Americans generally don't put much stock in miracles. We’re a pragmatic, practical, down-to-earth bunch. Give us cold, hard facts, something we can measure, predict, and control. Proof is what we like. Objective evidence. Laws of nature. Give us logic, reason, an orderly universe whose workings are easily grasped by the human mind.
Miracles violate scientific proof. They fly in the face of the laws of nature. They make light of reason and logic, and they blow open the careful constructions of the mind. So, generally, we prefer not to believe in miracles. Maybe we come to church on Easter. Maybe we come to church every Sunday of the year. But we may tell ourselves: “Now, let’s not get carried away. Miracles aren’t real. Jesus didn’t really rise from the dead. That’s obviously impossible. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Maybe some disciples secretly stole the body so that they could point to the empty tomb and claim that Jesus had risen from the dead. Or maybe Jesus was only in a coma when he was taken down from the cross, and he eventually recovered. Or maybe the story of the resurrection is nothing more than a story, just a fantasy, just a legend.”The miracles we usually like best are the ones that are nice and small and safe. They make life pleasant. They don't give anyone any trouble. We water our plants with Miracle-Gro. We mix our tuna fish with MiracleWhip. We listen to ads touting the latest “miracle” in computer software or laundry detergent or hair replacement. The only miracles that are real, says the market economy, are the “miracles” you can buy in your local store. Miracles are trivial things, consumer items, commodities: buy one, buy several. Stock your shelves. Either miracles are not real, we tell ourselves, or if they are real, they aren’t very important, they don't matter very much.
Into this world of skepticism and doubt explodes the miracle of the first Easter: an empty tomb, two angels in white. We have no reports of what Jesus’ resurrection looked or sounded like, though some of us imagine it being something like a supernova, an explosion of light. But from our own experience, many of us resonate with what happened to Mary Magdalene in today’s Gospel story from John, which is the most intimate of all the resurrection stories. Many of us know what it’s like to be deep in grief, to weep as Mary did, standing outside the tomb, to feel desolate, hopeless, and lost, and then to be surprised by the sense of a loving Presence nearby. Maybe you felt personally addressed, as if you could hear deep within you, just as Mary Magdalene did, the sound of a voice tenderly saying your name. That’s how quiet and subtle the first stirrings of resurrection can be, coming to us not as a great flash of light but as a voice of love that we hear within us in the stillness of the quiet.1
That’s the beginning of miracle, the beginning of new life, and let me tell you – it’s a miracle that makes a difference, a miracle that the unjust powers and principalities that rule the world tried in vain to prevent in Jesus’ day and that to this day they try to conceal or deny. Why do the unjust powers of this world, the powers of Empire, try to suppress news of resurrection? Because resurrection threatens any society that worships domination and greed, any society in which the billionaire rich grow increasingly rich and sweep aside the safety net that protects those in need, any society whose leaders hoard their privilege and wealth and treat Mother Earth with the same casual disregard with which they treat the vulnerable poor.
Into this world of corruption, chaos, and war walked Jesus, a man of peace, a man so radiant with the all-embracing loving-kindness of God that to be in his presence was to be in the presence of God. He walked a path of non-violent love, teaching, healing, and blessing everyone he met, challenging them to understand that they too were children of God, born to express God’s love in everything they said and did, born to create communities of love in which no one was left out. When at last he confronted the imperial powers, he endured in his own body the brutalities of this world and conveyed until his last breath a spirit of forgiveness and non-violence.
And then, on Easter morning – ah! – something was unleashed into the world, a release of energy, an explosion of light. From out of the empty tomb, from out of our empty souls, the living Spirit of Christ springs forth, breaking open everything that is fearful, clenched, and small, unleashing a love that softens our hearts, melts all barriers, and encompasses all beings.
I love it that today is not only Easter Sunday but also Earth Sunday, the Sunday closest to Earth Day, April 22, when people around the country commit themselves to restoring the planet that we call home. I love it that this year Easter Sunday and Earth Sunday fall on the same day, for our Easter liturgies proclaim that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is good news not only for human beings but also for the whole of Creation – for rivers and mountains, forests and fields, hawks, whales, bats, and bees. At last night’s Great Vigil of Easter, we started by lighting a fire in the darkness, and we listened to Kevin Blanchard chant the ancient words:
Rejoice and sing now, all the round earth, bright with a glorious splendor, for darkness has been vanquished by our eternal King. Rejoice and sing now, all the round earth! Christ is risen!
Creation Care banner made by St. Andrew’s Guild (Kathryn Aubry-McAvoy, Diane Kurkulonis, & Molly Scherm) of Ss. James and Andrew Episcopal Church, Greenfield. Pole stand by Jonathan A. Wright, author, artisan, and retired sustainable builder.
I don’t know about you, but I grew up thinking of “spirituality” as completely ethereal. The God I grew up with had no body. Being a good Christian was all about distancing oneself from the body and transcending the body – both my own body and the “body” of the natural world. The natural world and its wild diversity of creatures was essentially irrelevant and dispensable, just the backdrop to what was really important: human beings. Since the time of the Reformation, most of Western Christianity has had little to say – until recently – about the salvation of the natural world and the cosmos, as if only one species, Homo sapiens, were of any real interest to God. So, what a healing it is, what a restoration of the ancient biblical understanding – an understanding that was never forgotten by the indigenous people of the land – to know that the Earth is holy. Its creatures are holy. The whole created world is lit up with the presence of God, the presence of the risen Christ.
Dear friends, if Christ is alive, then we are embraced by a sacred power that can roll away stones, restore the dead to life, and offer meaning and hope in the very places where meaning has fled and hope has died.
If Christ is alive, then into our world a power has been released that is stronger than death, a source of love and energy and hope that nothing and no one can destroy.
If Christ is alive, then there is no suffering we can endure, no anguish we can bear, no loss or disappointment we can undergo that Christ himself does not suffer with us.
If Christ is alive, then each person is beloved and cherished by God, and we are drawn – no, we are summoned – to create new forms of community that overturn the systems of rank, privilege, and domination that divide us from each other and that destroy God’s Creation.
If Christ is alive, then we have no need to settle for a life that is overshadowed by the nagging fear of death, for eternal life does not begin after we die – it begins right here, in this very moment.
If Christ is alive, then we are free to be our largest, truest selves: a people free to be vulnerable, free to be generous, free to fall in love with life.
If Christ is alive, then there is nothing more real than love, nothing more true than love, nothing more enduring than love.
Through the power of resurrection, a great energy has been released into the world, and that power is already at work within us. It springs to new life when we gather to resist the forces of destruction and when we stand up to protect democracy and the rule of law. It springs to new life when we stand with the marginalized and the outcast. It springs to new life when we take time to pray and when we gather around the table to break bread in Jesus’ name. It springs to new life when we speak words that are truthful and kind, and when we treat ourselves and every human being with compassion and respect. It springs to new life when we refuse to abandon and abuse Mother Earth and when we search for ways to re-weave the web of life.
The powers-that-be will always try to stop resurrection. They will try to cancel the miracle, declare it impossible. They will try to shut down the dissidents, tear apart communities, and silence the song of life. But you can’t silence resurrection – not forever, not for long. Spring is on its way. Life will push up from the ground and break through the hard-packed soil of hopelessness and despair. As the old saying goes, “They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.”
Be the seed. Practice resurrection.2 It’s not enough to gaze at Christ’s resurrection from afar. Christ is not separate from us. It’s not only his miracle – it’s our miracle, too, a miracle in which each of us is invited to participate every day. Christ has risen to new life – and so have we.
1. “In the stillness of the quiet, if we listen, we can hear the whisper of the heart giving strength to weakness, courage to fear, hope to despair.” – Howard Thurman
Into this world of skepticism and doubt explodes the miracle of the first Easter: an empty tomb, two angels in white. We have no reports of what Jesus’ resurrection looked or sounded like, though some of us imagine it being something like a supernova, an explosion of light. But from our own experience, many of us resonate with what happened to Mary Magdalene in today’s Gospel story from John, which is the most intimate of all the resurrection stories. Many of us know what it’s like to be deep in grief, to weep as Mary did, standing outside the tomb, to feel desolate, hopeless, and lost, and then to be surprised by the sense of a loving Presence nearby. Maybe you felt personally addressed, as if you could hear deep within you, just as Mary Magdalene did, the sound of a voice tenderly saying your name. That’s how quiet and subtle the first stirrings of resurrection can be, coming to us not as a great flash of light but as a voice of love that we hear within us in the stillness of the quiet.1
Into this world of skepticism and doubt explodes the miracle of the first Easter: an empty tomb, two angels in white. We have no reports of what Jesus’ resurrection looked or sounded like, though some of us imagine it being something like a supernova, an explosion of light. But from our own experience, many of us resonate with what happened to Mary Magdalene in today’s Gospel story from John, which is the most intimate of all the resurrection stories. Many of us know what it’s like to be deep in grief, to weep as Mary did, standing outside the tomb, to feel desolate, hopeless, and lost, and then to be surprised by the sense of a loving Presence nearby. Maybe you felt personally addressed, as if you could hear deep within you, just as Mary Magdalene did, the sound of a voice tenderly saying your name. That’s how quiet and subtle the first stirrings of resurrection can be, coming to us not as a great flash of light but as a voice of love that we hear within us in the stillness of the quiet.1
