Peace

This sermon was given on Sunday 18th April at both our Zoom and our physical service. The Gospel reading was Luke 24:36b-48.

My office at home is at the back of our house. It has French doors that lead into our garden, and it's been lovely - in those times I've not been staring at my laptop screen - to look out to see the changes in the plants and trees over the last few weeks; to see signs of spring appearing and the garden bursting into life. Each day I look and see new vibrancy and colours, more birds and butterflies; new signs of life.

 And it's the same in the country as a whole; as covid restrictions have gradually lifted over those same few weeks, it's been incredibly emotional to see signs of life return in our public spaces as friends and family meet again after months of corporate winter. There's been a great deal of joy as lives begin again to interconnect and the virtual becomes corporal and physical and real.

But... And there is always a 'but', isn't there? But, there are still fears. Very real fears.

 

In my garden, I've been concerned that the plants have blossomed too soon. After all,  it has been less than only two weeks since we have had snow. What if garden life has rebloomed too early, and found itself frozen and killed in its hasty return? What then would happen to the seeds I've planted and the flowers already emerging in my garden?

 And out in our villages, towns and cities, there is a similar - but larger - fear. Post covid, are we now too hastily returning to a semblance of normality? In our desire to regain physical contact, are we risking another covid wave? Could we be causing more pain and death through our longing for a return to comfort and life?

 

In new life, as well as joy, there is a very real fear. I remember when Isaac was born, just how carefully I drove both Jen and him home from the hospital that first time, and  - more recently - when Miriam was a tiny baby, the trepidation that grew in me those  first nights when her little sounds of snuffling went silent through the baby monitor - it was, of course, purely her settling down to sleep, but these fears are natural in any new parent's mind. We fear the unknown and the unpredictable; and what is more unpredictable than a life we do not and cannot control? Isaac demonstrated that again to us only last weekend, in falling off the monkey bars at the park, and breaking his arm, leaving both Jen and I concerned for a number of reasons; the fear that springs from letting others - and ourselves - live freely is real.

 It's not really of any surprise then, that when Christ appeared to his friends in our Gospel reading this morning - his first appearance to them all together since his crucifixion - that his first thoughts were not of sharing an emotional high with his disciples, but of calming their fears. Here was new life, and although it was joyous, it was also terrifying. And so, Christ's first words were not those of joy, but of peace. There his disciples were, telling each other tales of a rumoured resurrection, and - then, when it was awesomely confirmed before their very eyes - it was peace they needed first.

 Peace be with you.

 

Life is changing. Peace be with you.

 

After that first Easter, life was never the same again, and yes, it was - and is - of course joyous, but that change is Scary. Capital S scary. In a world turned upside down, peace was the first thing that was needed. Peace be with you.

 And now, in a world forever changed - turned upside down - by covid, life will not be the same again. It is joyous to see a regaining of what was lost, but we know that we are forever changed now. Peace is what is needed. Peace be with you.

 There really is a concrete similarity between the two situations. In that first century room of broken, beaten-down people, fearful to go outside, afraid to meet together in public, hope returned. Hope that was tangible. Hope that encouraged others to touch it's hands and feet. Hope that ate with them. Hope that brought - before anything else - peace.

 And now, here we are. Broken, beaten-down people. Fearful of a virus that threatens to mutate or resurge, afraid to meet with friends and family; still cautious about touching and eating with each other, but hope is returning; hope of signs of new life and resurrection all around us, hope that points towards the greatest hope there is... and the first word brought by the greatest hope after it appeared to his disciples is 'peace'. Peace be with you.

 When Christ rose from the dead nothing would ever be the same again. I mentioned it before, but now, after covid, nothing now will be the same again either - not exactly. The way people work has changed forever, the traditional office is now a thing of the past, the hospitality industry is likely transformed for many years to come, and what people value as important in their lives has been given a fresh perspective. We in the church will also likely have long-term questions to answer about how we worship communally from now on, and how we can best serve our community in the world that is to come. There is no doubt that this is scary; change always is, but we have the greatest hope. Peace Be With You.

 Our Gospel this morning ends with Christ calling his disciples to be his witnesses. That is people who have seen something and can testify to it. We too are called to do the same. In a world still so full of fear, we have seen something it drastically, drastically needs. And can testify that is real; Peace.

 Peace be with you.

 

Amen