Here’s my sermon from Easter Sunday.
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Because I grew up Africa in countries that were British colonies, I primarily learned European history in school. My history teacher in seventh grade at the Lusaka International School was Ms. White, who was a rather intimidating British woman. One of the things I remember learning about from her was the Pax Romana, which is Latin for Roman Peace. (I assume they mentioned it in American schools, too.) As you may recall, it was a period of about two hundred years where the Roman empire was relatively free of wars and conflicts. To put that in perspective, in the 250-year history of our nation, we have had only seventeen years without war.
Two centuries without war is rather astounding, until I realized that the part Ms. White didn’t emphasize was the main reason there was no conflict is the Romans were so strong and so vicious that they beat everyone into submission. It wasn’t true peace; it was domination. They bullied the world to be under their occupation and called it peace.
And it was the world in which Jesus lived since he spent his days in Palestine under that very Roman occupation, and it was the world in which the gospel writers penned their stories.
That context is crucial as we stand at the empty tomb.
For Matthew, it was literally earth-shaking.
As we read, the tomb was opened by an earthquake. When the women arrived, they found an angel beaming with such brilliance that the combination had frightened the Roman guards to the point that they fell unconscious. And then the messenger said what all of the angels have said throughout Matthew: “Don’t be afraid.” I love what one commentator wrote:
The angels in Matthew’s gospel are like my UPS person. They are focused on their job—to deliver the Good News. They don’t show up to sell it to us. They aren’t there to be our buddy or to empathize with us. They are there to deliver their package, and it’s up to us to sign for it, open it, and use it. The good news they deliver is only ever preceded by one short, preliminary sentence: “Don’t be afraid.”
The angels may have moved on like delivery people, but Jesus spent his life on earth. He was born into this world as a baby and stayed here long enough to grow into one who brought a message that went far deeper than calling us simply calling us to see beyond our fear.
In the verses we read this morning, Matthew does what he has done throughout his gospel, which is to show how Jesus came to turn the world upside down, to call us to a life of love, to a way of peace and justice that is created through relationship, not enforced by the power of empire.
Even though we have only gotten as far as the Sermon on the Mount in our journey through Matthew this year, we have already heard Jesus’ call to a deeper love for one another, and for a real and abiding peace that comes through relationships: blessed are the poor, love your enemies, share everything you have.
When we read the names given to Jesus in the Gospels and in Paul’s letters, which were also written in this context of Roman domination–Lord, Savior, Son of God–we are reading names first claimed by Caesar (whichever Caesar was in power at the time).
Matthew and the others took the titles of empire and shook them like the earthquake shook the tomb, ascribing them to Jesus in order to show who Jesus was and to call us to live a life of love and justice in response to God’s unmitigated love. The empty tomb was yet another way of showing that God’s love was stronger and more eternal than anything the Romans could force into existence.
Jesus talked about “the kingdom of God” in direct contrast with the kingdom, the empire, of Rome, but what he described was not a kingdom; it was a community, a mutual economy that had no need for empire. Jesus said that community is here now: the kingdom of God is among us, within us, between us. As we have noted since we began reading Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth: Jesus’ name is God Is With Us.
God is with us and we are with each other. Love is stronger than brute power.
The Roman Empire told people peace was achieved through violence, through military domination. In order to achieve dominance they built roads and water systems and things that had benefits for everyone, alongside of being unjust and oppressive and killing anyone who disagreed. They told people that was what normal civilizations did, which is a persistent lie that continues to affect our world. A thriving economy doesn’t justify injustice.
Jesus was a victim of their violence. Empires need to silence their critics. The Romans thought the cross would be an effective silencer. They thought power was stronger than love.
But then came the earthquake and Jesus broke their forced silence ended. And the story that we continue to tell—the story that we are still a part of—shows what can happen when the followers of this one who incarnated God’s love take seriously his commission to tell the world that love conquers all, not with violence, not by force, not by intimidation, by through compassion, kindness, and extravagant generosity.
As we stand together at the empty tomb this morning, let us ask ourselves, “When was the last time our trust in God, or trust that love conquers all, felt earth-shaking?” We still live in a world where those in power tell us that peace comes through violence, that we have to be at war to be safe, that we must annihilate our enemies if we don’t want to be afraid. Their voices are loud, but the words they are saying are lies.
We stand here this morning telling the story of Jesus’ resurrection and those who executed him have long since faded into history. Those who still cling to those same lies of power will fade away as well, but love will not.
This is the message of Christ’s resurrection: love conquers all, not by force, but through relationships, through the small tremors of kindness and compassion and hope; through trusting that God is with us and we are with each other.
May the truth of those words never stop sending tremors of hope through our lives. Christ is risen. Alleluia. Amen.
Peace,
Milton