Hope is What You Do

On this Easter morning, we may not be optimistic about the state of the world, but it is the world Jesus lived in too.  Christianity has much to teach us.

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Transcript

Sermons from 

Mission Hills UCC

San Diego, California

Rev. Dr. David Bahr

david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org

April 20, 2025

“Hope is What You Do”

Luke 24: 5b-7 – Common English Bible

The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Human One[a] must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”.”

After supper, Jesus went to the Mount of Olives to pray.  He asked his disciples to stay awake and wait for him, but not surprisingly, when he came back, he found them sleeping.  Just then, a crowd showed up.  Judas walked over – “Greetings, Rabbi!” – and kissed Jesus.  That was the sign.  As soldiers began to take him away, one of his followers took a sword and cut off the ear of the high priest’s servant.  “None of this,” Jesus said, and he touched his ear to heal it.  “Why have you come with swords and clubs to arrest me, as though I’m a thief.  I was in the temple every day in broad daylight.  But,” he said, “this is your time, when darkness rules.”  

They led him away to the high priest’s house.  They tied him up, blindfolded him, and beat him.  They kept insulting him and taunting, “who’s hitting you?”  In the morning the chief priests and legal experts questioned him and declared, “Blasphemy!”  They rose up and led him to Pilate, the Roman governor, and accused Jesus of misleading the people.  They claimed, falsely, that Jesus opposed the payment of taxes to Caesar.  They claimed, falsely, “He calls himself a king.”  “Are you?” Pilate asked.  “That’s what you say.”  Pilate declared, “I find no legal basis for action against this man.”  That’s the language of the Gospel of Luke in the Common English Bible.  The religious leaders objected strenuously, arguing, “He agitates the people with his teaching.”  

When Pilate learned that Jesus was from Galilee, he passed him off to King Herod who was actually happy to meet the much-talked-about man and peppered him with questions, but Jesus didn’t respond.  The religious leaders kept accusing Jesus of treason and blasphemy.  They provided witnesses who lied and made things up.  Herod’s soldiers treated Jesus with contempt, dressing him in elegant clothes to mock him.  Herod passed him back to Pilate.  

Pilate asked again, “what has he done?  I have questioned him in front of you and neither Herod or I have found anything in this man’s conduct that provides a legal basis for the charges you have brought against him.  He’s done nothing that deserves death.  I’ll have him whipped, but then I’m letting him go.”  

But the unholy alliance of religion and empire shouted with one voice, “kill him!”  Why?  He offered them an alternative to Jesus, but a second time with more intensity, “Kill him.”  But why?  And a third time, “Kill him!!”  Pilate gave them what they wanted.  And with that, Jesus was led away to be executed.  They nailed him to a cross on which he hung until he breathed his last breath.  

We can’t proclaim an alleluia Easter morning resurrection story until we’ve been honest about the brutal execution of this innocent man on Good Friday.  And we can’t proclaim resurrection this Easter morning without also being honest:  It’s Good Friday in America.  Too harsh?  But saying it out loud, being honest, allows us to confront this harsh reality with the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.  Christianity has much more to teach us about how to live through these present times than we may think.  For some, Christianity is an escape plan.  Heaven awaits.  For others, we take seriously the prayer of Jesus:  “The Kingdom of God on earth, as it is in heaven.”  Now.

But first, I’m not optimistic about what’s coming next.  It feels like we’re standing on just the edge of something terrifying.  The Roman Empire of Jesus’ time mirrors the authoritarianism on the rise across the globe.  We can watch in real time all the ways Rome used the threats of violence and manufactured fear in order to center and maintain its power in one person.  And therefore, Caesars in every age attempt to disappear those they deem dangerous or defiant.  That was Jesus’ world.  What did he do?  And what does that tell us?

The world as we have known it based on the rule of law and centered on the pursuit of liberty and justice for all, however imperfectly, is at a breaking point.  Even though privilege shields most of us, when it’s done in our name, none of us are untouched.  It is easy to feel hopeless.  In fact, that’s often the intention.  But more to the intent, “If I do try to speak up, I could become a target.”  I’m not optimistic because optimism has to pretend this isn’t happening, can’t happen here.  Optimism brushes aside pain to find the silver lining.  I’m afraid there isn’t one, or at least I’m not optimistic about it.  But I am a Christian.  I’m a follower of Jesus.  And that means, I have hope.

You see, hope is different.  True hope is not simply wishing for things to get better, it’ll all work out.  It is about being part of the solution.  As Dr. James Cone, the father of Black Liberation Theology, said:  “Hope is not a feeling; it is something you do.”  Having hope, claiming hope is an act of defiance.  Just like joy is an act of resistance.

Hope, however, is not a one-time “something you do.”  It is a practice that must be nurtured.  Like the poet Amanda Gorman said:

 “Every day we are learning how to live with essence, not ease.

How to move with haste, never hate.  How to leave this pain that is beyond us – behind us.  

Just like any skill or any art, we cannot possess hope without practicing it.  It is the most fundamental craft we demand of ourselves.[1]

Unlike optimism which changes with how we feel, Christianity provides a way to live:  rhythms that sustain hope, like the weekly rhythm of worship, the daily rhythm of prayer, the regular practice of gathering in community, the necessity of Sabbath rest.  It is here that we encounter scripture which acts as a guide to help us remember that we have been here before and what to do, because “hope is not a feeling; it is something you do” when everyone around you screams:  “Don’t even try.”

The empire executed Jesus, but not just Jesus.  Rome crucified thousands.  Tens of thousands.  Bodies hung like billboards:  “Don’t cause trouble.  This will happen to you.”  In 71 BCE, Rome crucified 6,000 people along a single road – the Appian Way.  They used so much wood, they ran out of trees.  

But although they may have killed Jesus, they couldn’t stop him.  As Marianne Borg said so powerfully, “Crucifixion failed to liquidate and obliterate Jesus.  It failed to silence his followers.  It failed to erase him from memory.”  

The empire thought it had the power of inevitability.  They were certain, of course, the followers of Jesus would just give up.  But they weren’t seeking power.  They weren’t trying to take control and dominate the people.  They were dominated – perhaps there’s a better word – they were persuaded by, gave their life to, the world Jesus proclaimed:  Good news to the poor, release the prisoners, liberate the oppressed, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.  They sought the world his mother Mary proclaimed:  the powerful toppled from their thrones, the hungry filled, the humble lifted high.  They actually believed in the power of forgiveness, redemption, mercy and most of all, love.

Resurrection was God’s defiant holy refusal, but not just for Jesus.  Resurrection is God’s call to us to rise up with the Risen One and refuse injustice too.  Rising up for people Kilmar Abrego Garcia, who without lawful due process and made up excuses, is unjustly held in a Salvadoran prison.  In any age, empires attempt to disappear those it deems disposable or defiant, labeling them dangerous.  

Like Rome and its billboard of bodies lining the Appian Way, terror is the point but Jesus is the counterpoint, and therefore, we’re not afraid.  Now is the time to proclaim that we do not belong to those who divide and demean, they can’t control us.  We belong to Jesus who teaches us to love our neighbor and even our enemies.  It’s lazy to return hate for hate.  Our hope – our “do something” – must always reflect the love of God – seeking to expose malevolence without being consumed by it.  

Christian hope does not deny our feelings or pretend that everything is fine when it's not.  It acknowledges suffering in all its rawness and yet refuses to let it have the final word.  I may be not optimistic today, but I’ve got hope.  And that is much more powerful.  Hope is a powerful word of defiance on behalf of the crucified.  Together, let us be hopeful.  

Let us be hopeful for every trans teen daring to live.

Let us be hopeful for every undocumented soul in search of home.

Let us be hopeful for every Kilmar Abrego Garcia and all those threatened to be next.

Beloved, on this Easter morning, may we go, not just proclaiming that Christ is risen.  Let us all rise with Christ.

[1] Amanda Gorman, “Every day we are learning,” Call Us What We Carry, Viking, 2021, p. 52