Matthew 28:1-10

After the Sabbath, while the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. Suddenly, there was a great earthquake for an angel of the Lord came and rolled back the stone from the entrance to the tomb, and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing, white as snow. For fear of him, the guards shook and became like dead men.

But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid. I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here. He has risen, as he said. Come and see the place where they lay him. Then 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.”

So the women left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and they ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” They came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. And he said to them, “Do not be afraid. But go and tell my brothers that I am going ahead of them to Galilee. There they will see me.”

I hate to rain on our parade this morning, but please bear with me. I tried hard to find something light and fun and worth a laugh for this Eastertide, but I came up short. And, I decided there is plenty of time for bunnies and chocolates and dresses and bonnets and lilies and laughter and whatnot, over breakfast and Easter dinner. Because the more I spun this Easter Gospel around in my mind, the more I just kept hearing about the fear that seemed to be so much a part of what happened that day.

Everything we just heard took place in relative darkness, after all, “just as day was dawning.” An angel showed up in a flash of lightning. The earth quaked. The guards at the tomb shook with fear. The women must have looked terrified because they’re told two times not to be afraid. (But who could blame them, for crying out loud?) And of course there’s this dead man walking and talking and living and moving and breathing and surprising people on the road – after everything we know that happened to him on Friday.

So, this Gospel is a reminder about how messy and strange and crazy and terrifying, really, the resurrection must have been, that first time around. And, I have to say, it can suck the cute and the cuddly and the warm and fuzzy, right out of your Easter bonnet. And I decided that’s okay, because it reminds me about how much more serious and weighty all of this can be – in a good way – if we’ll let it. So, again, bear with me, please.

Because I have Iran on the brain these days, for all the reasons. Not the least of which was the news a couple of weeks ago about that 19 year old member of their national wrestling team – Saleh Mohammadi – who was publicly executed, by hanging, along with two other young men – Mehdi Ghasemi and Saeed Davoudi – for what many believe to be false allegations at best, and unworthy of such a punishment, regardless.

Anyway, all of this reminded me about a story from years ago, also out of Iran, about an Iranian family who spared the life of their son’s murderer, in the moments just before his public execution.

An 18 year-old boy named Abdollah was killed in a street fight by another young man, named Balal, who was sentenced – like these three young men more recently – to be hanged in public. (And before we gasp self-righteously about that, it’s worth acknowledging that we do our own fair share of state-sanctioned executions in the US and that there are politicians and activists currently lobbying to televise them for all sorts of reasons.)

So, back to Iran. Under Sharia law, a murder victim’s family is allowed to actually participate in a perpetrator’s execution and, in the case of Balal that I’m talking about, the family of his victim would do that by knocking the chair out from under the criminal whose neck hangs in the noose.

However, when the time came for Abdollah’s family to finally get their revenge, to enact their justice … instead of kicking the chair out from under the feet of their son’s killer, Abdollah’s mother approached the gallows, asked for a chair of her own, climbed up onto it, slapped the guilty man across the face, and then declared her forgiveness of him for all to see.

Her husband – the dead boy’s father – then helped his wife remove the noose, and they let the man who killed their son walk away and live.

There are a million lessons for us here – hard, holy lessons about revenge and retribution; forgiveness and mercy; about guilt and grace. (The victim’s family said living with their anger and hatred and inability to forgive their son’s killer was like living in a prison of their own construction; that their un-forgiveness was like poison in their lives. Islam’s Koran – their book of faith – is said to promise that “anyone who saves a life, saves a whole world,” which is something many people choose to ignore or deny about what our Muslim brothers and sisters believe, a lot of the time.) And I think Jesus would have us wish for and work toward that kind of forgiveness for anyone who hears this story, too.

But it’s Easter and, in addition to acknowledging that these are the kind of people being destroyed by the war that rages as we worship safely on this side of the empty tomb today, I think there’s even more for us here, than a command or invitation to live more faithfully; to do better; to be more like Abdollah’s family – or even just to be more like Jesus.

Because, as much as I hear a challenge and invitation to see myself on the chair where that grieving mother stood – with all kinds of power to choose vengeance or grace; to choose worldly justice or holy mercy – I feel as inspired as I feel guilty and convicted or worse, because I’m not certain at all that I’d have the faith or the courage or the kindness or the character to do what they did.

And it’s Easter, so I’m feeling even more challenged and encouraged to imagine myself standing on the other chair, with my neck in a noose … but surprised and overwhelmed with relief as that rope is slowly and surely, kindly and graciously, loosened and lifted by the goodness of God.

See, we may not all be murderers, actually sentenced to a public execution in the town square. But we are all sinners – each of us broken in some way that burdens us and that threatens to keep us from being everything God created us to be.

We are liars. We are cheaters. We are self-righteous. We are selfish. We are greedy. We are judgmental. We gossip. We manipulate. We take advantage of God’s creation. We vote with our wallets instead of with our conscience. We are silent while others suffer. We are filled-up while others starve. We could pile it on for hours, couldn’t we? So much so that we can imagine the chair of our lives starting to tip and totter and tilt beneath our feet; the noose around our necks tightening in ways that threaten to undo us with guilt and shame.

But it’s Easter. And today’s Good News means those sins never have the last word. The sins that lead to emotional, spiritual, even physical death in so many ways for us, don’t have authority over God’s grace in our lives.

Because it’s Easter – and this is the day of our second chance; or third, or fourth, or whatever. It’s Easter – and this is the day of our liberation. It’s Easter – and this is the messy, scary, crazy kind of day when we get slapped in the face by the grace of God and when we realize that our death sentence has been revoked … commuted … undone … and transformed into new life – on this side of Heaven and the next – in the name of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen for the sake of the world.

Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

John 15:9-17

[Jesus continued…] “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants* any longer, because the servant* does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.

You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.”

It was 2012, the evening of Easter. I was a senior in high school. Katelyn had spent the day with me and my family going to church and then for Easter lunch. We had been spending a lot of time together, we both knew there was interest, but we (or perhaps more accurately I) still thought we were in the talking phase, still figuring things out. As we got in the car, I could tell something was wrong, so I asked. And I’m not sure I was ready for the response: so what are we, Cogan? We’ve gone on dates now, I spend all day with your family, what are we? Ah, the moment had come. Time to define the relationship. I was headed to Valpo in the fall while Katelyn would finish her senior year. Would we continue? Or at least try? What kind of relationship was this?

Maybe you’ve been there and had a similar conversation. Defining the relationship happens in the liminal space between acquaintance and closeness. It is a mark of intimacy and trust that was not in the relationship before. This conversation happens because someone in the relationship feels like they aren’t on the same page as the other and there’s a need for clarification.

Or a fast approaching change spurs on the conversation like graduation or moving. And its usually a difficult conversation to have: it risks vulnerability, rejection, but it also could result in deeper companionship and love. We always hear and maybe even say it ourselves that faith, Christianity is about a relationship with Jesus. And that’s true it is, even if you don’t often use or feel the most comfortable with that language. But what kind of relationship is it?

We have all kinds of relationships: think about the varying kinds with your family, or colleagues, or neighbors, or friends. I have a relationship with my neighbor Jo that consists mostly of friendly waves. I have a relationship with Clive, my son, which also has friendly waves. But these relationships are not the same. So what kind of relationship do we share with Jesus? Luckily, he tells us what kind in this passage today.

Toward the end of dinner with his disciples, Jesus thinks it's time to define the relationship. Nothing like a crucifixion to force the conversation. However, Jesus doesn’t really do the DTR the way relationship experts and their articles say. Usually, it’s not a good idea for one person to state what the relationship was and then proclaim it to be something different. It’s something best done or decided on together through Communication, questions, and active listening. Jesus does none of that. Instead, Jesus informs the disciples that their relationship was a master/slave relationship.

In the time of Jesus, master/slave relationships were marked by command, ignorance, and obedience. The master said what to do. The slave, not knowing the details of the task he was doing, simply obeyed out of fear of punishment. This according to Jesus was the one-way relationship between him and his disciples. But something changed. “No longer are you slaves”, Jesus says, “you are my friends.” And ever since these words were written, people have been arguing over what they mean. Some say Jesus didn’t really make them “friends”.

The disciples are still servants, but the good kind, no longer motivated by fear, but motivated out of a desire to make the master happy. But I don’t think that’s the case. Rather, Jesus’ statement is clearly one of manumission, release from slavery, and freedom into a new kind of relationship, namely friendship.

And they are friends because of the knowledge Jesus has shared with them. He’s told them everything he has received from God about his mission and ministry on earth, his death and resurrection, his plan of redemption for the whole world. And the disciples will remain friends if they do what Jesus commands.

Now you might say, “I thought that giving commands was a marker of the old master/slave, one-way relationship. Why can Jesus still give commands to the disciples if they are friends and does it work the other way around? Can the disciples give commands of Jesus?

If we think about our own relationships, we know that servitude is not incompatible with friendship. No, it's quite the opposite, they often go hand in hand. And the more intimate the relationship, the more commands are given. If Katelyn, my wife but also my best friend, says the grass is tall, mow the yard, I better do it for the good of the relationship. Notice it wasn't a suggestion “you should mow the yard”, it wasn’t a question “Can you mow the yard?” It was a command. One that by the intimacy of our relationship she is able to make and I ought to obey.

What does any of this mean for our relationship with Jesus? Jesus has defined the relationship not only for him and his disciples but for us, too. Jesus has made us friends, ones so close that he can give commands and expect us to do them. And the command he gives is this, “love one another I have loved you”. Keep in mind we hear this passage in the season of Easter, meaning we know how Jesus loved. He loved them so much he gave his life for them and us. So when Jesus gives this command to love and sacrifice, he’s not asking us to do something that he hasn’t already done for us.

But what about us commanding Jesus? Yes, I think we have that right. Look at the Psalms or Moses, who give commands and imperatives to God often. Yet, at the same time, Jesus need not obey the same way we do. This friendship between us and Jesus, isn’t quite equal. How could it be? However, we do have something to add to the relationship. When Jesus says you are my friends if you keep my commandments, it’s an invitation to respond to the love, sacrifice, and friendship Jesus so freely gives to us by having friends. It is a part of our Christian calling then to make and be friends, to love one another, and to make sacrifices for their wellbeing. This kind of friendship, John tells us, gives Glory to God and great joy to me and you.

And the reality is, we need friends now more than ever. A report from the surgeon general just last year called loneliness and isolation an epidemic in this country. Americans are spending more time alone than ever before. The Cigna loneliness survey found that nearly 60% of people in the U.S. report feeling lonely on a regular basis.

And while our young people are hyper connected virtually, 16-24 year old’s reported feeling isolated at a staggering 73%, the highest percentage of any group. And the effects of such loneliness are severe.

Dr. Vivek Murthy the surgeon general of the US writes, Loneliness “is far more than just a bad feeling. "It is associated with a greater risk of cardiovascular disease, dementia, stroke, depression, anxiety, and premature death.” Being socially disconnected is nearly as bad for your health as smoking a pack a day, believe it or not. Not to mention the stress it puts on the already torn social fabric rippling across our communities right now too.

So take the risk. Make friends and be friends. I’m not saying this is easy, especially the kind of friendship Jesus is calling us to. It’s risky, it may require hard conversation, and if we do it right, it means sacrifice. But we are all better because of it.

After all, we get by with a little help from our friends. Amen

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What Kind of Relationship