Peace Be With You

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

[phone pings]: John the Baptist imprisoned by local governor Herod, charged with libel against local imperial ruler

[phone pings]: Study finds one in ten residents of Roman territory in the regions of Galilee, Samaria and Judea live close to or below poverty line

[phone pings]: John the Baptist put to death by beheading

[phone pings]: New building project planned, as Herod looks to fill coffers; tax increases and call for unpaid labor expected.

[phone pings]: Could increasing chronic illness and need for healing in Galilee region be linked to stress of life conditions?  

[phone pings]: Jesus of Nazareth executed following trial before Roman Prefect Pontius Pilate. Whereabouts of movement’s inner circle unknown.

[phone pings]: Wisconsin Judge Arrested Over Immigration Dispute

[phone pings]: Small Agency Focused on Developing Poor Countries to Be Dismantled

[phone pings]: 2-Year-Old U.S. Citizen Deported ‘With No Meaningful Process’

[phone pings]: Could Mars be Elon Musk’s Next Business Venture?

[phone pings]: Measles Surge in Southwest Is Now Largest Single Outbreak Since 2000

[phone pings] [phone pings] [phone pings] [phone pings] [phone pings]

Silence

Peace be with you.

Silence

That’s how I imagine it; that evening of the Resurrection; that first Easter.

When the risen Christ appears for the very first time in this very real, constantly pinging world, these are his first words: “peace be with you.”

The disciples in that room – men and women, I believe — were terrified and, I imagine, overwhelmed. They had gathered behind closed doors, and tried to cut themselves off from all the noise, but still, the world must have barged in; even without pinging cell phone alerts. Their swirling synapses going over what has happened, and processing what is happening, and wondering what will happen.

When Jesus appeared, some of them must have had apologies and promises on the tips of their tongues. “I know I disappeared when things got bad.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay awake.” “I was afraid they would kill me too.“ “I will do better, be better,” they might have been ready to say.

But before any of them could open their mouths to let out the produce of those swirling synapses, Jesus offered them peace. Twice.  

I know that we like to mark the birth of Capital T-The capital C-Church on Pentecost. But I think what we might have here today in this reading, is an account of the birth of the smaller, more intimate, everyday church. This gathering of good-if-messy humans in the presence of Christ; brought into being — breathed into being — by Jesus himself. This little gathering of peace. This church.

Of course, the appearance of the risen Christ is enough to surprise or shock anyone’s system all on its own. But the appearance of the risen Christ as the God of peace? That changes everything.  

Because it is hard to believe (or has been for me on some days) that after the horror of the cross, God actually loved us that much. So much as to come offering peace, first. It is so easy to imagine a judgmental God who comes back to seek vengeance. And I dare say the dominant brand of Christianity in our time and place seems to embrace that image of that God, who is not our God; as though they are stuck in the anxious moments before the risen Christ speaks those words, “peace be with you.”

The risen Christ does not add to the pinging. Does not come with anxiety or fear or guilt or shame. Does not come with raised voice or threatening posture. The risen Christ comes in quiet and in calm. And offers, first, peace.

A deep shalom kind of peace that invites us to take a breath, to quiet our swirling synapses, to return to our bodies. To know that God is right here, even and especially where there is great suffering.

A kind of peace that strengthens us to go back out into that pinging world, and offer this peace that we have been given to it. In big noticeable ways God challenges us to engage in – through action toward justice and public words and protest. And in small ways; through treating each encounter as though it were an encounter with Christ; with love and patience and kindness and calm and peace.  

We do not see force or forced belief in these early hours after the resurrection. Instead, we see the gentle invitation to touch and see; to experience that peace, and believe. Faith will not be born of force, or aggression or judgement or shame. It will be born of peace.

What a miracle it is, amidst the pinging and through our swirling synapses that we have a standing, always, every day, every hour invitation to the peace of the risen Christ.

And so, whether you have been coming here to this gathering for years, or weeks, or this is your first time. I hope you can feel that invitation to peace this morning. The peace of the risen Christ that is offered first and upfront, before anyone has a chance to say anything; without strings.

The peace of the risen Christ that is offered every time we gather as a community of disciples here, following a long line of such gatherings that started that evening, that first Easter.

The peace that changes everything.

Peace be with you, alleluia.