The Turning Point of the Resurrection (April 27)

Readings, Revelation 1:4-8, 17-18 and John 20:19-31
Image, Caspar David Friedrich, Easter Morning, ca. 1828–35. 
 
Last week at Easter we meditated on and celebrated the faithfulness of Christ and the mighty acts of God. We marvelled at Christ’s tender care of his friends, his mercy amidst trial and terror, his victory over death and the surprising upturning of his resurrection. The Easter weekend is the crescendo of the work of Christ and all he finished and made new.
 
Now today, in our first readings following Easter there is still much to marvel. Jesus appears to his disciples offering them his peace, and to Thomas offering his wounds, he is envisioned at the end of the age coming on the clouds in glory, and he appears to John with all care and tenderness, offering words of comfort and hope: Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive for ever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades. Yet, despite all this we also glimpse the turning point the resurrection proves. The turning point in the narrative of the New Testament, as we move from the story of Jesus to that of his followers, living in the age between his resurrection and return.
 
For in the gospel reading, when Jesus brings his peace and presence, he says also, As the Father has sent me, so I send you. The disciples, still reeling at his arrival in their locked room, are already receiving their commission. This shouldn’t come as a shock. Jesus didn’t exactly hide that his work would be continued by them - going so far as to say they would perform greater works than he. But perhaps they were struck by the rapidity. Perhaps they, like Mary in the garden, thought they would get to cling to their Teacher a little longer before being sent. But the resurrection is a rupture, a new age has already begun.
 
The words in Revelation also signal the shift. As John remarks in his doxological greeting which we borrowed in our call to worship: To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. The sentence moves quickly from the action of Jesus (who loves and frees us) to what this makes us (a kingdom and priests). The great action of Christ swiftly reveals its meaning upon our lives. The great shroud of death is barely pierced, the reign of Sin is only recently deposed, the depths of hell just now harrowed, and already priests are being called to serve. The stone is barely rolled away and already the word is entrusted to the mournful pilgrims: Christ has gone ahead of you, hurry along after him. 
 
Now you might be thinking, yes, of course, no real surprise there, that is Christianity after all… but we must not lose sight that this turn was not made without surprising a few passengers. That the great work should begin after Easter is hardly expected or inevitable. When Jesus ascended to the heavens after commissioning his disciples, they stay looking at the sky expecting him to come right back (likely with fanfare and angel armies precipitating the Day of the Lord when every knee shall bow). And yet, like at the empty tomb, mysterious messengers have to idle up to Jesus’ followers to remind them, hey, the work is only beginning, remember, as the Father sent him, so he is sending you.
 
The One who loves and frees us makes us a kingdom, makes us priests, and sends us out. We who are baptised into Christ’s death also share in his resurrection which means to receive his peace, his breath, his Spirit, his commission. We are entrusted with his message, bid to follow in his way, called to carry on his work to the ends of the earth and the end of the age.
 
But of course, we do not do this alone. The focus may have shifted to the action of Christ’s followers, but Christ has hardly exited the story. As we heard in John, he breathes out his spirit upon the disciples and as we shall celebrate in a handful of weeks at Pentecost the Spirit will descend upon all those who call on the name of the Lord. This Spirit, our advocate and counsellor, enlivens and accompanies us as we go forth in the name of Christ. The Spirit, our friend, pours out fruit and gifts, until the day of Christ’s glorious return.
 
The presence of the Spirit and the promise of Christ not only ensure that we are not alone as we carry on the work of the Kingdom, but also ensure that in so doing our labour is not in vain. That the work we undertake as part of the great work, that the acts of mercy, justice, grace, love, joy we endeavour in the image of Christ - the faithfulness we show to the gospel call - will not be in vain. Our labour for Christ (in whatever form it takes) will not be the thing that saves the world, it will not usher in the return of Christ, it will not bring the kingdom in its fullness, but it is nonetheless part of that story. Our labour (however much is it recognised or noticeable in our day) will be swept up on that day, vindicated and incorporated not only into the slow progressive labour of the church, but also the expansive, surprising, mysterious, and ultimately victorious work of the Triune God in history.
 
Easter Sunday unfolds into the Easter season, as the story of Christ unfolds into that of his disciples following after him in the power of the Spirit. And in this season we take up our part in the great work, sent by Christ as he first was sent into the world in love and service. And as we go forth in Christ’s peace and with his Spirit, we take heart, because like Christ’s own labour which was vindicated in the resurrection, we know that our own labour (even if it sometimes feels small, perhaps sometimes even futile) will also be vindicated on the great and glorious day when Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth comes on the clouds with the restoration of the cosmos trailing on his heels.