04/04: Easter Sunday (C)
Category: General
Posted by: tonycurrer
A line from the Passion of St. Luke that we read on Palm Sunday, caught my attention. It was the description of Joseph of Arimathaea, a member of the council, an upright and virtuous man, “he lived in hope of seeing the kingdom of God.”
It caught my attention, because at that tragic moment -taking the body down, the hasty burial- it took me back to the beginning of the story. It is just the sort of thing that was said of Simeon: an upright and devout man, he looked forward to Israel’s comforting. It made me think of Zechariah, and Elizabeth, Mary and Joseph, upright and virtuous, and of the joy that filled their hearts and the joyful, hope-filled songs that they sang: Blessed be the Lord the God of Israel, he has visited his people and set them free; My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. It made me think of Anna who spoke to all who looked forward to the deliverance of Jerusalem. In other words it reminded me of how much hope there was at the beginning of the gospel, and we are reminded of all that hope, in the person of Joseph of Arimathaea, just as the lifeless body of Jesus is lowered from the cross.
Another line caught my attention from the same Passion narrative; it was Jesus saying, “And yet, here with me on the table is the hand of the man who betrays me.” Again it made me think back to the beginning of the gospel and the first disciples: the sense of mission of Jesus’ first preaching, bringing good news to the poor, liberty to captives, sight to the blind, freedom to the downtrodden; the miraculous catch of fish, and the rapturous joy in which those disciples left everything to be in Jesus’ new community of the Kingdom. And yet, … and yet … present at the first Eucharist is Judas the betrayer. This climactic moment in the communion that the disciples share with Jesus is also the moment of fracture.
The opening chapters of Luke’s gospel are filled with a joyous hope, excitement at what God is doing. The death of Jesus is the annihilation of that hope. That is why the disappointment at the end of Luke’s gospel is so bitter and so terrible, so all-pervasive. There is Joseph of Arimathaea. There are the two on the road to Emmaus with their downcast faces: “Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free.” There are the disciples our gospel whose grief is so terrible that they reject the message of the women as pure nonsense.
We too, in these days, are a community marked by disappointment. We, too, feel that the hand of the betrayer has been with us at the Eucharistic table. Our hopes in this community to which we have committed our lives, have taken a terrible blow. And that disappointment is not easily or quickly dispelled. Priests have betrayed us. Our leadership has failed us. How can we preach, how can we hear, the message of the Resurrection in this disappointment?
Thankfully our gospel is patient with us. In the gospel there are two distinct reactions. First of all we have the women who find the tomb empty. Angels, like the angels that announced the news of Jesus birth to shepherds, now tell the women of his rebirth in the resurrection. Secondly, there are the disciples who are not yet ready to here the women’s news. Their dashed hopes are not quickly revived. The story seems to them pure nonsense. And in between the women and the disciples stands Peter. He runs to the tomb, he sees, and he comes back amazed.
A lot of hope has been damaged in us. And into this disappointment the dawn of resurrection breaks slowly. Hope returns slowly. It is not my job to rally the troops tonight; to pep you up with some Obama-like rhetoric. How could I? I’m as steeped in disappointment as you. It is not my job because it is the work of the Spirit to bring hope back to broken hearts, to bring the joy of the Resurrection into those hearts.
How do we approach this feast of the Resurrection at this time of disillusionment? Well, we do what Peter does. We come like Peter, we gawp at the cloths and the stone, and we wonder. And then we wait to see if the Spirit will break into our hearts with the light, and the glory and the hope of the Resurrection.
It caught my attention, because at that tragic moment -taking the body down, the hasty burial- it took me back to the beginning of the story. It is just the sort of thing that was said of Simeon: an upright and devout man, he looked forward to Israel’s comforting. It made me think of Zechariah, and Elizabeth, Mary and Joseph, upright and virtuous, and of the joy that filled their hearts and the joyful, hope-filled songs that they sang: Blessed be the Lord the God of Israel, he has visited his people and set them free; My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. It made me think of Anna who spoke to all who looked forward to the deliverance of Jerusalem. In other words it reminded me of how much hope there was at the beginning of the gospel, and we are reminded of all that hope, in the person of Joseph of Arimathaea, just as the lifeless body of Jesus is lowered from the cross.
Another line caught my attention from the same Passion narrative; it was Jesus saying, “And yet, here with me on the table is the hand of the man who betrays me.” Again it made me think back to the beginning of the gospel and the first disciples: the sense of mission of Jesus’ first preaching, bringing good news to the poor, liberty to captives, sight to the blind, freedom to the downtrodden; the miraculous catch of fish, and the rapturous joy in which those disciples left everything to be in Jesus’ new community of the Kingdom. And yet, … and yet … present at the first Eucharist is Judas the betrayer. This climactic moment in the communion that the disciples share with Jesus is also the moment of fracture.
The opening chapters of Luke’s gospel are filled with a joyous hope, excitement at what God is doing. The death of Jesus is the annihilation of that hope. That is why the disappointment at the end of Luke’s gospel is so bitter and so terrible, so all-pervasive. There is Joseph of Arimathaea. There are the two on the road to Emmaus with their downcast faces: “Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free.” There are the disciples our gospel whose grief is so terrible that they reject the message of the women as pure nonsense.
We too, in these days, are a community marked by disappointment. We, too, feel that the hand of the betrayer has been with us at the Eucharistic table. Our hopes in this community to which we have committed our lives, have taken a terrible blow. And that disappointment is not easily or quickly dispelled. Priests have betrayed us. Our leadership has failed us. How can we preach, how can we hear, the message of the Resurrection in this disappointment?
Thankfully our gospel is patient with us. In the gospel there are two distinct reactions. First of all we have the women who find the tomb empty. Angels, like the angels that announced the news of Jesus birth to shepherds, now tell the women of his rebirth in the resurrection. Secondly, there are the disciples who are not yet ready to here the women’s news. Their dashed hopes are not quickly revived. The story seems to them pure nonsense. And in between the women and the disciples stands Peter. He runs to the tomb, he sees, and he comes back amazed.
A lot of hope has been damaged in us. And into this disappointment the dawn of resurrection breaks slowly. Hope returns slowly. It is not my job to rally the troops tonight; to pep you up with some Obama-like rhetoric. How could I? I’m as steeped in disappointment as you. It is not my job because it is the work of the Spirit to bring hope back to broken hearts, to bring the joy of the Resurrection into those hearts.
How do we approach this feast of the Resurrection at this time of disillusionment? Well, we do what Peter does. We come like Peter, we gawp at the cloths and the stone, and we wonder. And then we wait to see if the Spirit will break into our hearts with the light, and the glory and the hope of the Resurrection.
