Sermon for Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025
Luke 24:1-12
I want to talk about eternal life.
I mean that in a few senses. First, it’s kind of my job, especially today –
and Happy Easter, by the way. So, I want
to talk about eternal life because resurrection is what we’re here to celebrate.
But it’s deeper than that. In fact, I think eternal life is on many of
your minds, too. As I’ve been preparing
a couple of people for baptism, and talking with parishioners otherwise, I’ve
been struck by the number of times recently that someone has said, basically:
“This eternal-life thing – what is that? Is it real? And what’s heaven like, anyway?” When the same questions surface, over and
over, I think it’s a sign they’re on the minds of quite a few of us.
But it’s deeper than that, too,
this desire I have to talk about eternal life. Over the past couple of months, it’s become
quite personal. As many of you know, my
wife, Ann, died in early February. We
gathered here a week later for her funeral and committed her remains there in the
columbarium. In our prayers that day, we
proclaimed that “life is changed, not ended” when we die (Book of Common
Prayer 382). Well, I want to talk
with Ann about that. I’d give a lot to
know what she’s experiencing now, or not experiencing now. I want to ask her the same set of questions
I’ve been hearing parishioners ask me: “This eternal-life thing – what is that?
Is it real? And what’s heaven like, anyway?”
Much as I enjoy talking with Ann on my morning
walk with the dog, I don’t get direct answers to questions like these. Now, I do get a clear sense that she’s
with me, and I do come away from those conversations with insights I
believe she’s offering about who I am or what I’m facing. But I have to say, she hasn’t shared any
specifics about what heaven’s like or how she’s spending her time.
I’m assuming I’ll have to wait to find out
about those details until this chapter of life closes for me. So, those important questions linger,
especially the biggest one: “This eternal-life thing – is it real?”
That’s the question of the day, right? It’s certainly the question in our Gospel
reading this morning. The scene opens
with the “women who had come with [Jesus] from Galilee” returning to the tomb
(Luke 23:55). They’d been there on that
brutal Friday they want to forget, as they watched their friend and Lord
bleeding and suffocating on a cross. They’d
been there to attend to the details of death, honoring his body by washing and
anointing and wrapping it for burial. They’d observed Sabbath rest on Saturday;
and now, Sunday morning, they’re returning to finish the work of giving their
friend and their Lord a proper rest.
But, as Luke’s story tells us, they find “the
stone rolled away from the tomb” and the body gone (24:2). It’s the only way this tragedy could have
gotten any worse. Luke says the women are
“perplexed” by this (24:4), which sounds to me more like students struggling to
solve an equation, not the anger and terror of immediate grief. My hunch is the women are much more than
perplexed – but then “suddenly two men in dazzling clothes [stand] beside them”
(24:4). Now Luke gets more real and says they’re “terrified” (24:5). No doubt.
Not only is Jesus’ body gone, but the women are looking at angels, God’s
own representatives – and their tradition tells them that those who see God or
God’s representatives don’t live to tell about it.
But the angels change everything by
changing the conversation. The question
isn’t, “Where’s the body of Jesus?” The
question is, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but
has risen,” just as he told you (24:5). And as they remember what Jesus had told them,
the women feel deep trust flooding their hearts. It’s their breakthrough moment – and, for
them, life will never be the same.
So, the women run back to where the
disciples are hiding out. They tell this
life-changing news “to the eleven and to all the rest” (24:9). But even after three years of walking with
Jesus; after three years of watching him heal the sick, and restore sight to
the blind, and raise the dead; after Jesus had said, three times, along the way
to Jerusalem that he’d be mocked and insulted and flogged and killed “and on
the third day … rise again” (Luke 18:33) – even after all this evidence and
direct testimony from Jesus himself, the guys back at the hideout say, “Come
on. No way. Things like that don’t happen.” As Luke puts it, “These words seemed to them
an idle tale, and they did not believe them” (24:11). Even Peter – “the rock” on which Jesus will
build his Church – even Peter goes to the tomb to see the evidence and then goes
home, dumbfounded but not necessarily convinced.
So, if you’ve come here today wondering,
“This eternal-life thing – is it real?” – well, it seems you’re in good
company. Or, I should say, it seems we’re
in good company. Because we’re all
asking that question, on one level or another.
Having been to the tomb myself recently,
here’s what I’d say. Is it real? Yes. Simply, yes.
And how do I know? Well, that’s trickier. It’s not so much that I know, in our
modern sense of knowing things by solving equations or seeing evidence. It’s more accurate to say that I trust this
eternal-life thing is real. In fact,
it’s even more accurate to say that I stake my life on it.
Why?
Well, although it’s not about the
evidence, the evidence is pretty good. Even
something as secular as Jurassic Park puts the truth like this: “Life
finds a way.” Every year, the earth
astonishes us by dying and rising again; and this year, to my eyes at least,
that resurrection was simply stunning. The
pear trees and cherry and magnolia and redbud and dogwood and lilacs – they seemed
not just brilliant but long-lasting this spring. As I was driving out to Lexington, Missouri, two
weeks ago to lead worship there, the fields were lit in purple, artistry no
human hand had created. Instead, I
learned later, all that purple was from a plant whose beauty transcends its
humble name, “henbit deadnettle,” as it carpets the fields in color just for
the heaven of it. Every culture around
the globe knows, on some level, that death is not the end. We Christians see that truth most fully in
Jesus – his life, his death, and his resurrection – and so we trust him when he
says to us, “This is your story, too.”
And if we look at our own lives, many of
us, probably most of us, can remember turning points when life beat death. It happens when we fall in love and decide to
walk in it for the long term, despite how hard that gets. It happens when that love brings new life into
the world, despite how the first chapter of your relationship closes. It happens when we choose to heal a broken
relationship, despite the pain that says just walk away. It happens when we care for a loved one, or a
friend, or a stranger, despite receiving hardship in return. Just as life finds a way, the best of life
finds its way, too – the way of love that takes on pain, and wins.
And, so, we follow that way of love by
walking in Jesus’ footsteps. Our
baptismal candidates at the Easter Vigil last night, along with a high-school
senior being baptized in Lexington this morning – they chose Jesus’ path as
they pledged the Baptismal Covenant. Many of us have renewed those promises time
and time again, at every baptism or confirmation we attend. And what is it we sign on for? Well, given the temptation to worship myself
in isolation, I’ll choose to worship God in community. Given the temptation to do whatever I want,
I’ll choose to resist evil and turn back to God when I lose my way. Given the pressure to keep quiet about the
things that matter most, I’ll choose to proclaim that Love comes from God and
comes first in my life. Given the
secular sanction to view people as objects to exploit, I’ll choose to love my
neighbor as myself. Given our current tribalism that says others are worth less than me, I’ll choose to respect the dignity of
all as the key to practicing justice and peace. That’s the way of living that springs from
trusting in this “idle tale” that life finds a way – trusting that Jesus walked
out of that tomb; trusting that, in death, life is changed, not ended.
But – what if I’m wrong? What if the Romans and the religious leaders
got it right, and somebody just stole Jesus’ body from the tomb? What if those purple fields of henbit
deadnettle in the Missouri countryside are nothing but weeds after all?
It comes down to a maxim known as Pascal’s
wager, named for Blaise Pascal, a French mathematician, physicist, inventor, philosopher,
and, turns out, follower of Jesus from the 1600s. Pascal’s wager goes like this: When I die, if I’ve been wrong to trust in
this eternal-life thing, what’s the worst possible outcome? Well, the worst possible outcome is that I’ll
have loved God and loved people – and when I die, I’ll finally get some rest. But – what if I’ve been right? Well, when I die, if I’ve been right to trust
in this eternal-life thing, I’ll finally get the answers to those questions I
keep asking Ann every morning on my walk.
And, tremendously better, she and I can keep having those conversations,
in person, forever.
That’s a bet I’ll take any day – especially
this day.
