Easter 3C 2025

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

We have about as many reasons for being here today as we have individuals
present in the room. Some may have concerns that compel attendance, some may want
to see friends. Some may be here because it’s what they do on Sunday mornings. And,
yes, some of us are paid to be here.

Whatever the reason, we may be surprised to find that everything is suddenly
changed. One way is that the risen Christ might just show up. Another is that we could
find ourselves transported into the presence of the living God, surrounded by hosts of
heavenly beings and saints gone before us.

Both of those surprises are given to us in today’s lessons.
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Saul, whose change of life included a change of name, is suddenly confronted by
the risen Christ as he makes his way to Damascus to persecute believers. Peter, out
doing his day job (at night) is surprised by the appearance of a man wanting a few fish
for breakfast. And John, on Patmos, finds that his morning worship transports him way
beyond his bulletin and prayer book.

Turns out that it wasn’t going to be your typical Sunday morning.
We enter these doors most likely expecting to find what we’ve always found.
We sit where we usually sit, a holdover from the days when parishes were supported
by those who could afford to buy a pew for their family to sit in that year, while the
poor stood around in the back and in the balcony.

We expect to see familiar faces, sing familiar hymns, hear familiar words in
scripture and prayer. What if all that suddenly changed?

There’s a scene in an old episode of The Simpsons where the pastor finds he’s had
all he can take and launches into a tirade in the almost empty church. Bart and a couple
of others witness this, and as the camera pans to a stained glass window, Bart says, “It’s
a good thing Jesus wasn’t here to see that.”

But what would we do if Jesus did show up? What would our response be if we
suddenly found ourselves, in one way or another, in the actual, physical presence of the
risen Christ?

We try to recreate moments we read about in scripture. We quote Jesus’ words
when we pray, we say and sing the words that even Isaiah hears sung in God’s
presence. But we take them for granted, our rote performance little more than an
attempt to veil what we really desire, even if we don’t realize that.

Maybe that’s because the cost of our desire is so high we don’t want to pay it.
I’m not talking about offerings of money, or even talent or labor. John tells us what it
costs, shown to him in his vision.

Instead of a conquering hero or great warrior, he sees a lamb, a slaughtered
lamb. He sees those martyred for their faith, begging “how long until justice is served,”
even though justice for them is being in the presence of God. Like us, they seem to
think of justice in terms of revenge, which doesn’t seem be God’s own definition of the
term.

The one found worthy is the one who has been sacrificed. The one who is
worthy is the one who gave up everything coming to him. He was murdered, buried in
a tomb meant for another. But he stands at the throne of Almighty God, raised from the
dead, worthy to receive cries of “Holy, holy, holy.”

Way back in the good old days, when the Eucharist was to be celebrated, the
priest would ask those who considered themselves worthy of receiving communion to
come and kneel at the altar rail. If enough came forward, the prayers of confession and
to consecrate the bread and wine continued and those kneeling at the rail would receive
Holy Communion. If there weren’t at least five kneeling there, the priest would dismiss
the congregation and all would leave without receiving communion.

I wonder what would happen if we approached this table today in the same way,
but for a different reason. What if we came forward with some trepidation not because
we may not be worthy, because none of us really are, but because, with fear and
trembling, we might just find ourselves standing in the very real presence of Almighty
God?

In this Easter Season, and really for all time, we are called to bear witness to the
Lamb that was slain, who stands as both victim and victor in the presence of our
Creator. We can only do that by emptying ourselves of all that stands between us and
God, so that we might be filled with the light that shone on Saul, that presence that said,
“Cast your net on the other side.”

Only when we empty ourselves of our personal wants and demands can we be filled with the presence of the risen Christ.
Then, our lives become a greeting to all the world wherever we go. “Alleluia.
Christ is risen.” That’s why Jesus calls us here.