What can we say April 16? Easter 2

   Acts 2:14a, 22-32. Peter’s sermon puts starch in the sails of early Christianity, with elements of castigation (“You crucified him!” – which we should read not as anti-Semitic but as personal, as we crucified / crucify him). Interesting theologically that Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection were “foreseen,” that it unfolded according to “plan.” Dozens of questions stir: did Judas have to do what Judas did? Same for Pilate, Herod, the soldiers, the crowd? Is there some mix / intersection of human agency and divine plan? If it’s the divine plan, is it less gruesome for Jesus himself? I can’t recall who it was (Barth?) who suggested that when God created the universe, there was already at that moment a cross in the very heart of God.

   I love Willie Jennings’s thought (in his eloquent Acts commentary) – that Peter stands up with no gravitas, no training in rhetoric, no resume to command respect, setting the stage for what will always be an “eternal imbalance” between image and message that always marks preaching, his and ours. The message is so much more powerful than its messengers.

   Psalm 16 could be a worthy text for an Easter 2 sermon. Peter quoted it in his first big sermon after Pentecost (in today’s reading!). For the first few Easters, the only Scriptures they had were what we today call the “Old Testament” (or “First Testament,” as John Goldingay prefers). God as refuge, God as our only good (but don’t we grab onto a basketful of other good just to pad things?), how choosing other gods multiplies sorrows. God doesn’t give us up to Sheol – which for the Hebrew people would have meant nothingness; back then, when you died, you just were gone. You’re never nothing to God. “There are pleasures at God’s right hand” – but what are they? Eating bon bons in heaven? Singing praises eternally without wearying or getting bored? The sheer unadulterated presence of God? Are those pleasures present in attenuated but real form now?

   1 Peter 1:3-9. Verses 3-12 form a single Greek sentence; so our lectionary lops Peter off mid-sentence!!  “By his great mercy, we have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.” It’s not that God is impressed by our faith or goodness. It’s by his mercy – which is great mercy. When you were born the first time, you escaped a dark, watery world and survived the traumatic shock of light, cold, air. Being born anew isn’t experiencing a swarm of religious feeling, or becoming 3 inches nicer. You did nothing to get born. It’s all gift, all surprise. Like Peter’s succeeding thought: it’s an “inheritance,” which is lovely but entirely unearned. It’s “his” (God’s!) faithfulness, not ours (verse 5) that matters.

   Joel Green’s clarification is eloquent: “Naming Jesus Christ as Lord undercut the lordly claims of the emperor and the imperial cult, tore followers of Christ away from the worship that pervaded everyday life in the world of Rome, and thus distinguished believers as aliens in their own communities.”

   “Rejoice, though now ‘for a little while’ you may have to suffer various trials.” Whew. Unlike other New Testament writers, he adds “may,” which implies “may not,” which we’d all hope for. But the “may” implies a radical risk in all this. There is a “testing of your faith,” which doesn’t mean God afflicts to test us. Afflictions there are, especially the more we’re in sync with this Lord, not the lords of the world, and God’s watching, and rooting for us in the testing. If you survive the test? You can’t pat yourself on back; the survival “redounds to the praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”

   John 20:19-31. Dangerous ground, this text. “Doubting Thomas” has taken on heroic proportions, as we preen a little and feel quite smart when we have doubts. Mind you, doubt is good. All scientific progress has happened because somebody doubted the received wisdom. But can we see how prizing doubt keeps me as the center, me as the lone arbiter of truth?

   Our big doubts aren’t so much about the reality of God or the resurrection. We doubt – don’t we – that anything can ever be different. I can never be happy. My marriage can never be healed. I’ll never stay in recovery from addiction. Our society will never overcome division and rancor.

   The text circles the reality of so much fear. Reflecting on the divisions in our society, Walter Brueggemann so wisely pointed out that everyone is afraid: some are afraid that the world they’ve known and cherished, that made them feel secure, is crumbling around them; and the rest are fearful that the world they’ve dreamed of will never become reality. Of course, the quelling of fear is never just so you stop fearing – lovely as that would be. 

 Elie Wiesel’s humorous remark is always worth recalling: “If an angel ever says ‘Be not afraid,’ you’d better watch out: a big assignment is on the way.”

   The first hint of the huge Pentecost assignment for these disciples came in this moment. Before the might wind of Pentecost blew, Jesus simply “breathed on them.” I love letting that just linger during my sermon. It’s an awesome, inexplicable moment. There’s a hint, of course, of God breathing into Adam the breath of life – so these as good as dead, chicken disciples are being literally in-spired to new life. Also, you have to be very close physically for someone to breathe on you. Get close to Jesus, that close so his breath can fall on you, and you even share the same air.

   Notice the disciples don’t feel all jazzed up after he breathes on them. Americans are so confused about the Holy Spirit, identifying its presence and activity with an emotional rush. Nothing emotional. There’s work to be done. The Spirit elicits not a swoosh of feeling, but courage.

   The scars are a surprising proof about Jesus. You’d expect them to be erased by resurrection. We sing, “Crown him the Lord of love; behold his hands and side; those wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified.” The scars remain – eternally! Every year this text appears, I bring up the scene in Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair. A woman notices the scar on lovers shoulder, and also the advancing wrinkles on his face: “I thought of lines life had put on his face, as personal as a line of writing – I thought of the scar on his shoulder that wouldn’t have been there if once he hadn’t tried to protect another man from a falling wall. The scar was part of his character, and I knew I wanted that scar to exist through all eternity.” What scars will you and your people carry into eternity? Christ wants us to recall and reflect on his.

   Rachel Hollis, TV personality and author of Girl, Wash Your Face, posted an Instagram photo of herself that went viral. Her caption? “I have stretch marks and I wear a bikini… because I’m proud of this body and every mark on it… They aren’t scars, ladies, they’re stripes and you’ve earned them.”

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   Check out my Worshipful: Living Sunday Morning All Week - which Adam Hamilton called "the best book on worship I've ever read." Good for laity (I hope), thinking about what we do in worship and how it matters when we're not in worship.