Easter Day 2008 Sermon by John Ashe

Each year, for those who spend time reflecting on the events of that first Holy Week, there is a whole range of emotion through which we come as we walk with Jesus along the way of the cross.

Palm Sunday is charged with expectation as Jesus rides into Jerusalem – his followers thinking that exciting things were about to happen – perhaps even a revolution and the end of Roman occupation.

But gradually things begin to evolve very differently. Despite one or two acts of protest, such as turning over the tables of the money-changers in the temple, Jesus seems to give in all too easily – and by Friday he has been put to death.

This year, we have had the assistance of the BBC in experiencing Jesus' act of love. The film, The Passion, is a most stimulating interpretation of Jesus' death, recognising that there are not simply "Goodies" and "Baddies" in the story – but ordinary people torn in different directions by their conflicting loyalties. And in the midst of the mess of human interaction, we see this great act of supreme love.

As we reached Good Friday, Jesus' cry on the cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" becomes a dominant emotion and yesterday, Holy Saturday is a waiting period between death and resurrection.

We may look back and see that "in-between" day from the perspective of Easter and the resurrection – but for those at the time, there was little hope that things would turn out better, no light at the end of the tunnel, no assurance that all would be well.

Iraqi's after 5 years of war, Zimbabweans facing shortages of food, Palestinians and Israelis who have forgotten how to live at peace. For countless people in the world today, that "Holy Saturday" view of life is their daily reality. A sense that if God was ever present, he is certainly absent now.

The words of a South African woman from the days of forced removals and apartheid sum up the experience of many. She said:-

"We had no choice; the guns were behind us; then they bring us to this sad place. Here there is not enough food. I am hungry now, as I am sitting here. Everybody has died. My man has gone and died, as have my daughters. They took my land away. The Lord has also gone, yes, I suppose he has also gone.”

Where has God gone for such people? Where is God in a world of suffering?

One answer to the apparent absence of God - which seems to get space in the press and coming from the pen of people like Richard Dawkins – is simply that there isn't a God at all, and we are wasting our time looking!

But, perhaps the problem is that we are looking in the wrong place? We are looking for an answer to our problems – for someone else to come in and make it all right – to make the world's suffering go away.

Perhaps we need to remember how God came into this world in the first place. The Victorian poet George McDonald puts it like this:-

THEY all were looking for a king

To slay their foes and lift them high:

Thou cam'st, a little baby thing

That made a woman cry.

God comes – not to do the work for us – but to show us how it might be done. And the method he demonstrated was the way of humility, the way of the cross, of giving, whatever the cost.

The tragedy of life is that however much we may assent to that theory, we just cannot seem to live it out in practice. Even the Church, the organisation set up specifically to further Jesus' work, has often, throughout history, got it monumentally wrong – and it seems to further its own ends. Surely that is only human – some put it down to the existence of a selfish gene which enables the human race to survive.

But Jesus calls us to be human in a different way – we might almost say that he wants us to be human in a divine way, as he was himself.

Jesus sets the example of taking the most enormous risk – giving away his very life – and only then, following such an act of love, something new comes.

We call it resurrection – and there can be no resurrection without death. The world can never become a better place until men and women and children are willing to give their lives away . . . . and you and I are called to do just that.

We're not here looking for a solution to our problems – we are here to become the solution.

When the disciples reached the empty tomb on Easter Day, they were greeted with the news – "He is not here . . . he has gone ahead of you". And I am almost tempted to say the same – Jesus is not here – he is out there. Yes, of course we find him here in bread and wine and in each other. But Jesus does not live in here – he has gone on ahead of us – to the poor and the marginalized – always looking for the lost.

For example - He is with those most affected by climate change – and we might accompany him there as we reduce the energy we consume. He is with those who do not feel welcome in his house – and we might serve Jesus as we make our welcome more real. He is with those with whom we disagree – and we might find him in them as we ask the question of ourselves – not, how are they wrong? – but, how have I got it wrong?

There is a lovely prayer known as the carpenter's prayer – for Jesus was the son of a carpenter and probably grew up learning how to use his father's tools.

O Jesus Christ, Master Carpenter of Nazareth, who, through wood and nails,

purchased our full salvation,

wield well your tools in the workshop of our lives,

so that we, who come to you rough hewn,

may be fashioned by your hand

to a truer beauty and a greater usefulness:

for your Name's sake. Amen.

We will find Easter renewal and resurrection hope for the world, as we look to Jesus, not as a potential solver of the world's problems but as divine inspiration to love – to let God remake us in the image of Christ.

Yes, God is in here – and here, in bread and wine, we are assured of his love for us. Then, as resurrected people, we are challenged to take that self-giving love into the world outside.