Lectionary Readings (note, we are using a trial version of the lectionary in Eastertide and the first reading can be found here)
In the name of the Risen Lord. Amen.
I remember one time hearing a theologian describe the challenge of her work as being, “God is very, very big and we are very, very small.” It’s a similar sentiment to what we heard in Exodus: “Who is like you, O LORD, among the gods? Who is like you, majestic in holiness, awesome in splendor, doing wonders?” The implied response is “No one.” When Israel was between Egypt’s army and the Red Sea, God alone was their salvation. When we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we have but one Good Shepherd to see us through. This passage from Exodus is a song proclaiming God’s incomprehensible and incomparable goodness and love.
The sermon on Easter Sunday’s main point was that Easter is a rebellion. The Resurrection of Jesus was not simply a good thing that happened to a great guy; rather the Resurrection is God’s overturning of our assumption, expectations, and limitations. More than event of the past to celebrate, Easter is an ongoing rebellion that we are a part of. As I said on Easter, the Resurrection makes rebels of us all. We are rebels against injustice, hopelessness, and fear. And what enables our rebellious stance against the chaos and brokenness of the world is that God is doing bigger, greater, and more beautiful things that we can imagine.
We heard in First Peter that through the Resurrection of Jesus, we have been given a new birth into a “living hope.” It’s a way of saying that our hope is not that because the Resurrection happened a long time ago and that sometime in the future we will get to partake of that sweet fruit of eternal life. I mean, that’s not a bad deal. In terms of human philosophies and world religions, the idea of heavenly bliss beyond the grave is pretty good. But compared to the rebellion of the Easter, a promise of “wait-and-see” falls far short of the glory of the Resurrection.
The rebellion of Easter is just as much alive today as it was on the day that God split the Red Sea and led the Hebrew people through on dry ground and just as much as on the day when the stone was rolled away from the tomb and the Risen Jesus appeared. Our faith stands on the conviction and declaration not that Christ was raised, but that he is risen. And so, as Sherlock Holmes would say, “the game is afoot.” Our very, very big God is up to something very, very good.
The passage from Exodus gives us some ways to participate in this rebellion. It’s often called the “The Song of the Sea” and many scholars think it was not Moses, but his sister Miriam, who led this song. Moses may have joined in, but Miriam was the author. Either way, this is an ancient hymn – even older than the written narrative of the Exodus. It’s a song that the Jewish people sang about their very, very big God for centuries as they remembered the saving events at the Red Sea.
The final verse proclaims that God is majestic in holiness, awesome in splendor, and is doing wonders. First – God is majestic in holiness. The word majestic means “expansive” and to be holy is to be distinct, different, or set apart. So being majestic in holiness is a way of saying that God is immeasurably grander than we can fathom. This is why, in the Gospel text from John, St. Thomas struggles with belief. And who can blame him? Thomas isn’t asking for proof, he’s not being a skeptic, he’s not calling his friends liars. He’s simply asking for what any of us want and what all of us have had – an experience of the Risen Jesus.
Each week, we gather to receive the Body and Blood of Jesus in the Eucharist – that’s what Thomas was seeking, to receive Jesus. And I’m glad that Thomas didn’t immediately drop to his knees when he heard the report from the disciples andƒ say, “Thanks be to God.” I’m glad Thomas held out for an experience because in doing so, he shows us what being in the rebellion of Easter is all about. Easter isn’t an intellectual experience or an opinion about whether something happened or not 2,000 years ago. Had Thomas just gone along without encountering the Risen Jesus, we might be tempted to sequester Easter to the realm of theory, to banish Easter to the land of history, to dismiss the majestic holiness of God as something of the past. Thomas shows us that Easter isn’t thinking the right things, it’s about encountering the risen Jesus in our very lives.
What I so appreciate about Thomas is where he grounds his fait. Thomas, more than any of the other disciples seems to “get it” when it comes to what Jesus is all about. When he’s told by others that they’ve seen Jesus, he doesn’t say “Great, so now we defeat the Romans” or “I want to have my turn to see the glory of God.” No, he says, “I want to see his wounds.” Perhaps Thomas was thinking about the prophet Isaiah who wrote, “By his bruises we are healed.” Or maybe he intuited the logic that St. Paul would later write about – that the Cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but for us it is the power of God.
We live in a world that prefers scars to wounds. We like being battle-tested, not vulnerable. Thomas though shows us that it is in weakness that we can spot the majestic holiness of God. As we read in First Corinthians, “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Thomas knew that he’d be able to tell Jesus apart from an imposter by the wounds that he suffered out of love for us. And this is where we’ll also encounter the presence of God in our midst – in the places of being lost, lonely, broken, and rejected. It’s a truth we know, but so easily forget: that in our weakness, we find the strength of God. But if we refuse to admit our neediness, acknowledge our wounds, or face our fears, we’ll close ourselves off to the majestic holiness of Emmanuel, of God with us.
Next, Exodus proclaims that God is awesome in splendor. When the translators of this passage were doing their work, I wonder if they were so focused on finding the right English word to use that they forgot how the masses would interpret the word “awesome.” We use the word “awesome” to describe the beauty of this church, or the purple mountain majesty of Pikes Peak, or the ice cream at Josh & John’s. But the word here means something more like “awe-inducing.” The older way of speaking about this was being fearful.
A lot of modern theology has moved in the direction of domesticating God, talking about God as our friend instead of the Almighty. Again, God is very, very big and we prefer things that we can manage, so we are tempted to make God smaller, more controllable. In CS Lewis’ Narnia series, when the Christ figure, the lion Aslan, is being introduced one of the children is, rightfully, nervous about meeting a lion and she asks, “Is he safe?” To which the creatures of Narnia reply, “He’s not a tame lion; of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.”
God is not tame, he’s rebellious and on the side of good. We heard that earlier in the Song of the Sea – “He has triumphed gloriously, horse and rider he has thrown into the sea.” Perhaps you can think of some horses and riders that you’d like to be thrown into the sea – maybe someone who wronged you or a politician you disagree with. Thank goodness that God doesn’t work for us otherwise I’m pretty sure we’d all be drowning in that sea of vengeance. But that doesn’t mean God isn’t continuing the rebellion against brokenness, violence, and greed.
Sure, dictators, disease, and death might have some momentary successes, but they will never have the victory because, to the previous point, God is with the lowly and God’s strength is found in what the world rejects as weakness. Indeed, God is awe-inspiring. Beloved, I know the work of treating all people with dignity, standing up for justice, praying for peace can be laborious and tiring. I also know that God’s mighty and rebellious hand has led to truth and justice in South Africa, it has led to progress in the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, it has led to this congregation being in this building instead of in exile. As our former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry is fond of saying, “Don’t you quit and don’t you get weary.” For, indeed, our God is an awesome and rebellious God.
Lastly, we heard that God is doing wonders. There’s one word that the New Testament never applies to Jesus – miracle. We use that word, wrongly, to speak about the wine at Cana, healing the sick, feeding the 5,000, the raising of Lazarus, and the Resurrection. A miracle is something that we can’t explain and defies the laws of physics, as we understand them. But the word miracle is never used to describe any of these wonders that God is doing.
Instead, the New Testament speaks of mystery. A mystery differs from a miracle in that instead of having a hidden cause, a mystery defies explanations. Mysteries are grander than our minds can ever fathom. One of the blessings used in the New Testament is “Glory to God whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.” God’s rebellion is not limited to particular and limited moments of divine favor, as suggested by talk of the miraculous. No, it’s a mystery, which has been defined not as something that is incomprehensible, but something that is endlessly understandable. A mystery is not something to solve, but enter into.
How is it that God split the Red Sea? I don’t know, but if I had been there, I hope I’d have the courage to walk through on dry ground. What exactly happened on Easter morning in that tomb? I haven’t a clue, but I’m glad to be part of the rebellion. How does admitting that we are powerless over our addictions help us to overcome them? I can’t say for sure, but I’m so glad that so many have found recovery by taking that first step. How does forgiving our enemies lead to our forgiveness? I can’t make it make sense, but I know that freedom and mercy tend to grow once we water that soil. How does love make all things well? I can’t explain that one, but it’s a truth we can feel in our bones and sinews. Easter isn’t a miracle in search of an explanation; it’s a mystery that enfolds the entirity of our lives.
God’s majestic holiness seen in weakness, the awe-inducing power of God to overcome evil, and the mysterious wonders that God is doing – these are truths about our very, very big God that Miriam sings about. God’s rebellion continues and our lives are verses of the ongoing song of God’s salvation. We will sing to LORD, for he has triumphed gloriously in Jesus Christ who is doing greater things than we can ask for or imagine. Amen.
