Loving us Back to Life
Second Sunday of Easter, April 11, 2021
Acts 4:32-35 • John 20:19-31
Eileen and I have had the Derek Chauvin trial on in the background as we’ve worked from home the last couple of weeks. Eileen has caught more of it than I have because she usually works from our dining room, near our television. But, over the last couple of weeks, I have caught bits and pieces. It struck me last week that George Floyd’s death was a moment when many different life stories converged at a point in time – a point in time when those life stories would be changed forever.
There was Christopher Martin, the store clerk who took a twenty dollar bill from George – something he wished he could take back.
Donald Williams, a security guard and former wrestler, had returned from a fishing trip and wandered down to Cup Foods to get a drink. Mr. Williams would witness the events and confront officers over what had happened.
Dispatcher Jena Scurry was monitoring CCTV video and thought she was looking at a frozen video feed as officers held George down for nine minutes. Ms. Scurry would end up calling superiors to report that something didn’t seem right.
Genevieve Hanson, an off-duty firefighter, was just out for a walk on what she hoped would be a peaceful day. Ms. Hansen would end up pleading with officers to check Mr. Floyd’s pulse.
And a self-described nosy resident, 61-year old Charles McMillan who confronted officers after Mr. Floyd was taken away in an ambulance. In one of the more heart-wrenching moments of the trial, Mr. McMillan, a man who had probably seen many things in his life, broke down on the witness stand and sobbed.
And there were young people: Darnella, Alyssa, Kaylynn. Young lives that would be scarred by their experiences that day – events they witnessed; events that left them wishing they could have done more.
And Officer Chauvin. And the other officers.
These and other life stories converged that day – a day that would unleash pain and despair that would ripple through the community, through the nation. And, for the people whose life stories converged that day, George Floyd’s death would leave them with so many unanswered and unanswerable questions: why; why did this happen; why did this have to happen; what if I’d only...? It would leave those people and George Floyd’s family with a sense of fear.
As we move through Holy Week and celebrate Easter, we can have a tendency to move quickly through Saturday into Easter joy and excitement. Our liturgical year gives little time to stay in that in-between space – that space that Holy Saturday occupies.
Holy Saturday has become for me a meaningful day during Holy Week simply because it is in between. It is in between death and resurrection, in between suffering and glory. It is the space between Good Friday and Easter Sunday when so many questions hang. It is like that in- between space where we spend so much of our lives, somewhere between what has been and an unknown future.
Holy Saturday represents the kind of in-between space Jesus’ disciples found themselves in after the crucifixion – also an event when so many life stories would converge. Peter, Mary, Mary Magdalene, the Centurion, the Roman soldiers, Pilate, and so many others. After the crucifixion, all were left in this in-between space.
And that in-between-ness of Saturday extends beyond the third day for many of Jesus’ disciples. It would take time for Jesus’ resurrection to be revealed and believed. This Saturday space is a place where so many unanswered and unanswerable questions hang. Why? Why did this happen? Why did this have to happen? What does this mean? What if I’d only...?
As our Gospel story opens today, the violence of the crucifixion, the hanging unanswered and unanswerable questions, the not knowing and not understanding, the loss of a friend, have left Jesus’ disciples in fear. Understandably, the disciples had retreated out of fear, locking themselves away as they wondered what next, as they wondered what it all meant or where to go from here.
For the disciples – in particular, Thomas – coming to an understanding of the crucifixion and a belief that the resurrection was real would mean meeting Jesus and having an opportunity to touch Jesus’ wounds – an opportunity to see the wounds transformed into something new – still exposed, still evident as what had been wounds, but transformed.
And it would take some time for the disciples’ shared belief to manifest itself in the ways they would live and order their lives. It would take time to understand how they would live from that point forward. There was an unfolding happening. While it would take time to fully understand, the knowledge of and belief in Jesus’ resurrection would change their ways of living. It would mean creating communities where all things were held in common, where ownership was not claimed by any one person – communities where the focus was on the common good of all. The disciples’ experience and belief would take time to evolve into this new way of living, but, after all they had experienced, they knew they had to live differently.
In Minneapolis, and in so many communities across the United States, it can seem like we live in perpetual Fridays and Saturdays. We witness violence; we witness killings of unarmed people of color, sometimes at the hands of people who swore an oath to protect them. These are crucifixions, too; they are deaths that shouldn’t happen, deaths that didn’t need to happen. Tragedies. George Floyd’s death was one of those unnecessary tragedies – a killing that didn’t need to happen. And, now, we live in an in-between space wondering. We see it all and, understandably, we, too, recoil and respond in fear – fear for the lives of our siblings. Will we ever make it to Sunday? Will we ever see resurrection? Will our wounds and woundedness ever be transformed?
Nadia Bolz Weber writes, “It happens to all of us I concluded that Easter Sunday morning. God simply keeps reaching down into the dirt of humanity and resurrecting us from the graves we dig for ourselves through our violence, our lies, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our addictions. And God keeps loving us back to life over and over.”
I don’t know when, or how it will happen, or how long it will take, but I do believe that God is loving us back to life; God is loving healing into our wounds and woundedness; God is loving the people of Minneapolis and all other communities into something new right now. God is loving you into something new right now. God is loving us out of “the graves we dig,” the graves dug for us, the graves of violence, and racism, and shame, and denial.
The Easter message is that God is loving us into transformation. The Easter message is that God is loving inspiration into our hearts, that we might better understand a new way of living is absolutely necessary. This is the Easter that is happening – the Easter-ing that is happening. Something new is working to manifest itself in us, and among us, and through us. As God works among us, we are invited to open our hearts and extend our arms to be loved back to life – over and over. And maybe, just maybe, that kind of love will give us enough strength that we can love one another back to life – over and over. Maybe, then, we can join the psalmist in hopeful and heartfelt expression: “Oh how good and pleasant it is / when brethren live in unity.”
Oh how good and pleasant it will be, when siblings live in unity. Our experiences and belief, and God’s Easter-ing, is a process that takes time to evolve us into this new way of living. But, after all we have experienced, we know in our hearts that we have to live differently. The Easter promise is that we will.