or rootless, Christ’s powerful life is waiting to be born.  Hidden in the grieving heart, hidden in the overdosed body, hidden in the neglected child, hidden in the desolation of bombs and bullets, hidden in human societies run amuck, there is already God’s new life. Hidden in the destructive, selfish logic of sin, hidden in your broken heart, hidden in the grave, is the risen life of Christ.  In you, “a new creation comes to life and grows, as Christ’s new body takes on flesh and blood.”  The universe will be restored, and being made whole, will sing, Alleluia! Alleluia! Praise to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now and shall be forever. Amen.

We know that Christ is raised and dies no more.

Embraced by death, he broke its fearful hold,

And our despair he turned to blazing joy. Hallelujah!

We share by water in his saving death.

Reborn, we share with him an Easter life,

As living members of our Savior Christ. Hallelujah!

The Father’s splendor clothes the Son with life.

The Spirit’s fission shakes the church of God.

Baptized we live with God the Three in One. Hallelujah!

A new creation comes to life and grows

As Christ’s new body takes on flesh and blood.

The universe restored and whole will sing: Hallelujah!

The Violence of Good Friday

"See, my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and shall be very high. Just as there were many who were astonished at him--so marred was his appearance, beyond human semblance, and his form beyond that of mortals--so he shall startle many nations; kings shall shut their mouths because of him; for that which had not been told them they shall see, and that which they had not heard they shall contemplate." (Isaiah 52:13-15)

There is a part to Good Friday that has always troubled me.  On the surface of things, you have the execution of Jesus, in itself a gruesome event in a depraved situation. It wasn't a quick execution.  It was slow, painful, public, and morbidly humiliating. Why did the Romans have to do it that way? It was justice meeted out as spectacle.  Behold the power of the empire.

Dig a little deeper, and you get to the levels of meaning that the church gives to Jesus' death. As I studied theology to prepare to become a pastor, I struggled with the classic substitutionary atonement theory, which says that Jesus was the perfect life that was sacrificed to a voracious God, because sinful humanity couldn't pay that price for itself.  I grew to reject the idea of this unhappy God, who needed to be placated, satisfied with bloody justice.  I started to embrace fresh understandings of how Jesus' death was ultimately meaningful because it witnessed to the love of God for us, which was willing to sacrifice itself for our sakes, to show us the height and depth of that love.

But there is another level of Jesus' death that just won't go away.  What is it about Good Friday that continues to unsettle me?  Is it that the scene continues to play itself out?  Is it that we still must witness similar acts of bloody justice every day?  Is this what the church means when it says that Jesus continues to be crucified in our midst?  Or is it the way that violence continues to both repulse me and provoke me at the same time?  Why is one man's plight so riveting, and so repeatable?  Why does violence have to be so handy?  Why can't it be pushed farther to the margins of our human society?

I'm tired of violence. I'm tired of bloody justice, of human justice.  I'm tired of enforced rules, of retribution through control.  I'm tired of the violence of the state, and I'm tired of the violence of the enemies of the state. I'm tired of people being hounded for minor infractions.  I'm tired of people being sacrificed to perpetuate the revolution. I don't want our justice, or my justice. I want God's justice.  I want a just end to the need for justice.  I want God to come, expose it, and wipe it away.  I want kings to shut their mouths because of it.  I want Easter.

Nervous on Maundy Thursday

One night, a long time ago, the Israelites were told to prepare to leave.  But first, they should stop and have a special meal. It would necessitate certain foods, and would be prepared, consumed and left in a certain way. The people were to take a single lamb per household, or to share one with neighbors. It was to be slaughtered, then roasted and served with unleavened bread and bitter herbs.  They were to spread its blood on the door posts of their houses. They were instructed to eat the meal with their traveling clothes and shoes on. They would be leaving soon after the meal. Leaving for good.

In the background of the meal loomed Pharaoh, and the people of Egypt, who had been hounded by relentless plagues and catastrophes brought on by God. Moses said that the blood spread on the doors would protect the Israelites from the Angel of Death, who would sweep over the city that night, taking all first born children with it. The situation was unsettled, tense, and confusing.

Years later, at the birth of a movement, Jesus met with his 12 disciples, representing those 12 tribes of Israel, and instructed them to eat that Passover meal with him in his last hours. They were told that he would be with them only a short while longer, and that where he was going, they could not come. The meal was simple, but Jesus tied the bread to his broken body, and the wine to his blood, which would be poured out as the sign of a new covenant with God. He also told them that one of the 12 would betray him, though he would not say who.

In the background of this meal was the first Passover meal, that frightful night of escape and deliverance. Now, where was the deliverance? What would it look like? Also in the background of the disciples' meal were the events earlier in the week, when they entered Jerusalem with Jesus and were greeted by a crowd of joyous onlookers. And there were the antagonized Jewish leaders in the city, who the disciples knew were plotting Jesus' death. What was about to happen? What would become of Jesus? What would become of them? Just how dangerous was this situation?

Unsettled. The early Israelites are unsettled on the eve of their perilous escape from Egypt. The disciples are unsettled on the eve of Jesus' confrontation with the Jerusalem leaders. And we too live in an unsettled world, in unsettled lives, strewn with unsettled circumstances and situations. Unsettled is how you and I are invited to see our own situation, but with one caveat. Easter is on the horizon.

Whatever your unsettled situation, however it is that you relate to these unsettled circumstances, Jesus' calm actions, his focus, his understanding of his imminent betrayal and death as somehow transformative, as fulfilling something God-given, and his modeling of the role of a servant when he washed his disciples' feet, all testify to God's will for Jesus and us. They show us hope, faith, and the courage to hang in there, through the unsettledness. This is hard work, this following the king of life through all the unsettledness of our world. This is scary work, uncomfortable work. But we know now, it is also Easter work. God's richest blessings to you as you enter these holy 3 days.