Hope in an Easter world

It had been business as usual for the followers of that preacher from Galilee. They had found someone in whom to hope and he told them about a world that could be. It was a world that might be glimpsed in dreams but never was it more real than when he talked about it. He never said it would be easy and so they were all ready to do the work. The poured their faith into that dream and were ready to follow him into it. But that all ended just like every other glimmer of hope they’d ever had. Rome was too powerful, their own leaders were in cahoots with Rome; nothing was ever going to change. Life would forever be about survival and struggle with a large helping of despair. The only thing to do was to accept it.

What then to make of the news, from breathless women talking nonsense. Nonsense that they couldn’t afford to believe. To believe it would just start the game again. Why let that kind of disappointment and pain in again. But soon it was more than just those crazy women. His closest friends had seen him, talked to him, touched him and ate with him. The hope in their hearts stirred ferociously because there was something different about this – this wasn’t worldly hope – this was the hand of God reaching into their lives. This was God saying my Word cannot be killed; my Word will not be silenced. Your hope has not be taken away.

The story of Pandora’s box is not in the Bible. It is a classic myth and like all myths it seeks to explain why things are the way they are.

In this Greek myth, “Pandora was the first woman on earth. Zeus ordered Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship, to create her and he did, using water and earth. The gods endowed her with many talents; Aphrodite gave her beauty, Apollo music, Hermes persuasion, and so forth. Hence her name: Pandora, "all-gifted".

When Prometheus stole fire from heaven, Zeus took vengeance by presenting Pandora to Epimetheus, Prometheus' brother. With her, Pandora had a jar which she was not to open under any circumstance. Impelled by her natural curiosity, Pandora opened the jar, and all evil contained escaped and spread over the earth. She hastened to close the lid, but the whole contents of the jar had escaped, except for one thing which lay at the bottom, and that was Hope.¹”

Now as regrettable as it is that once again the miseries of the world are laid at the feet of a woman, the most important thing is that Pandora let the hope out of the jar as well. Apparently, hope is all that we need to do battle with the evils of the world.

That is what this morning is about; surging, palpable hope that we have not been left to carry on as rugged individualists who battle against the trials and tribulations of life. Blessed hope that we do not exist in a purposeless universe. No indeed! We have God’s emphatic statement that there is no tragedy that God cannot transform for good.

The story of Joseph sold into slavery by his jealous brothers is the first story of how something meant for ill was turned into good. In Egypt Joseph flourished and was eventually the instrument of their salvation. He welcomed his brothers to begin a new life with him in Egypt. It could have been the end of the story, but after generations, the descendants of Jacob were enslaved in Egypt. It was not God’s plan but God acted to bring them out and their slavery was turned into good for that story has been the sustaining story for millennia for the Jewish people.

I do not believe that God desired Good Friday. How wonderful it would have been if Jesus presence and teaching could have turned the hearts of people to love their brothers and sisters and to remake the world. That would have pleased God immeasurably. But apparently humankind was not ready for the message so God acted once again. What was intended for ill was turned to good.

Therefore, we should never experience ultimate despair for God has spoken. Love lives again. Hope lives again.

Yet even as I speak these words, I wonder what they mean to you. Do you know that it is not Jesus Christ who has been raised from the dead, but you, also. So what will you do with your new life? Here are some suggestions.

Be joyous…laugh and sing for that is balm for a cynical world. Joy is infectious so hope infused with joy is weapon of mass delight.

Connect with your brothers and sisters. We all spend too much time engaged in isolating activities. Find new ways to be in community – whether that is inviting the neighbor you really don’t know over for a piece of pie or volunteering to help those who need a hand.

Respond, with a wave or blow a kiss to someone who lets you in in traffic. Respond to your phone calls and emails even if only to say “I got it, I’ll get back to” father than let someone worry that they haven’t been heard.

Go to a mirror and try to see yourself as God might. Accept that you are precious and that God is waiting to be amazed by you.

Give away more than you think you can afford all the while affirming that you will always have what you need. It’s a very liberating thing to stop being concerned about dollars and that is truer today as the economic infrastructure trembles. Do not add to the anxiety, instead assume abundance.

Thank people regularly and sometimes extravagantly. Go out of your way to lift them up. Sometimes do something that you would rather not just because it will make someone else feel good. Listen to people with whom you disagree.

Forgive someone or if you can’t at least talk to them and tell them of your struggles.

From this moment on know that you are resurrected too and live with the hope that lies within the glorious shout, Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed!

"Pandora." Encyclopedia Mythica from Encyclopedia Mythica Online.
<http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pandora.html>
[Accessed March 18, 2008].

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Good Friday

This is the King of the Jews. The statement was meant to be an insult. How could a people be strong if their king was so weak? How many kings have been executed in the sight of their people so as to dispirit them, to make them pliable and obedient to some other authority? This was meant as an insult to him and to the Jews who were already oppressed enough. He was kingly in his lineage, in his love for his people and in his wisdom and in his courage. But he was not merely the King of the Jews as he hung on that cross. He was every person who has ever suffered.

His feet are the feet of every refugee who has been driven from his home. The roads are unkind and rocky as he struggles to take one more step away from misery and toward uncertainty. To sit down to rest his suffering feet is to risk dying in that place. All that drives each painful step is the challenge of the next one. Each step is a victory but one that feels as if nails have been driven through the feet of the refugee.

Jesus’ back, marked with the stripes of a whip is the back of every slave or prisoner. The slaves who had to consider whether the slim prospect of a successful escape was worth the lash. The lash would cut to the bone and take a long time to heal. The scars would cause his back to tighten and scream with every movement and yet he would have to carry on in spite of them, serving the one who had taken his freedom.

Jesus’ hands, screaming from the pain of the spikes through his wrists are the hands of everyone who has ever felt helpless as a loved one suffers. Our hands are so capable; we build, we hold our loved ones close, we comfort. Then when we can do nothing, our hands hang useless at our sides. When we cannot push away the evil, the sickness, the despair, what good are our hands? The hands of Jesus bleed our own helplessness.

Jesus’ eyes looked out from the haze of misery and saw his mother and Mary Magdalene and the other women. What they did not see were his closest companions, the ones who professed undying love and support. Those are the eyes of everyone who has ever been betrayed, abandoned, let down, and left alone. His are the eyes of children who wonder why their parents hurt them. His are the eyes of outcasts who cannot comprehend hatred and animosity directed at them. His are the eyes of Jews herded into ovens and Sudanese dying in refugee camps wondering if anyone knows or cares.

The heart of Jesus, perhaps more broken than the rest his body is the heart of the whole world. It seemed so clear, just love each other and yet they didn’t seem to understand. Maybe we don’t want to understand because it is hard work to let go of ancient ingrained hatreds. This is the heart of everyone who has ever known depression. That cloud that robs the world of color and joy and anticipation is not just a chemical imbalance that can be regulated with a pill; it is the lack of hope. Jesus’ heart draws in our despair and holds it on the cross.

O sacred head, sore wounded, defiled and put to scorn.

O kingly head surrounded with mocking crown of thorn;

What sorrow mars they grandeur? Can death thy bloom deflower?

O countenance whose splendor the hosts of heaven adore!

In thy most bitter passion my heart to share doth cry,

With thee for my salvation upon the cross to die.

Ah, keep my heart thus moved to stand thy cross beneath,

To mourn thee, well beloved, yet thank thee for they death.