Three Sermons En Route To Easter

Good Friday is an impossible paradox. Jesus's killing was inevitable. It was completely unjust. It was drenched in glory. By the same token, our deaths are inevitable. We'll each contend with unjust circumstances in our lives. And we each have the capacity to make our lives a glorious anticipation of the realm of God. Listen to my sermon here.

At the Easter Vigil at St. John's, the most important service of the church year, it was good to hear the voices of our youth retelling the creation story from Eden through the deliverance from Egypt. It was good to hear the voices of the corporate church raised in support of our 12 baptismal candidates. And it was good for God to hear our voices proclaiming, "Alleluia! He is risen!" That's Lisa Naulls rehearsing the youth choir beforehand. My Saturday night sermon here.

On Easter morning, it's hard to evade the peril of deciding that Jesus's resurrection was merely symbolic or spiritual, since if God's action in raising him is in doubt, so is the notion that there's any benevolence in the creation beyond the minds and intentions of its creatures. Our Easter faith is that Christ wants his people to have hope, peace, and a faith in God's transcendent and perfect love. My Easter Sunday sermon is here.

Light And Dark

Trabuco Canyon, in south Orange County, California, on Holy Saturday

Christ Has Died

Celebrating Holy Eucharist on Maundy Thursday (which I had the blessing of doing twice this year, in the morning at St. John's School and in the evening with our church congregation) has exceptional poignancy. While every mass is a somewhat mysterious evocation of the Last Supper, according to the powerful symbolism of the church calendar, Holy Eucharist on the Thursday in Holy Week has additional profundity as an anticipation of the light going out of the world on Good Friday. Mass isn't said again until Easter celebrations begin Saturday evening. To say one yesterday for the L'Aquila earthquake's 205 victims, priests needed a dispensation from the Pope.

At St. John's, we consecrated enough bread and wine Thursday night to serve those who came for Good Friday services last night. Afterward, the Altar Guild destroyed what was left. We'll have Holy Eucharist tonight at the Easter Vigil, after 12 young people and adults have been baptized. But between now and then, there's not a single blessed wafer to be had in our church. I have a few in the car, in the kit I use for home and hospital visitations, but that's it.

We know tonight's going to come. The sun will set, the light will be carried into the church, we will proclaim the Resurrection, and Easter morning will dawn. Of course, we know. But according to the church, for a few hours, Christ has died and been put away, wrapped in linen in a borrowed tomb after being harassed and killed by an impromptu coalition of ambitious, misled, frightened, and venal people. Whether you count him as blessed savior or wise teacher, he was the best there was, and because of the flaws and crimes of people like us, he has gone. It does help us count our blessings (and examine our lives) a little more diligently.