Last week our world was full of Easter joy. Then, only three days later, April 15th rolled around again. I didn’t hear too much about Easter joy that day. I did hear the old adage, “There are two things we can’t avoid: Death and Taxes.” I got to thinking about those two things in the wake of Easter. It’s really not too hard to find a silver lining about taxes. If you are paying income tax, what is the obvious good news? You have income! If you are paying property taxes, what is the obvious good news? You have property!
We don’t have such an easy time finding some good news wrapped up in death. In fact, I venture to say that we as a species have more dis-ease about death than any other single topic. It pains us that we are all “on the clock.” And it doubly pains us that not only do we have a deadline, but we don’t know what it is! I don’t know if my deadline is tonight or 40 years from now. I don’t know if I should be spending wildly or saving. This pain about our deadlines seems to be just as great whether we are thriving in this life or struggling. If we are thriving, then we want more of the same; we want to prolong the experience. If we are struggling, we want more time to “get it right,” to get what we think we should get from this life.
We are pained even more greatly by the reality that those dear to us, those who define our very lives, also have unknown deadlines. There is no greater sorrow than the surprise of learning that the ultimate deadline has arrived without warning for someone most dear to us. And we are pained if those dear to us seem to be walking through this life aimlessly unaware that their time is not without limit.
I don’t have a degree in psychology, but it strikes me that most of our misbehavior may stem from this dis-ease we share over death. We want to defeat death by giving our lives some enduring meaning, so we strive for enduring meaning through doing things that seem significant or giving our opinions significance. With everyone pushing to be significant, we bump into each other, just like bump cars at the State Fair.
Last week we gathered to hear anew this proclamation: This power we call death, this power we allow to cause us so much pain, so much despair, so much agony, is NOTHING! The Divine Love that sustains all life has proven so. The Divine Love we call God has swept death away like so much dust, has trampled it like an annoying gnat, has burst open the tomb and given Jesus new life, a new life even better than the old. Death has been trumped! We can trust the truth of this proclamation. We have reliable witnesses. Before you leave today, visit the stained glass window of Saint Peter in the East Transept. Remember his story. Just last week we recalled his darkest hour, when he succumbed to fear to become the world’s ultimate coward on the night of Jesus’ arrest. That same Peter was transformed into a bold apostle, able to walk fearlessly to his own crucifixion. That transformation would be inexplicable but for his experience of the Risen Christ, giving him faith that death has now power. If Peter is too distant a witness for you, then just come by any of the 12-step meetings that occur here at Trinity every day of the week. You will meet people who can tell you of a Divine Love that brings forth new life where our human vision can only see death. The Divine Love revealed that first Easter is on the loose in our world.
The truth of everything I have just said raises many questions, and they all begin with the word, “Why?” Since a loving power greater than our worst fears IS on the loose in this world, why do we still bicker? What could be worth bickering over in the face of the glory that has been revealed to us? You have no doubt heard this advice: There are two rules for happiness. 1) Don’t sweat the small stuff. And, 2) It’s all small stuff. Why can’t we get that? We could ask the same sort of “why” questions about all the basic human vices: jealousy, pride, spite, you name it. And then there are the communal and global “why’s.” Why will more than 2,000 people sleep out of doors tonight in Sacramento? Sure, there are countless contributing problems both social and political, but why hasn’t this city, the very name of which connotes the sacred, become a beacon to the world showing progress in addressing those problems? Shifting to even graver issues on the global stage, why will 120 children die of hunger while I am speaking? All the experts agree that the world is producing enough food for every human being to consume 2,700 calories per day. My doctor would not be happy if I consumed 2,700 calories per day. Why haven’t we made more progress in sharing the world’s wealth, so that all may have basic nourishment, and no child need die the painful death of starvation?
Some of you might be thinking, what possible answer could she offer to these questions? Well, I’ve been doing some thinking too. Here’s how it seems to me: Maybe it’s not the job of the church to answer these questions. Maybe it’s the job of the church to keep asking these questions, to ask them of ourselves, to ask them of our friends and our families, to ask them in or work places, to ask them in our communities, to ask them of each other, to ask them stubbornly and persistently, until we become the answers, until those who gaze upon us and the life around us can readily see not only that Easter was, but that Easter is, until all can readily believe that Easter can be and will be for them.
In the scene described in today’s Gospel, the disciples are sorrowful over two kinds of death. They are mourning the loss of Jesus, his company, and the dreams they had for his reign. They are also mourning the loss of their self-images. They had seen themselves as prospective knights around Jesus’ round table, if you will, as the bravest and loftiest of servants. We know what happened to them the night of Jesus’ arrest. They succumbed to fear. Thomas, so famous for his part in today’s Gospel, has another featured part earlier in John’s Gospel. When Jesus is about to leave for Bethany for the raising of Lazurus, the disciples are worried about his safety near Jerusalem. Thomas, then big brave Thomas, says, “Let’s go with him and die with him!” He is full of bravado. The cross stole his bravado.
When Jesus enters this grief-filled room, his few words impart this: Put your grief aside. My grace is enough for new life. Claim it. Receive my peace. That peace is our inheritance to be claimed. May that peace, which surpasses all human understanding, keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, until that time when Easter has fully bloomed.