Every year, as the seasons
change, we remember the passage of death to life.
Every year, after a long
winter, spring comes and things start growing again.
Every year, we remember the
story of Jesus, who was arrested, jailed, and executed, and then,
unexplainably, rose again.
Every year, we remember that
life is possible, even after the deepest pain.
Over the past year, I have
buried somewhere around 17 people. Today, we remember them and we remember
that, even after loss and death, this community will rise again.
A year ago, I had people in
Westport threatening to run us out of town—or burn us out. Today, I suppose we
still have plenty of people who dislike us, but we are still open, still
working for and hoping for a better world.
This passage of death to
life happens in the world around us. Those of you who like to garden see it
every year—everything dies back only to spring back to life as the earth grows
warm again.
It happens in our own
lives. Each of us carries our own burdens and memories and pain. Sometimes
wherever we end up in life leaves us on a self destructive path. Sometimes self
harm or drugs take over our lives or take over our communities. And, then,
somehow, we find some reason to live again. Some life deep within us and we
take hold of it. In the past year, I have watched several of our young people
find that strength to live again. To grab ahold of treatment or some desire to
stay clean or some hope of life—and with a tremendous amount of courage, find
health and hope again.
It happens in our
communities. We live in a place where 71% of our adult population has no job—is
out of the workforce, as the census says. Most of us are poor here. A lot of us
are young with no future. A lot of us are retirement age and have no support.
And, then, in the middle of the struggle, and all the things tearing our
community apart, and all our hatred for each other, comes some desire to
change, to live again, to make the world and the community better. A lot of you
have done this. You are doing this. You are learning to find life and hope and
love in a broken, amazing community.
Life.
Life coming out of the
death of our lives, our communities.
Around 2,000 years ago, a
group of women went to grave of a young man who had taught them to love each
other, who had taught them to build a better world, who had given hope to a
poor and forgotten community. Just a few days before, this young man had been
arrested, tried, and executed. These women were surrounded by death.
And, yet, when they entered
the burial cave, they didn’t find a dead body. Instead, they were promised that
this young man had risen and would meet them back home, in Galilee where they
are from.
This is where the earliest
manuscripts end the story.
With a promise of life.
Told a different way, Jesus
had sat with his hometown, with tiny farming and fishing communities and he had
built this movement of poor people who wanted change.
And he was a threat, right?
All the people getting rich and powerful off of the people of Galilee were
angry, all the people who hated tax collectors and prostitutes/sex workers, and
homeless people, they were furious.
So they arrested Jesus,
charged him, killed him.
And then, Easter morning,
his body is gone. He is risen.
Its like Jesus—its like God—is
giving all the powerful, all the powers that be, all the governors and
religious leaders—giving them the middle finger.
Giving the middle finger to
death and all the forces that were killing his people.
Giving the middle finger to
those who thought they could destroy the hope of poor communities.
Today, we gather in that
spirit.
Giving the middle finger to
all the things that bring death to us and our people and our community.
Giving the middle finger to
all the powers that seek to destroy us. To all the forces of hate and
destruction.
And, rising again.
Rising in power. Claiming
life.
Claiming life away from
addiction. Claiming life away from hatred of each other. Claiming life away
from all the powers that keep us poor and keep us struggling.
Some of you know we just
hired three young people who have just got clean and sober and we are launching
a small farm enterprise. We continue to visit our people in jail. We continue
to feed each other and try and learn how to take care of each other.
Every day, we claim life.
Every day, we end like those women at the tomb—with hope.
Hope that resurrection is
possible. Hope that no matter how many times we fall or how many times we fail,
we get up again and we learn to practice life, to practice resurrection.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!!
