Matthew 28:1-10

After the Sabbath, when 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 because an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone from the entrance of 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 you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He’s not here, he has been raised, as he said. Come and see the place where he lay, then go and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead and 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 to tell his disciples. On the way, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings.” They came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then he said to them, “Do not be afraid, but go and tell my disciples to go to Galilee. There they will see me.”

It’s always good to smile on Easter, so I thought we should start with something worth a laugh that the kids might get a kick out of, too. This little video is a portion of something that YouTube calls “Incredible Moments When Dads Save the Day.” (We didn't watch the whole thing Sunday morning, but...)

You can tell they are dads, mostly by the mothers gasping and laughing in the background. And in one of the clips I edited out for the sake of time, the dad had my dad’s uniform on – white socks and sandals. But none of that is really the point.

Seeing that little video of “incredible moments when Dads saved the day” made me realize how we can sometimes simplify the Good News of Easter to such a degree that we may only be hearing and sharing a portion of what Easter’s good news is really all about; we may only be getting “half” of the Truth, if you will, which wasn’t part of my plan, but fits pretty well with the “Half-Truths” sermon series we spent so much time with during Lent around here the last few weeks.

What I mean is, we focus a lot – if not all – of our time and energy and Easter theology on the notion that, in Jesus Christ, God the Father, saves us, like some kind of Super Dad, from the death and damnation that our sins would otherwise demand. One of my favorite hymns of all sings, “my sin, not in part, but the whole was nailed to his cross and I bear it no more, praise the Lord, praise the Lord, oh my soul.”

So don’t get me wrong – that is the Gospel’s good news and it is True with a capital T. But it is also only part of what makes Good Friday’s sadness and Easter’s joy True, with a capital T.

What I mean is, Jesus didn’t die on the cross just so we wouldn’t have to. We’re all going to die after all, and for many of us, it may not include a cross, but it still won’t be pretty or painless. And Jesus didn’t die on the cross just because God knew the likes of you and I wouldn’t have the faith or the courage to climb up there, ourselves.

And Jesus didn’t die on the cross because, in the cosmic math of how much suffering had to be endured in order to atone for the sins of all humanity, Jesus’ death – by way of whips and thorns and spit and nails – was the only thing that would measure up. Jesus’ dying wasn’t just a tit-for-tat kind of transaction that would balance the scales of our sinfulness.

Yes, the Lamb of God in Jesus Christ takes away the sin of the world. But there’s more. And the more comes on Easter morning. On Easter we get the rest of the story; the Full Monty; the Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth.

Jesus didn’t just come to die to save us from our sins. Jesus was raised, too, to show us what real living looks like. Jesus didn’t just die to save us. Jesus lived to show us a better way. God, in Jesus Christ showed up to let the world see that the ways of God – peace, humility, sacrifice, generosity, obedience, grace, mercy, love – always, always, always win.

And that’s the kind of Easter news we need as much as ever in the world these days…

Whether there was good reason or need for it, or not, our country just dropped what is celebrated as the Mother Of All Bombs – the largest non-nuclear weapon ever engaged in the history of wars. Three days after Good Friday, on the other side of the empty tomb, we are reminded – in spite of ourselves – that violence is not the way to God’s kind of victory in this world.

We live in a world that convinces us we need to have more and get more and keep more – that more money and things and stuff are the way to greater security; that our identity is wrapped up in the value of what we have. Three days after Good Friday, on the other side of the empty tomb, we are reminded that Judas and his 30 pieces of silver lost it all in the end.

We live in a culture that glorifies independence and self-reliance and the virtue of “picking yourself up by your own bootstraps” to such a degree that we pretend we’ve earned or deserve all that is ours. Even more, we’ve convinced ourselves and others that if you have less than you are less and that you just don’t deserve it until you’ve earned it. Three days after Good Friday, on the other side of the empty tomb, we are reminded that humbled by God’s grace and that humility trumps pride, every time.

God’s Church in the world still fights and bickers and pretends it can draw lines around and put up barriers against and administrate who’s “in” and whose “out” as far God’s children are concerned. Three days after Good Friday, on the other side of the empty tomb, we are reminded that God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the WORLD – the whole wide world and all that is in it – would be saved through him.

We have had our share of dying already this year around here – at Cross of Grace and in our community – and it saddens me to imagine that the year’s not over. But three days after Good Friday, on the other side of the empty tomb, we are reminded that the ways of life as believers – things like faith, hope, and love, I mean – have sustained us in the face of it, and will continue to in the days to come.

Jesus’ resurrection is a slap in the face to the ways of sin and darkness; it’s a reality check about what matters and what works and what wins as far as our God is concerned. Jesus was raised so we would know what real humility, true strength, legitimate power, and amazing grace look like – and that they triumph over the ways of sin, death, greed, fear and despair whenever we have courage, faith and love enough to put them to work in our lives, for the sake of the world.

So I like the Dad videos, because what parent doesn’t want to put on a cape and save their kids from a scraped knee or a broken bone or from even more if/when we might have to? But the other side of parenthood – the harder work of loving children – the faithful work of loving one another like God does – is the daily, obedient willingness to love one another in spite of what’s broken; to sacrifice when we’re not sure we have any more to give; to bear burdens that seem like more than we can carry on our own; to offer comfort, hope and peace in the face of so much to the contrary. In other words, to follow in the ways of Jesus and to do it trusting that the ways of God will win the day every time.

And that’s the Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth of Easter’s good news. Forgiveness of sins yes. But even more: amazing love, so great it conquers even sin and death, and inspires us to live and to love differently and in bold, surprising, hopeful ways, ourselves – like Jesus did – for us and for the sake of the world.

Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

Matthew 25:31-45

‘When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”’

A good friend of mine sent me a question – by way of a text message – yesterday morning. I thought I had some idea of what I might say tonight, but since none of it was written yet – or even considered all that deeply, to be honest – I felt this might be an invitation to change course. The question – by way of a text message, remember – was this, exactly:

“Have a philosophical question for you … if you had a time machine … would you go back and save Jesus?”

My response, on Maundy Thursday morning – with a couple of sermons and 5 worship services, among other things, spinning around in my head – was this, exactly:

“That’s a good question, but more than I could text. We’ll have to discuss over beer.”

Well, as tempting as it is, this isn’t the time or the place for beer, but there’s not a much better time to wonder about that question – and what our answers might say to us about how we understand what brings us here tonight. Besides, I figure, if one of my friends is asking and wondering such things, then some of you might be curious or interested in the notion, too.

So, if/when Elon Musk develops the first time machine…who among us would go back and save Jesus?

I suspect that we’d all like to think we would, at first blush, take that time machine back to the Jerusalem of Jesus’ day, strap on some sandals, and kick some First Century butt, in the name of our Lord. Or maybe you’re a lover, not a fighter, so you’d find a way to bend Pontius Pilate’s ear and convince him of what we know. Or perhaps we’d meet up with the Chief Priests and the Scribes – or Judas – or Peter – or any of the rest of the principle players on and around Calvary – and Sunday-morning-quarterback this thing, so they could see the error of their ways and change course, themselves; so they could re-write history as easily as a Pastor re-writes a sermon.

But, in spite of all of our best, most faithful intentions, I think we’d be fooling ourselves.

The point of the story is that we are them. They are us. They didn’t have it in them. And neither do we.

Pilate was too proud or too political or just too ignorant, short-sighted or selfish, to do what he knew was right. So he washed his hands of the responsibility.

Peter tried, in the Garden, anyway, to fight for Jesus; to defend his honor; to save him before the arrest. He drew his sword and lopped off that soldier’s ear, but eventually let it happen, at Jesus’ command. And he had three more chances, remember, to at least get into the mix but, in order to save his own skin, Peter denied the One he said he never would.

Judas Iscariot was too selfish. The other disciples were too clueless, or in denial, or too distracted by whatever else was going on in their lives. The women were too powerless or disenfranchised. The Centurion was too late.

So we’d be fooling ourselves, I think, to pretend we’d do any better or different, if given the chance. We are them. They are us. They didn’t have it in them to save Jesus. And neither do we.

And I feel fairly certain about that, because this isn’t as hypothetical as it sounds. I feel fairly certain about this because otherwise, we would save Jesus right here and right now, every time we have the chance. And we have the chance – and the choice to do so – every single day of our lives, no time machine necessary.

“…just as you did it to one of the least of these… you did it to me…” Remember?

Every time we drive by the homeless, hungry stranger on the street corner, roll up our window and pretend to change the station on the car radio, we neglect to do what would have kept Jesus from the Cross.

Every time we vote for our own self-interest at the expense of someone else’s well-being, or benefit from our own advantage while others fight against their disadvantage, we neglect to do what would have kept Jesus from the Cross.

Every time we pretend there’s nothing we can do about the people dying in Syria, or being shot in Chicago we neglect to do what would have kept Jesus from the Cross.

Every time we celebrate or support that war and weapons are a show of strength and a better option than peace, we neglect to do what would have kept Jesus from the Cross.

Every time we spend our money selfishly – use more than our fair share – refuse to give what we know we can and should do without – we neglect to do what would have kept Jesus from the Cross.

Every time we hold a grudge… every time we cast self-righteous judgment… every time we refuse forgiveness… every time we misuse or abuse our planet…we neglect to do what would have kept Jesus from the Cross.

They are us. We are them. And it is why God came for the Cross in the first place.

Jesus had to die on the Cross, you see, because we do not have it in us to do this on our own. We can’t save ourselves – let alone Jesus. We need help. We can’t save ourselves – let alone Jesus. We need an example. We can’t save ourselves – let alone Jesus. We need to see that it can be done by nothing more and nothing less than the love and grace of our God.

They are us. We are them. But God is God – thank God – and that is why we call this Friday “good."

See, God could have undone this at any time along the way. God could have swayed Pilate to choose the good. God could have influenced the crowd to call for Barabbas’ crucifixion, instead of Jesus’. God could have let the cup pass from Jesus, when he prayed for that in the Garden of Gethsemane. I remember singing on Good Friday, in the children’s choir at Providence Lutheran Church when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade, “He could have called 10,000 angels, to destroy the world, and set him free…” (I’m pretty sure that was a Loretta Lynn song.)

Anyway, the point is this needed to happen – no matter how much we think we would or could have stopped it.

I haven’t talked to my friend yet, but the twist or the trick to this timeless question, really, supposes that, if we were to stop the crucifixion, if we were to “save” Jesus as it were, then we would also be road-blocking the salvation of the world.

To stop it then, would be to pretend we have the power to stop God from loving us in all the ways God means to love us; it would mean to stop God from forgiving us in all the ways God longs to forgive us; it would mean to stop God from redeeming the world through Christ’s crucifixion, suffering, death and resurrection…

And we can’t stop that kind of love, no matter how hard we try – and boy have tried. We can’t stop that kind of love, no matter how much we sin – and boy have we sinned. We can’t stop this kind of love that comes, no matter what. And we can’t help but see that kind of love in the shadow of Christ’s cross and go looking for it, too, on the other side of Easter’s empty tomb.

Amen

"The Whole Truth of Easter"

"Good Friday What Ifs" – Matthew 28:31-45