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I find it interesting how and when holy people choose to die. I remember Mother Teresa dying a few days after Princess Diana died, as if to slip undercover into eternity. Pope Francis chose the day after Easter, so as not to distract, I suspect, from the glory of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
There was a lot I respected about Pope Francis, particularly how he sought to care for the poor, and his emphasis on environmental stewardship. I was even grateful for his clumsy attempts to try to remain open to communities the Catholic Church institutionally marginalized.
And so, in a world where there’s a lot to worry about, who emerges as the next leader of the Catholic Church is now added to that list. I’m sure there will be a fierce battle between the factions that want to further codify hierarchy, and male dominance, and power, and rigid structures, and those who want to flatten the system and make it look more like, I suppose, the Kingdom of God.
But into this anxiety and uncertainty, I want to again remind us of Easter: Jesus Christ has risen. And so, we are people of hope. We are people of resurrection. And resurrection people are people of fierce optimism.
My goal today is to harken our hearts to the reality that because Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, we can be people of perpetual optimism. Optimism is the word for the day! And not the kind of optimism that ignores the pain of the world, but the kind that dares to say: “This isn’t the end of the story.”
In today’s Gospel we see the earliest Christian community in a most human moment. “The doors were locked out of fear.” They’d watched Jesus die. Their movement, their dreams, their future, nailed to a cross. And so, they did what we often do: they shut themselves in. Closed the doors. Huddled with those they knew. And they waited, yet not knowing for what.
Fear is powerful. It tells us that the worst is inevitable. It isolates. It paralyzes. But then, Jesus walks through walls. He doesn’t wait for the doors to open. He doesn’t knock. He just shows up, wounds and all, and says: “Peace be with you.”
This is what resurrection optimism looks like… “Peace be with you.” Not naïve, not wishful, but divine disruption. A peace that walks through walls. A love that refuses to be shut out. A presence that cannot be held back.
And if we’re honest, our world knows a lot about locked doors. We are living in a time of rising authoritarianism, where rigid hierarchies and nationalist ideologies seek to close and divide. They already flourish in places like Russia, North Korea, Iran, China, Hungary, Turkey, and El Salvador; and are now impulses expressing themselves in Europe and South America with those same currents running through our context as well.
Why this rising authoritarianism? Fear, mostly. Fear provoked by uncertainty for how to navigate a world that seems so complicated.
This fear inspires a general desire in many corners of the world to return to “traditional” values. And not just traditional values as some might define around issues of marriage or gender or family or education (though these are a piece of the impulse); but a deeper nostalgia for a mythology that codifies people into rigid caste systems, making the claim that God directs people to be born into a particular context and so, locked into a particular destiny, rather than birth as a starting place from which to grow into one’s greatest gifts and passions for the glorious revelation of God.
To understand this deep “traditional” mythology I recommend Matthew Rose’s book: A World After Liberalism. It reveals some of the philosophical, if not theological, influences upon voices in this country at the center of power. Theirs is a worldview that says some are born to lead, others to serve; some are made to rule with crowns on their head, and others to obey.
But that is not the resurrection way.
Resurrection is not about assigning people to fixed stations. It is about calling everyone to full participation in the divine life. It is about breaking down dividing walls, not reinforcing them.
And that’s what makes resurrection so powerful: it’s not just about the individual; it’s about relationship. Our God is not a solitary, hierarchical ruler, but Trinitarian: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, a divine communion of love and interconnection. The resurrection is not an escape from the world, but an invitation into a new way of being in the world—with one another.
Which is why today’s shared meal between Epiphany and Holy Trinity Ukrainian Orthodox Church matters so much. For over 70 years, our two communities have shared space, two distinct traditions, united by the resurrection. And this year, we celebrated Easter on the same day. The campus was full. Anglican liturgy in the church. Orthodox liturgy in the chapel. God’s name proclaimed in different tongues, styles, and traditions. And today, we gather around tables, not to debate doctrine, but to share food. That’s resurrection living.
Resurrection living isn’t about avoiding reality. It stares reality in the face and says: “Peace be with you.” The risen Christ still bears wounds. Thomas still doubts. Peter still feels the sting of denial. The Roman Empire still rules. We are still uncertain about how to navigate this rapidly changing world. And Jesus walks through the walls, breathes the Holy Spirit, and gives us courage to go on, to live, to forgive, to proclaim. This is not a soft optimism. This is resurrection resistance. It’s the bold claim that love has not been defeated, that peace is not lost, and that God is not finished.
That is a reality we are living at Epiphany. Last week we had our third-largest Easter attendance since I’ve been here, behind only 2017 and 2019. In a post-pandemic world, that’s not just encouraging, it’s remarkable. It tells us something: the Holy Spirit is on the move, and people are listening, people are hearing, people are seeking… Especially younger folks. They’re looking for meaning, for connection, for truth that doesn’t flinch, diminish or divide.
The rigid systems of politics, religion, or economics are showing their cracks. And into that space, Jesus walks through the wall again.
Jesus shows up in a church that was counted out. Jesus shows up in prayer, in relationship, in the quiet moment of grace.
The Church is not dying. It’s refining. It’s rising. The Holy Spirit is on the move; which is why Jesus says to us, as he said 2000 years ago: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you”—out to be guardians of grace.
In an age of endless connectivity, we, paradoxically, find ourselves divided by algorithms, pushed into ideological silos, echo chambers and categories that separate and dehumanize, and drive us into locked rooms.
But in the Kingdom of God, there’s only one algorithm: the human soul. If you are alive, if you are breathing, if you were born, you have a soul. And it is through the soul that God connects to each human being. Resurrection is the articulation of that indomitable connection between your soul and God’s love.
It is not about rank. It is not about place. It is not about where you were born, or who you were born to; it is about your identity as a child of God.
That is our theology: We believe in a God who shows up for everyone. A God who made everyone fully and with great intentionality. A God who rose for the fearful, the doubting, the strong, the fragile in equal measure—for all of us.
So what does resurrection life look like? It looks like showing up at a shared meal between churches. It looks like being patient in an airport line. It looks like speaking peace into a conversation on the brink of animus. It looks like forgiving when you want to hold a grudge. It looks like believing that God is not finished with your story. Resurrection living is not abstract. It is tangible. It starts in locked rooms, and ends at open tables… which is why our altar is an open table where all are welcome.
Jesus said to the disciples, “You are witnesses of these things.” And so are we. We are witnesses to love stronger than death. We are witnesses to grace that breaks through walls. We are witnesses to the truth that even when the doors are locked, Jesus gets in. You’ve seen it. You’ve felt it. You’re part of it. And now, like those disciples, you are sent to proclaim it…
As we are reminded by the words of Peter today: “The God of our ancestors raised up Jesus… and we are witnesses to these things.”
That’s resurrection optimism: to speak boldly, live courageously, and love defiantly in the name of Jesus Christ. So step out, not with fear, but in faith. Not behind locked doors, but around open tables. Not with a scowl, but with sacred optimism, because Jesus Christ has risen from the dead—and we are resurrection people.
“Peace be with you.”