Embodying Resurrection: Hope, Justice, and Love in Action

This morning we returned to the tomb, but not with certainty, not with clarity. We return like the women in Luke's gospel carrying grief, confusion, and a love that refused to stay home. They came while it was still early, still dim, still in between night and day, death and life, despair and possibility. They carried spices to anoint the body. They didn't come expecting resurrection; they came to honor what had already ended. And yet something is different: the stone is rolled away, the body is gone, and two messengers say, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he is risen." [00:40:29]

Spend a moment in that time without rushing too fast into the joy of resurrection. I want to invite you for a minute to linger in the in-between because that moment, that in-between moment, is full of tension, full of shock and wonder and disbelief. The women ran to tell the others what had happened, and what do they get? Dismissed. The first preachers of the resurrection were not believed because the voices that told the story were the voices of those who are far too often not heard and not valued. [00:41:32]

Luke's gospel tells the reality of how people often respond to good news, good news that they're not ready for, good news that doesn't fit their expectations, that maybe doesn't fit their own narrative or doesn't fit what they believe. They call it nonsense, and yet the women knew what they had seen. The angels said to them, "Remember." And they did remember. They remembered what Jesus had told them about love and suffering and rising. They remembered his ministry, how he healed, how he welcomed, how he forgave, and how he flipped the tables of injustice. [00:42:35]

They remembered his final words, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Those were Jesus's last words on the cross, his last words—words of mercy, words of grace, words that remind us that even when facing a cruel and torturous, painful death, Jesus never stopped loving. And when the women remembered, they stepped into that in-between space between death and life, and they proclaimed hope. So here's the question for us today: what does it mean for us to believe in the resurrection now, here, in our world? [00:43:59]

Because we live in an in-between time too, between fear and faith, between injustice and healing, between division and connection, between what has been broken and what we dare to hope can be restored. We live in a world where the truth is often dismissed, where violence is glorified, where power protects itself, and the vulnerable are kicked to the curb. We live in a time when people are being deported without due process, when trans youth are being criminalized just for existing, when racial justice remains unfinished, and creation itself is groaning for mercy. [00:45:20]

And so in a time such as this, this time that we're living in, the message of Easter is not just a sweet reminder that Jesus is alive. It's a call to remember that we are Easter people; we are resurrection people, and we are called to rise. I want to tell you about a resurrection story not quite as old as the resurrection story we're celebrating today. This one is just 40 years old, and some of you might remember it; some of you are too young to remember it. [00:46:47]

But it's the story of Anthony Ray Hinton. In 1985, some of us might have been in high school then—not to name names—Anthony Ray Hinton, a 29-year-old black man from Alabama, was convicted of two murders he did not commit. He was working at a warehouse miles away when the crimes occurred, but his court-appointed attorney failed to present a solid defense. The state said that the bullets used in the crimes matched the gun found in Hinton's mother's home, even though later tests would prove that that was false. [00:47:50]

Hinton was sentenced to death and spent nearly 30 years on Alabama's death row. For three decades, he lived in a 5-by-7 cell, but through it all, he clung to his faith. He prayed; he believed. Not only did he believe in his innocence, of course, but he believed in a God that still saw him, and he knew he wasn't alone. His church community in Alabama and faith leaders across the state stood by him. They advocated for him; they told his story over and over and over again, even when that story was dismissed. [00:48:58]

They refused to let the world forget him. As Anthony would later say, "I had a whole church choir behind me, and they never stopped singing." Kind of cool to say that with them sitting there. It's always a little awkward to preach when they're all back there. But a breakthrough occurred in the story when Brian Stevenson, a public interest lawyer and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, took up his case. For years, Stevenson and his legal team fought the courts and pushed back against a deeply racist and broken justice system. [00:50:01]

While the community, his faith community, continued to raise their voices, ultimately, Hinton's case was brought to the US Supreme Court. And in 2015, 10 years ago, the court unanimously overturned his conviction. For 30 years, he was imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, and at the end of that time, he walked free. He could have left with bitterness; we could all understand that, couldn't we? I mean, 30 years—some of you haven't been around for 30 years. He could have left with rage, certainly could have left with vengeance. [00:51:24]

But he didn't. Instead, he chose love, and he said, "You know, I had to forgive. If I hadn't, they would have taken the rest of my life too." Today, he's a public speaker, an author, and an advocate for improvements to the criminal justice system. His memoir, titled "The Sun Does Shine," was part of the Oprah Book Club selection. But this story is more than just about a release from prison; it's about resurrection. He was buried by the lies of a broken system, entombed in isolation and injustice, but he rose through the love, persistence, and advocacy of his faith community. [00:52:47]

And his unshakable hope in God. His story reminds us that resurrection is not just something that happened to Jesus so many years ago that we celebrate once a year with Easter baskets and a ham dinner. It's been happening and continues to happen when justice breaks through, when people are lifted from despair, when we choose forgiveness instead of revenge, and when love refuses to be silenced. So inspiring, isn't it? So let that inspiration be added to our invitation for this Easter, that this Easter we don't just believe in the resurrection; we live the resurrection. [00:54:01]

We too can choose presence over certainty. We too can choose to be kind before insisting on being right. We can stay a little longer in the in-between, and then, though we must move, because the world doesn't need people shouting across the divide, it needs people who stand in the gap, who show up, who speak up, who refuse to give up. People who feed the hungry, people who protect the vulnerable, people who tell the truth and fight for truth, people who love their enemies, people who resist injustice not with hate but with bold compassion. [00:55:57]

This is not a passive belief. As followers of Jesus, we're not called to just believe in him. He never said, "Come and believe in me." What did he say? Follow me. Thank you. He said, "Follow me." He said, "Follow, follow me." Come and follow me because resurrection doesn't just mean that the tomb was empty; it means that our world is not beyond saving. It means we rise with Christ in our choices, in our relationships, in our resistance, in the way we love. [00:57:56]

So today, my friends, don't just say, "Christ has risen." Be part of that rising. May it be so. Amen. [00:59:58]