You may have noticed some yellow papers taped to the pews as you sat down this morning. If you’ve joined us for worship at any point over the past few weeks, you probably recognize them: they’re the names of marginalized groups that have been hanging on our walls since Ash Wednesday. These are not groups that *I* have decided are marginalized; they’re ones that you as a community have lifted up. These are the people that we tend to forget, disregard, and push away so that we don’t have to practice empathy or confront the ways that our society has failed them. These names have been on the walls throughout Lent to remind us how again and again - especially in Luke’s gospel - Jesus demonstrates compassion and solidarity with the very people that society would prefer to stay “out of sight, out of mind.” But they’re in our pews this morning because today, something is different. Something has changed. They are no longer out of sight and mind because today, the angels tell us, Jesus is not here.
This may sound like a strange thing to draw attention to on Easter Sunday - Jesus’ absence - but it’s an important part of this sacred story that we often overlook. When the women arrive at the tomb, they’re told that Jesus is not there. And while the unoccupied tomb clearly tells us that he is risen (he is risen, indeed!), there’s also a second level of meaning to this statement. When someone *isn’t* in one place, it’s generally because they *are* somewhere else. The women *were* the very first people in the whole world to receive the Good News of Christ’s victory over death (a fact that shouldn’t be understated), but they *weren’t* the first ones to encounter him post-resurrection, because Jesus chose to be somewhere else.
He could have chosen to be anywhere in the world - with the faithful women who had come to his tomb, at the temple in the center of Jerusalem, or among his closest disciples and friends - all places where he would have been greeted with well-deserved praise and adoration. But instead, according to Luke, he chooses to make his first post-resurrection appearance to two seemingly unimportant people who are traveling AWAY from Jerusalem - the center of Jewish life - and towards the margins of Judea. And what does he do when he meets these travelers on the road? He doesn’t proclaim his triumph with pomp and fanfare. He gives these men what they need most in that moment - he teaches and feeds them. He helps them.
Today, just as on that first Easter morning, we can be sure that Jesus is not here with *us* because Jesus is with *them* - those in the margins, those who have been forgotten and left behind. This always has been and always will be at the core of who Jesus is. The gospels all tell us that during his earthly life, he intentionally sought these people out to care for and love them. Tradition and the Apostles’ Creed both tell us that before he rose from the dead, he descended into hell to liberate those still trapped by the bonds of sin and death. Apocalyptic literature tells us that his ultimate reign will be marked by divine justice for all who have been previously denied it. In life, in death, in resurrection, and in ultimate return, Jesus stands first with those who are most in need of solidarity and liberation.
But there’s more to it than that. When Jesus ventures into the margins, he never returns alone. We’ve seen it again and again over the past six weeks as we’ve read through Luke’s gospel: he calls Levi, a tax collector, to travel with him as a member of his inner circle. He restores the social and religious status of the hemorrhaging woman through healing, and he restores her dignity by calling her “daughter”. He pulls Zacchaeus out of a crowd for the honor of hosting Jesus in his home. And in his final earthly act, he welcomes the criminal being crucified alongside him into paradise. All of these marginalized people found their way back to community and acceptance thanks to Jesus. He doesn’t just go into the margins, he causes them to be as empty as his own tomb on Easter morning.
And that’s why we’re symbolically worshiping with the marginalized in our midst today. We know that empty societal margins aren't yet a reality in our world. But they’re what Christ’s victory over death both makes possible *and* what it demands from us: an end to hate. An end to human suffering. An end to exclusion and separation and division. An existence where all human beings are equally cared for and where all human beings equally belong. A world that better reflects the reality of God’s kindom.
My friends, as unrealistic and even impossible as this may sound, it’s the charge that we’ve been given on this holy day. It’s what we’re called to create “on earth as it is in heaven,” here and now: a world with no more margins. As people of faith, we have been tasked with this daunting responsibility. Yet no matter how hopeless the work may seem at times, I have faith that we will not give up. After all, we’ve gathered here today to celebrate the miraculous resurrection of a dead man: we know, better than anyone, that nothing is impossible with God.
This Easter Sunday, we have, indeed, been given incredible Good News: He is risen! (He is risen, indeed!) But this is only one part of the message. On this day of celebration, we are also reminded that he is *not here*: he does not dwell in the places that we designate as holy; he is not present where we feel most comfortable. He’s in the divinely sanctified space of society’s margins, bearing witness and lifting up those whom everyone else has rejected. Our Resurrected Lord is there, right now…and he’s waiting for us to join him. Disciples, believers, beloved - let’s not keep him waiting much longer. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment