Alleluias of Our Lives

Sermon for Easter Vigil

Church of St. Martin In-the-Fields | Philadelphia, PA

Luke 24:1-12

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Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Alright, if nothing else, no one can suggest I buried the lead at the Easter Vigil. What else really needs said?

Christ is risen from the grave! Death has lost its sting! Love has the final word! And the women-from-Galilee are the first to tell the Good News of the empty tomb.

Even still, ...sometimes it takes a little time to warm up. Joy-muscles have a tendency of atrophying—especially in the wake of losing something so-deeply- loved. The apostles’ hesitant response to joy in the midst of their grief is understandable.

When our world feels like it’s on fire, sinking into Good News may take effort. And celebrating and reveling-with-wonder at the good news of Easter is well- worth the time-spent. It is simply-too-important to miss the new creation that bursts-forth like-a-chorus of-cherry-blossom-blooms.

So, tonight we add many layers to this celebration: 1) we light the Paschal candle,2) we make and renew baptismal vows, 3) and we tell stories. Lots-of-stories, actually. The Easter Vigil is full of storytelling. How the-entire-cosmos were created, a sea-parting-at-command, bones-rewrapped with-living-flesh—it is like a highlight reel of God’s-Greatest-Hits.

I love a good story. Retelling the tales-of-old helps us understand how we arrived at this-present-moment—and it helps lead us into-the-future. And let’s make-no-mistake-about-it: the reason why we gather together is to proclaim the resurrection of Jesus Christ. This is the story.

...But, even still... When evidence of Good Friday still lingers in our world, I wonder whether there was something I missed? Perhaps then, if we are to fully usher Eastertide into our lives, a few things need-to-be recalled-to-memory. I recently discovered a poem that asks in its title a question that often resurfaces in my mind: “Why Write Love Poetry in a Burning World.”

At the heart of this poem is a question of what difference does it really make? And let me tell you, I have wrestled with this question and waded-through some real conundrums, like... why clean the dirty dishes in my sink when it will only allow for more dishes to be dirtied? Or why-not only-wear sweatpants in a pandemic world?

There are multiple-forms the questions takes. Sometimes it has sounded like: 1)Why gather together to pray in the midst of a virtual Zoom wasteland? 2) Why march-in-protest when-tomorrow-there-will-surely-be another-life-cut-down by a bullet? 3) And why-on-earth encircle-a-tank, hand-in-hand with others, when the might of a nation’s-entire-military-fleet is descending-upon-one’s-home?

For Katie Farris, the poet who wrote this poem, the question surfaced while receiving cancer treatment at the age of 37. With chemotherapy burning-like-a- flame through every-fiber-of-her-being, she answers the question with these closing lines:

Why write love poetry in a burning world? To train myself, in the midst of a burning world,

to offer poems of love to a burning world.

This is a bold and courageous sentiment—and it also seems to hold no illusions. Even when circumstances are far-less-than-ideal, offering love is still worthwhile and even necessary—but it won’t extinguish raging-flames.

This is the situation confronted at the tomb. When Mary Magdalene; Mary, the mother of James; Joanna; and Salome go to the tomb, it is because they are moved by love. Just days before, they bore witness to the brutal torture of Jesus —whom-they-loved and by-whom-they-were-loved.

Surely, as they journeyed to the place of his burial, traumatic images forever- seared-into-memory would have been still lingering. They carry with them spices and ointments to embalm Jesus’ mutilated body. They are under no illusions—and yet-this act-of-love is still worthwhile, regardless of the difference it makes or does-not make.

But after they arrive, this logic is turned completely-upside-down. Their procession-of-grief has instead led them to an empty tomb. And there they are asked the question: “Why do-you-look for the living among-the-dead?”

Something has shifted. Having prepared to love simply-for-love’s-sake, those women-now-peering into an empty tomb are told: “Jesus is not here, but has risen.” This is no-longer the situation they had prepared themselves for—a different story is now unfolding. Resurrection changes the story. But when Christ is risen from the grave, the situation doesn’t just change for those women-at-the-tomb—it transforms the situation of all human life. And it does so because it reframes our understand of what it means to love.

Jesus’ steadfast love that leads him to the cross. But it does not end at this place of death. This is the mysterious wonderof our Christian faith: even after Love has been put-on-trial, examined, brutalized, publicly-mocked, and-then-crucified—Love remains relentless.

Even after a merciless onslaught, even after the full-force of death-dealing- power rains-down-like-bombs-falling-from-the-sky, Love lives on anyway!

Love-like-this is a powerful balm—and it would be appropriate if it makes us weak in the knees and filled with trembling. Because even in the wake of desecrated-bodies and utter-despair, resurrection rejects stories of domination. Instead, Love tells a different narrative—and from it something bursts forth.

And this is just how things have always been. Calling things forth into being is the business the-God-of-creation has always been up to. The creative, expansive Love at the heart of Easter is the very story that God has always been telling. And even in this Easter reality, recalling and retelling the stories of God’s faithful action remains critical. Because in these stories we are reminded that God has always been up to loving the world—especially when it is burning. And through the act of love, new realities are created. In a burning world, there is nothing that makes a difference more than Love.

Through Easter, we are invited into God’s story. But if it is only received as entertainment or observed, our world will miss out what the proclamation of new life can do.

Bishop Deon Johnson of Missouri says it like this: “Resurrection without crucifixion is only fiction.” This story of God’s of love, as he suggests, requires our embodied participation.

The best way to respond to respond to a story that teaches how to love, is to love. And in the knowledge of Easter, we are free to love lavishly. Because love is never wasted—we need not fear that we might one day run out. If at some point its should run thin, we need only return and reenter the story of God, and there we will be sustained and renewed with hope through the resurrected Christ. So now beloveds, at this outset of Easter— and especially as the memory of Good Friday lingers:

May we know and find faith in the relentless, world-creating love of Christ, And may the alleluias of our lives proclaim Love to the world. Amen.