This is the manuscript for the sermon that I gave Easter Sunday morning at our 10:00 service. If you would prefer to listen, you can download the sermon
here.
He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!
What a week it has been. As we have heard the Narrative of the Passion of the Christ once again, we have contemplated its mystery, and the ramifications that it has for our life. It seems like forever ago that we waved palms as the Israelites did so long ago, but Palm Sunday was just last week. Remember the words of Henri Nouwen that I quoted to you last week:
“Jesus went to Jerusalem to announce the good news to the people of that city. And Jesus knew that he was going to put a choice before them: Will you be my disciple, or will you be my executioner? There is no middle ground here. Jesus went to Jerusalem to put people in a situation where they had to say "Yes" or "No." That is the great drama of Jesus' passion: he had to wait upon how people were going to respond. How would they come? To betray him or to follow him?”
We know the answer to that deep question. We know how the people in Jerusalem responded to Jesus. On Thursday night we watched as each of the disciples considered whether or not they had the capacity to betray Jesus. As each one concluded his thoughts, he asked himself this simple question, “Is it I? Is it I?” And we watched as Judas looked at us, and reminded us that his heart might not be as black as we suppose, but that ours might not be as white as we suppose. And instead of asking the question, “Is it I?” Judas ended is monologue by confirming that indeed he was the one to betray the Messiah.
And sure enough, on Friday we identified with those who joined the crowd and shouted “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!” Oh, we didn’t identify with them because we wanted to. But because we realized that there’s not a one of us who is without sin. There isn’t a one of us who hasn’t at one time chosen to stop singing the song that God gave us, and sing our own song instead. We all, like sheep, have gone astray. Each of us has turned to his own way. Peter says that we “killed the author of life.” It was suggested on Friday night that we “killed the song,” the very song which gives us life and light.
And yet, we know the rest of the story this morning. While we may have been able to snuff out the light of the world for three days, God is more powerful than darkness. While we may have silenced the very Word of God, He is much stronger than the silence. Even though we killed the song of light and life, we can rejoice this morning for the Song is Alive! Like the disciples at the empty tomb, we proclaim the story today to remind us that God’s promises are forever! He is stronger than the darkness, more powerful than the silence. Indeed, He has the victory over death and the grave.
I understand that the Eastern Orthodox Believers have a marvelous liturgy for their Easter celebration, which includes these words:
Christ is risen, and you are overthrown.
Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen.
Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice.
Christ is risen, and life reigns.
Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave.
Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.
But what does this really mean for us today? Does Easter change anything for us? Or is it just an excuse to get up early, see the sunrise, eat a great breakfast, put on nice clothes and sing some nice music? Is it merely a holiday to commemorate the coming of spring and to eat lots of yummy chocolate?
I think not.
For when Jesus rose from the dead, everything that we knew about life and death changed. The very fabric of the universe was altered that morning—for death was no longer the final answer. Death no longer holds power over us. The grave is no longer a place of fear and dread. Why? Because Jesus holds the keys to death and the grave, and He proved that once and for all on Easter morning.
Everything Jesus ever said and did pointed to this simple fact. Every miracle reminded us that He has power over sin, sickness, the wind and waves, and death and the grave. Every parable He told taught His listeners about the Kingdom of God, and that they were invited to be a part of this great Kingdom—one that is far more powerful than any kingdom of this world—even more powerful than death and the grave.
During His earthly ministry, Jesus was all about transforming lives. He told stories which reflected this life transformation. He healed the sick, made the lame walk, the blind see, and the dead could live again.
In Luke chapter 7, John the Baptist sends his followers to Jesus with a simple question—he wants to know, “Are you the One who is to come, or should we expect someone else?” Jesus responds by telling John’s followers, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the Good News is preached to the poor.”
Everything we know about Jesus points to this Good News of life transformation. Easter Sunday should come as no surprise—for Jesus is all about taking broken things and putting them back together again. He’s all about finding lost sheep, restoring sight, and giving life.
Have you ever been lost? I mean, really really lost? Ever find yourself in the bad part of town, unsure which way to go to get back to the highway? When I was in college and lived just outside of Boston, I felt that I had learned the streets of Boston pretty well. I was a youth pastor in a church on the north side of the city, and living on the south shore. Every week I would make two or three round trip journeys through the city. And because I traveled during rush hour, I had to learn the shortcuts. If you’ve ever spent much time in Boston, you’ve learned that there is nothing “express” about the “expressway” – especially at five o’clock in the afternoon. I learned to drive through downtown Boston, circumventing the worst of the bottlenecks so I could make it to church on time.
One night, on the way home, I decided to try a different route—not out of necessity, but because I felt like exploring Boston and trying to discover another alternate route. Somehow I got turned around so badly that I didn’t know which part of the city I was in, or even which way I was headed. Nothing looked familiar, and I realized that 10 o’clock on a Friday night was not a good time to be lost in the bad part of Boston.
I didn’t mean to get lost. Few people rarely do. Generally when we get lost, we make a wrong turn without realizing it. And then, when we do realize it, we try to fix our mistake, not by turning around and back-tracking, but by trying to chart a new course to our destination. Naturally, we end up further away from our destination than we intended, and wasting more time than if we had just turned around and gone back in the first place.
That sheep didn’t mean to get lost either. Oh, he may have wandered off the beaten path a bit—saw a tasty bit of grass in the distance and went after it. It was alright, he could still see and hear the rest of the flock. But when the shepherd moved the flock to a new pasture, the sheep had taken a quick nap—and when he awoke, he could no longer hear or see the other 99 sheep. He hadn’t meant to get left behind. He hadn’t intended to be disobedient. But here he was, with the sun beginning to set and no hope of finding the rest of the flock. They had probably already gone back home. And so, the sheep began to try to find its way back home. But his footing was not too sure, and he found himself caught in a bramble-bush. “Ah,” he thought, “there’s no hope for me now—I’ll either be eaten by lions, freeze to death at midnight, or die of thirst by the time morning comes.” And so the sheep stands there, caught in the thicket, helplessly bleating in the darkness.
Until the shepherd came. For he had counted the sheep as they entered the fold, and knew that one was missing. And so instead of going home to curl up in a warm bed, he went out to find the lost sheep. The sheep who was so far away, but he’s home now. Safe. Secure. He’s been found.
Have you ever been lost? So far away from home that you don’t know how to get back? There’s a Good Shepherd who’s searching for you.
Have you ever felt blind before? You know the feeling—unable to see your way out of a tight spot. Or perhaps unable to discern the difference between right and wrong, good and evil? Or maybe you’ve just felt like you aren’t able to see God’s hand at work around you. Oh, it’s easy to see the bad stuff. It’s easy to see a world full of violence and prejudice—but you just don’t feel like you ever get to see God’s handiwork, you don’t see His presence around the way that others do. You feel blind. Lost in the darkness. Alone.
One day Jesus was walking along and he saw a man who was blind from birth. Jesus spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. He told the blind man to go and wash, and when he did, he came home with sight in his eyes.
Naturally, there were some people who weren’t happy about this—these were the same people who weren’t happy about anything that Jesus did…and so they called the man’s parents in for questioning. Knowing that they didn’t want to get in the middle of the dispute—and knowing that their son was an adult who was fully capable of answering the questions for himself, they told the Pharisees to ask the son what happened. They asked him some questions, trying to stump him and trick him—but he replied by saying this, “…I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.”
Jesus gives sight to the blind. He brings us from our dark pit of despair and gives us light and life. He points us in the right direction, He reveals God to us. His Spirit within us enables us to discern right from wrong. And despite the darkness of the world around us, when Jesus gives us our spiritual sight, we are able to see His hand at work all around us—protecting the defenseless, feeding the hungry, and clothing the naked. The blind are made to see. Have you ever felt blind? The Good News this morning is that not only does Jesus have power over the grave, not only can He find you and bring you home again, but He can restore your sight so that you may see Him. For when He puts everything right on the inside, you will be able to see God on the outside.
A few days later, Jesus came to His friend’s house in Bethany, where His good friend Lazarus had just died and was buried. Not only do we find the shortest verse in Scripture, “Jesus wept,” but we discover that Jesus has a great heart of compassion and love. As the very author of life, He is saddened when death appears to have the victory. And so, there in Bethany, demonstrating that death has no power over us, Jesus commanded that the stone be rolled away from Lazarus’ tomb, and He called out “Lazarus, come forth!”
And Lazarus, of course, did precisely that.
I want you to imagine for a moment that you were in each of those stories—that you were the little lost sheep, that you were the man born blind from birth, and that you were Lazarus, locked up in a tomb.
What must it be like to be caught in a bramble-bush, convinced that you are about to die—and hear the voice of the shepherd? How might that experience change your perspective on the shepherd and following Him? Are you going to be so quick to wander off from the flock next time? Or are you going to stick close to the shepherd, because you know that He loves you?
I can’t imagine what it might have been like to never see. To be blind from birth and never see a beautiful sunrise, or the colors of spring. And I can’t really imagine what it must have been like for that blind man to all of a sudden feel mud being spread over his eyes—and told to go wash. How would that change your life—to be blind, but now to see? He doesn’t try to come up with an explanation to suit the Pharisees. He doesn’t worry about having the right theological answers. He’s not afraid of appearing foolish or ignorant. He simply says, “This one thing I do know…I once was blind, but now I see…..I don’t know how—but when He touched me…I once was blind, but now I see.” How might that change his perspective on life? How is his life different now that he can see?
And of course, most dramatic of all was the resurrection of Lazarus. Dead. Wrapped in grave-cloths. Buried in a tomb. I don’t know how this works… I don’t know if Lazarus was stuck in a near-death experience for four days and he finally heard a voice calling him away from the bright light. I have no idea. But this I do know…he was dead…and now he’s alive. How do you suppose Lazarus lived the rest of his life? What do you suppose he did with his new life?
Each of these narratives finds their power in the same Christ who had power over death and grave. The empty tomb makes a difference—not just in a theoretical sense, not just because we know that we have hope for a future resurrection. But the empty tomb means that Jesus is alive, and active in our lives. The empty tomb means that the same power which conquered death is available to you and to me.
How do you tap into that great power? You have to accept the invitation to sing God’s song. You have to admit that you are a sinner in need of forgiveness. And you have to believe that Jesus is the Son of God, and that He died in order to offer you that forgiveness. You have to ask that same Jesus to be the Lord of your life. That is the Good News of the Gospel today. Jesus offers forgiveness. The Bible tells us that “Whoever receives Him, to those that believe in His Name, He gives the right to become children of God.” The lost are found again, the blind can see, the dead can have new life. Rejoice—for the Song is Alive!
On Friday night, if you were with us, you heard me talk about killing the Song of Light and Life. That for those three dark days, the song had died. The Singer sang no more. It was as though a choir of singers had decided that they didn’t like the song composed by the Conductor, and they killed Him, in order to sing their own chaotic chorus of dischord. You and I, without Jesus in our life, are like that choir. We have all tried to make up our own song…our own lifesong—with our words and our melody. Oh…it doesn’t sound very good. In fact, we’ve done quite a good job of messing that lifesong up. We would have been far better off if we hadn’t killed the Conductor and continued singing His Song.
But the Good News of Easter is this—the Song is Alive. The tomb could not silence Him forever. The stone could not hold back the song. Morning has broken, and the Song is Alive.
Now here’s the really good news this morning—all of those singers who refused to sing God’s Song? The ones who killed the Conductor so they could sing their own song? You might think that when the Conductor returned from the grave that He would be searching for new choir members. You might think that the Conductor would seek out those disobedient choir members and have them arrested, thrown in jail, and executed.
But that’s not the case. That’s the Good News of Easter—for even as Jesus hung on the cross, He prayed to the Father saying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Not only is the Song Alive again, but the Song invites you to join Him in His Song. To make your lifesong sing to Him and to His glory alone.
The lost sheep? The blind man? The dead Lazarus? I don’t know for sure how their life changed after their encounter with Jesus—but I’ve got a pretty good guess. I bet they stopped singing their own songs. I bet they stopped chasing after the foolish things of this world so that they could chase after the things of God. I think they found their place in the Divine Narrative, and began to partner with God in telling His Story.
And how about you? Have you had an encounter with the Risen Jesus? Have you stopped chasing dead ends and asked Him to find you? Have you asked Him to shine His light into your world of darkness so that you might see? Have you experienced the new life that He offers through the empty tomb?
You can, you know. It’s a free gift for the asking. It’s as simple as believing in Jesus and asking Him to forgive you of your sins. It’s as simple as quitting the song that you’re singing, and asking instead that your lifesong might sing to Him.
The invitation this morning is this—have you been singing your own song? Have you been chasing after your own kingdoms and castles? Are you tired of trying to live life for yourself?
In a moment, I’m going to sing a song. It’s our song of invitation today. I don’t know what will happen in the next few moments. Maybe you might feel led to come down to these altar rails and kneel in prayer. Maybe you want to commit yourself to Jesus—that you don’t want to sing your own song anymore, but to sing His song instead. As I sing, the altars are open, and all I ask is that you respond as God prompts you, that you would be obedient to Him.
And if, today, you sit in your pew and you aren’t really sure if you’ve ever asked Jesus to be your Lord and Savior—you can do that today. I’ve included a simple prayer in the bulletin—but there’s nothing sacred about those words—just pray in your own words, asking Him to forgive you, to come into your life, and to give you new life in Christ.
And with that new life, what will you do? Whose song will you sing? To whom will your lifesong sing?
. He tells a story about G. K. Chesterton in which a newspaper reporter asked him what he would do if the risen Christ suddenly appeared and stood behind him. Chesterton responded by saying, "He is."
C.S. Lewis paints the picture of creation like this:
, and thought that it might be very beneficial in your holy week preparation.
" While Warren attempts to answer the questions of "what" or "why," Frank Moore is interested in responding to the question of "how."
," Frank Moore poses the question "How on earth do I live the life I've longed for?" He answers that question by taking readers on a 40-day journey, accompanied by small group discussions, teaching videos, and weekly messages. We began our journey on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, and completed it on Palm Sunday. From all I've heard from members of the congregation, they really enjoyed the series, but many people felt that they barely scratched the surface of the study, and are desiring more in depth study.
