Easter 2025 - Dangerous Hope

John 20:1–18 NRSV

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes. But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Two encounters in this morning’s text tell us the story from two emotional perspectives. First, we have the ever-present, ever-hyped up Peter…rushing to the tomb with John, rushing to the tomb. Word is out that something is amiss, the tomb is disturbed, the body is…taken?

For Peter and John, this is a gut punch. Adding insult to injury, following the events of Good Friday, has someone disturbed the grave of their beloved Rabbi? A public trial, mocking, and execution. And then a grave robbing?

And then for Mary Magdalene, confusion. While she has heard along with the disciples the promise of Jesus’ rise from the grave, she most certainly wouldn’t have believed it without seeing. And so she goes. She must expect to be alone in the garden. He wouldn’t be there. He’s dead, she saw it. So for Mary, perhaps it is less of an insult, the grave robbing, and more of a deep confusion and surprise. And then realization. This is him, the good gardener. This is the Christ.

This past season of Lent, leading up to our celebration today, we’ve been looking at the Scriptures through the lens of this question: How is this good news to the poor?

My story, my faith, my training — it has been deeply impacted by that question: How is this good news to the poor? This perspective comes from the Liberation tradition of Christianity. Liberation Theology argues that God is always on the side of the poor. If the Scriptures and the way of Jesus are going to be good news for anyone, we must pay attention to and lift up how his message is good news to the poor. The poor and the widow and the orphaned — they among us teach us most clearly what Jesus’ love looks like.

Less than a month ago, I had a lifetime opportunity to make a pilgrimage to El Salvador to commemorate the 45th anniversary of the death of St. Oscar Romero. Oscar Romero was archbishop of El Salvador from 1977 to 1980 and was assassinated while officiating the Eucharist. His killing came in hopes of silencing his voice. Romero had been advocating for the needs of the poor and oppressed in his community. The archbishop remarked that if he was killed, he would rise again in the people of El Salvador. Resurrection. The poor would rise to carry on his mission of justice.

How is this story of Easter resurrection good news for the poor?

I see it that this promise of resurrection allows the work of justice for the poor to continue, even when some can no longer continue on. Resurrection. New life. Death cannot, will not have the final word.

It’s dangerous to even entertain this idea — resurrection lives in us now.

For Peter, for Mary, where is the good news?

I can imagine the journey to the tomb, not expecting new life, but longing to make sure that what was left of the legacy of Jesus would not be distrubed, that it could be honored and left to be.

But the good news today is that there is hope, hope beyond even simplistic resolutions like death and burial. Hope in the face of struggle, hope that another world is possible, hope that even as the seed falls to the ground and dies, so new sprouts and life will spring up.

Resurrection happens. In us.

Writing about the struggle of Black people in the United States, Austin Channing Brown talks about this kind of resurrection hope. She says “hope is speaking anyway, writing anyway, loving anyway.” Resurrection hope persists.

And that is what we’re here for, to keep telling the story, to keep calling out hope.

Resurrection happens in us It is dangerous to hope for resurrection, dangerous to hope against the systems of death. Did you come with a hope? Did you come with an obligation? Did you come with a suspicion and desire? Then you are like the disciples. Resurrection lives in you. Listen to it. Pray through it. Live it. Pass it on.

I want to talk about my son, Asher, for a moment.

I’m not sure what my kid is going to come to believe about Christianity or religion or politics when he’s my age. But what I can say is that, at this point in his 10-year-old life, the story of Jesus is giving him a sense of hope. That there is a good story to follow. That there are people and places, like churches and dear community, that can offer him support and nurturance as he grows up. 

I think about the kind of community Jesus modeled for us. And how the earliest churches practiced sharing what they had and caring for the weak. That’s the good life. 

Of course, we all need to see the problems of the church and we need to work on making ourselves healthier. But we can agree that if we continue to share what we have and care for the weak, that that is a pretty good image of the body of Christ living on, resurrecting, in history, here and now. 

I titled this Easter’s sermon “Dangerous Hope” in acknowledgment of a dual reality. First, in the dangerous hope of these first stories of resurrection. The first encounters with the risen Christ. These are moments when the disciples have to suspend their disbelief and realize the new reality of Christ still with them. God still with us. God conquering the power of the empire, not in revolution but in finding new ways to life. Outside the clutches of the oppressors. This is dangerous hope. 

And secondly, this hope is dangerous today. It’s dangerous to hope that we could see new life spring up in such times of death and heartache. And sometimes we wonder, why would we even want to revive back into this world? It’s not great for so many people. So it’s dangerous to hope against that. It’s dangerous to hope that resurrection can even take place. That we could receive new life in ourselves. 

My pilgrimage to El Salvador last month has engrained a new truth in me. Whatever we come to know of the experience of true bodily resurrection, there is the truth that in the people I met, they are living out the resurrection of their beloved friend’s memory, the legacy of Oscar Romero. He taught that if he was killed for his advocacy for human rights and the poor, he taught that if he was killed, he would rise in the Salvadoran people. 

This is what Jesus taught. Romero was living in the same dangerous hope that Jesus taught. Romero was an example of how we can be Christ’s resurrection, too. We can let resurrection live in us and carry on in us. 

When I think about these first encounters with the risen Lord, about Mary or Peter or the rest of the disciples, what I’m coming to understand is that these are little resurrections of that dangerous hope of Jesus. 

One more thing about the word dangerous. I think we have to understand that as we see the world today it can feel very dangerous to even have hope. Like there’s actually something wrong with being hopeful. Or that there’s so much to despair that how could we ever Believe Hope is possible. 

Hope is putting a living deep trust in what we cannot yet see. It’s in the same realm of things like faith and virtue and morality. But we do the work of Hope because to Hope is to anticipate true resurrected wholeness. And as Christians we are people who Hope in the yet to come while also living Hope in the here and now. 

Back to my wondering about my son and his future in faith. I’m grateful that a place like the church is giving him a space to experience Hope, learn about stories of Hope and perhaps find that space where the spirit is speaking Hope in his heart. I wonder if we can be that kind of place for each other. If we could turn towards one another and offer Hope when we are so often told to turn away from one another. I wonder if this place, this church these bonds of friendship could be the foundation for living lives of Hope in our workplace, at the grocery store, in our strange family dynamics, in our politics, in our finances, in all things. 

We don’t have to rush towards Hope. We don’t have to sprint to the tomb like Peter. Some of us take time. But may the candle of Hope be lit, even as dimly as it may be, in us today. And may Christ in us do the work of fanning that flame.