Jesus died just as his ministry reached its most powerful point. Easter celebrates the miracle that Jesus lives again and the story continues. But a few weeks after his resurrection, Jesus ascends to Heaven, with the work of inaugurating the Kingdom of God still unfinished. For those of us who won’t see the final winning of our most long-sought goals, perhaps Easter has a different kind of message than we usually think.
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The Easter story really begins a week ago with the holiday called Palm Sunday. On Palm Sunday, Jesus and his followers enter into Jerusalem.
Jesus had been making news throughout the region for a few years by then. The people of Jerusalem were eager to see him. They were excited about what he was doing. They were curious to know who this strange man might actually be.
Here’s how the story goes from the Gospel of Matthew (Matthew 21)
“As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away.”
Matthew then explains that this is happening because it is the fulfillment of a prophecy from the Old Testament book of Zechariah. The community that Matthew is writing to was a Jewish community, so in order to persuade his community that they should be following Jesus, Matthew is constantly finding ways to tie back Jesus stories into the Jewish Scriptures. So Matthew finds in Zechariah this vision of how the future Jewish king would appear.
From Zechariah, chapter 9:
Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!
Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
righteous and victorious,
lowly and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
Zechariah is saying that when the new king, or the Messiah, arrives, he won’t come as a proud warrior mounted on horseback, but seated on a donkey. Not “high and mighty” but “lowly.”
But Matthew gets the scripture a little confused.
In Zechariah, Zechariah describes the entrance of the Messiah, “riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Clearly Zechariah means one animal.
But Matthew thinks that there is both a donkey and a colt, so Matthew writes this:
“The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and placed their cloaks on them for Jesus to sit on.”
So somehow, in order to fulfill Matthew’s mis-interpretation of the prophecy, we’re supposed to imagine that Jesus entered Jerusalem riding on two animals at the same time.
And by the way, when the same story is repeated in Mark, Luke, and John, they’re all clear that Jesus only had to sit on the back of one animal.
But all the gospels agree on what comes next. Here’s Matthew, again,
“A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Here again, Matthew is drawing his scene from Jewish scripture. The cloaks on the road and the waving of palm branches is a traditional way to celebrate an heroic figure. And the shouting of “Hosanna” which means “save us!” and “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” are all a quote from Psalm 118, which was a text to be read at the anointing of a new king.
But who is this guy, Jesus? Is he coming as a king, or a Messiah? Is he a religious teacher, or a political revolutionary? What is a Messiah after all: a human king, or a supernatural savior? And what is he there to do? Was he there to restore the Jewish kingdom, the throne of David, that had been lost to successive waves of foreign empires? Or was he there to restore the Jewish faith that had been corrupted by self-serving and ignorant religious leaders?
Here’s what Matthew says:
“When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred and asked, “Who is this?”
The crowds answered, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.”
So that’s the scene from last Sunday, Palm Sunday.
From there, after entering Jerusalem, Jesus goes to the Temple and we have the famous story of Jesus throwing the money-changers out of the Temple.
For the next few days Jesus comes to the Temple each day and teaches from the Temple, telling his parables.
This is all happening in the days leading up to the Passover festival.
On the first night of Passover, Thursday, Jesus gathers his disciples in a room in Jerusalem for the Passover meal, which Christians know as the “last supper.”
In Christian churches, this is celebrated as Maundy Thursday.
“Maundy” is a word derived from the Latin word “Mandatum” which means “commandment.” So Maundy refers to the commandment that Jesus gives his disciples when he breaks the bread and says, “eat, for this is my body” and “drink, for this is my blood” and commands them, “do this in remembrance of me.”
The Christian liturgy for Maundy Thursday is devastating. The congregation gathers at the church. The ritual begins with the leaders of the church washing the feet of the congregation, which is based on a story from the gospel that comes just before the last supper. Then the congregation shares a meal together, a last supper, or a passover meal. And then the congregation goes into the sanctuary for a service which commemorates what happens next: the night in the garden, when Jesus prays and asks his disciples to stay awake with him but they fall asleep, and which ends with Judas and the Roman authorities showing up to arrest Jesus.
In the church service, this tragedy is marked by removing from the church every piece of furniture or cloth or candlestick that can be removed, clearing the chancel and stripping the altar bare. As the candles are removed the sanctuary gets darker and darker. Finally, the altar is turned upside down and the clergy leave the sanctuary without even announcing the end of the service. And the people who are left in the dark slowly creep away, in silence.
It’s a thrilling piece of religious theater.
And the meaning of that service, is that with Jesus’ arrest, Jesus’ mission, whatever it was, political, or spiritual, is over. He failed. He didn’t drive out the Roman occupiers, or the corrupt religious officials. The poor are still poor. The sick are still sick. The imprisoned are still in prison. The hungry are hungry. The suffering, suffer and the rich and powerful are still doing fine.
So what is there to celebrate? It’s over. We got so excited there for awhile with Jesus riding into Jerusalem. We spread our cloaks on the road and waved the palm branches and we shouted, “Hosanna!” “Save us!”
But he didn’t save us.
Instead, he was arrested. And here we are.
Might as well turn out the lights and go home.
The next day it gets even worse.
There’s a speedy and bogus trial. Jesus is condemned to death.
Jesus drags his own cross up the hill and is crucified on it.
At three o’clock in the afternoon he cries out, “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” (again a quote from a Psalm – Psalm 22) and he dies.
It’s terrible. It’s sad. It’s heartbreaking. We were so close to a radical restructuring of society in favor of peace, and love, and justice. And it slipped away from us.
In a Christian church, if you only go to church on Sundays, last week you were celebrating Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and the kids were having fun with palm branches.
Now this Sunday, you’re shouting “He is risen!” and the choir has hired some guest trumpet players to accompany a celebratory anthem.
You might be thinking, “Wow! Looks like things have turned out pretty well!”
But if you were only here last Sunday and then this, you missed the whole spiritual point.
Because the whole point of Easter, is that at the very height of Jesus’ mission, just days after he is welcomed as a hero coming into Jerusalem and immediately gets to work purifying the temple and challenging the religious and political authorities, he is arrested, and tried, and executed.
The reversal could not have been more swift or painful. It’s done. It’s over. He’s dead. He’s laid in a tomb at the close of day Friday, and if weren’t for the fact that Saturday was the Sabbath, he would have been removed from the temporary tomb Saturday morning and buried properly, which by Jewish custom is supposed to happen as quickly as possible after death.
So that you come to church on Sunday and are greeted with good news, instead of an empty church, or maybe no church at all by this point, is supposed to be just as much of a surprise and a shock as it would have been for the women who arrive at the tomb on Sunday morning after the crucifixion and find that Jesus has risen.
“Wait. What?” You’re supposed to ask. “He isn’t dead? It isn’t over?”
“Yes,” you are excitedly confirmed. “That what we’re trying to tell you.”
It isn’t over.
But here is my counter-narrative. Perhaps this is a Unitarian take on the Christian story.
Because, yes, Jesus’ story doesn’t end with his crucifixion. But what happens next isn’t really all that satisfying.
After Jesus rises from the dead on Easter, some of the Gospels narrate what are called “post-resurrection” appearances of Jesus. But in these appearances, Jesus doesn’t do much except appear and attempt to prove in various ways that it’s really him. It’s a very strange and deeply unsatisfying new life that Jesus lives after his resurrection.
Mark, in the earliest manuscripts, records no appearances of Jesus after the resurrection. Which, because Mark is the earliest gospel, is an interesting bit of evidence that the resurrection may not have been a feature of the earliest expressions of Christianity. Mark has no birth story, either, by the way.
In the original version of John, Jesus, after the resurrection, appears to the disciples and overcomes the skepticism of the disciple known as “Doubting Thomas”. There’s also an extended version of John where Jesus helps some fisherman catch a great number of fish (clearly a metaphor for gathering converts to Christianity), and Jesus also appears to Peter to forgive Peter for denying Jesus earlier, rehabilitating Peter for his later role as founder of the church.
In Luke, after the resurrection, there’s the story of the Road to Emmaus, where Jesus surprises a couple of men who are walking along a road and talking about the strange things that just happened in Jerusalem. And then after appearing to them, Jesus appears to the disciples.
And in Matthew, Jesus appears to the disciples and tells them to make “disciples of all the nations.”
That’s it.
That, apparently is all Jesus came back to do. Jesus overcame death, and lived again, only to tell his disciples, “see, it’s really me.”
That’s it.
In Luke we’re then told that Jesus ascended into Heaven. And in Acts, which is a second text written by the author of Luke, we’re told that the ascension happened forty days after the resurrection. That’s May 18 this year, by the way, in case you’re counting.
So, if you were expecting that the living Jesus was going to over-throw the Roman government, or reform the Jewish religion, or establish the Kingdom of God, or whatever you expected Jesus to do, and then you were disappointed that Jesus was arrested and executed before that happened, you might have been excited to see that Jesus had come back to life at Easter.
But then you would be forgiven for being disappointed again. Because in the forty days after Easter, Jesus still does none of those things. He doesn’t even try. He doesn’t confront the Roman rulers. He doesn’t confront the corrupt Priests. He overthrows the moneychangers in the Temple in the days before he dies, but he confronts no one in the days after his death. He talks to no one, actually, except his own followers. He doesn’t establish the Kingdom of God. He doesn’t heal the sick, or release the captives. He doesn’t save anyone, or save us all.
On Ascension Day, forty days affter Easter, Jesus leaves us in the midst of a broken world, just as he left us three days before Easter. That’s the end of the Easter story.
The resurrection seems to be for nothing.
So why the trumpets?
What’s to celebrate?
Now there are many lessons from the Easter story.
I’ve been preaching Easter sermons for twenty-five years and always find something new to say. And there are thousands of preachers preaching thousands of Easter sermons today and for hundreds of years previously. This is a very rich story.
So I won’t claim that this is the lesson of Easter. But here is one lesson from Easter.
Whatever work we set out to do in life, we will leave unfinished.
Life is unfinished business.
Death will interrupt us. Or, for other reasons less final than death, our work will be interrupted. We’ll get a little done, but not all of it. We’ll get part way there but not all the way. Circumstances will change. We’ll discover a complication we hadn’t foreseen. Our strength will fail us. We’ll encounter a temporary set-back, but maybe even a temporary set-back will last longer than the time we have available, and we’ll give out before the work is over. Maybe we’ll be the lucky generation who accomplishes a big piece of social change only to see we’ve discovered a further injustice we hadn’t been aware of before. And that work will have to be accomplished after we’ve left the scene.
There is, in all we do, more to be done. More love. More peace. More justice.
And we are one. We’re only one. And all together we are many but still we are finite. And all together we are powerful, but we’re not all powerful. And we’re not all wise. And we’re not even all good.
And so we will stop before the work is done. We might give up, or turn to other things. Or death might stop us. And even if we get a second chance, as Jesus did, that won’t be enough, either. To do the work of remaking the world in line with our vision of peace, and love, and justice, there are never enough allies on our side, there is never enough time to make our vision finally real.
This is a spiritual truth that one can take as a lesson from Jesus’ life, death, resurrection, ascension: whatever business we set out to do we will leave unfinished. We arrived in the middle of a long story. And we will depart still somewhere in the long middle of the story. We won’t see where it all comes out, any more than any of the generations prior to ours got to see what we’re doing with our time. Any work we call a beginning, is really a continuation. And we will make no endings, either, no matter what we achieve, only progress on a long path, and then we will stop and watch the next generation walk away from us into a brighter future.
In our call to worship we said, “Kyrie eleison. These children who will go on to save what we cannot.”
We said, “Amen. For endings that are beginnings, for beginnings that are endings.”
So we must be spiritually at peace with this truth that our lives will only ever see the great work unfinished. It’s not going to happen in our lifetime, whatever you think “it” is. A deep breath. Relax into the world the way it is. We do what we can. We save who we save. We can make it better. But we can’t make it perfect. We will heal and help and comfort and clothe and right what we can, and reform what we can, and lighten loads of suffering and when we are done, we will leave the work unfinished.
That must be OK.
We sang, in our Opening Hymn, “O day of light and gladness, of prophecy and song, what thoughts within us waken, what hallowed mem’ries throng! The soul’s horizon widens, past, present, future blend; And rises on our vision the life that has no end.”
This is the meaning of immortality. Not the immortality of one undying person, but the immortality of all life, flowing from generation to generation. “The life that has no end” is the common life we all participate in, the long life of human history. That is the immortality we can claim for ourselves, because it is not our own, but an immortality we all share, generation afeter generation.
Jesus knew his scripture. He lifted teaching from the Torah. He quoted the prophets from before him. He built his ministry on a political and religious history that had formed his people, and his world, and himself. He carried that heritage one step forward, adding his own intelligence, inspiration, and insight. He died leaving unfinished business, and then he came back again, but not to complete work that was no longer his to do, but to encourage his followers to do their work.
And their work is now our work. The unending work of love, and peace, and justice.
We, too, are the heirs of many ages. The prophet souls in line. A legacy of faith leading now to us. We know our history. We cherish the good we inherit and resolve to correct the errors that we may.
We teach our children. We tell our stories. We gather our followers. We bless them. For we know the great work that depends on us, depends on them as well.
Amen
We are going on.
Amen
It is going on.
Amen. Blessed be.