The Church of St. Paul and the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
April 4, 2021
Easter Day
Acts 10:34-43
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
John 20:1-18
Abundant Alleluias in a World Hungry For Hope
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Happy Easter, everyone!
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
So, fair warning: I’m going to try to get as many “alleluias” as I can into today’s sermon and service.
I doubt there will be any complaints about that, because it feels so good to say this ancient and beautiful word of praise, doesn’t it?
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Part of the reason why it feels so good to say “alleluia” this morning is that during Lent, in addition to asking us to make a personal sacrifice – chocolate is the classic example – the church also requires us to fast from saying what we refer to during those forty days as only the “A word.”
So, ever since Ash Wednesday, over the long season of Lent, the word “alleluia” has been completely absent from our lives.
Well, actually, that’s not quite true.
I can think of at least three times over the last few weeks when I’ve heard and, yes, even said, “alleluia.”
Back just before the start of Lent, I reminded everyone who calls into our Church By Phone services that we would be refraining from saying “alleluia.”
Most people remembered, a few slipped up in the first few days, and one person just kept on sharing her “alleluias” with the rest of us.
Day after day, I’d conclude each service with “Let us bless the Lord.”
And, without fail, she would respond, “Thanks be to God. Alleluia! Alleluia!”
At first I thought about giving her a call and explaining about how we give up that word for Lent, but then I thought, you know, this has been such a hard time - it feels like we’ve been in Lent for a whole year – and it sounded to me like she just could not contain her “alleluias.” It sounded like she couldn’t help but express her joy and gratitude that, despite our forced separation, we can still hear each other’s voices, we are still able to pray together, even if it is over the phone.
Abundant alleluias in a world hungry for hope.
The second time I crossed paths with “alleluia” was at our dear brother Alton Avaloy’s funeral, just a few weeks ago.
It was such an emotional afternoon, all of us still shocked and sad at the sudden loss of this good man, but also reassured by the resilience of our community – a community that, after all this time apart, came out in large numbers to say goodbye to our friend and to support his family, especially his mom, Sonia.
In my homily I told everyone that we were going to break our Lenten fast and shout “Alleluia” because, despite our grief, we rejoice that God is never going to let go of Alton, we rejoice at Alton’s new life with God, we rejoice that for Alton it was already Easter – for Alton, it is Easter forever.
How could we possibly contain our “alleluias?”
Abundant alleluias in a world hungry for hope.
And, finally, there was Maundy Thursday evening.
Our Holy Week services are always important to me, but this year I tried to enter into them more mindfully as usual, taking in the beauty of this place, appreciating the chance to be here with “tech support” and Gail, with so many of you participating at home.
When I had reviewed the bulletin a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t noticed that the “Hallelujah” at the end of the psalm had not been deleted.
So, there we were, live on Facebook on one of the most solemn nights of the year, Sue and I reciting the psalm responsively, and I concluded the last verse loud and clear so everyone at home could hear it, “Hallelujah!”
Sue flinched.
A split-second later I realized what I had done and almost clapped my hand against my mouth, trying to retrieve the forbidden word.
I was embarrassed. How could I, “a highly trained and deeply experienced religious professional,” make such a mistake?!?
But, later that night, I thought about all that we have been through together – all that this place has meant to me and will always mean to me – and I thought, how could I possibly contain my “alleluias”?
Abundant alleluias in a world hungry for hope.
Early on that first Easter morning, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb of Jesus.
John doesn’t tell us why she was there by herself, alone in the dark.
Maybe she remembered Jesus’ promise of rising on the third day, and she went to see, just in case something so unlikely could possibly be true.
Maybe - after all the horror of past few days and looking ahead to an uncertain future - she just wanted some time as close to Jesus as she could get.
Maybe even she didn’t know why she was there, what she hoped to find.
Well, at first, when she discovered the empty tomb, Mary’s heart must have broken yet again, fearing that someone had stolen the body, creating even more suffering for all those who had loved Jesus.
She rushes to get help. And Peter and the other disciple run their race to the tomb. They see its shocking emptiness. All that’s left is a cloth and linen wrappings. Maybe out of shock, fear, or just not knowing what to make of all this, the two disciples head back home – no help at all.
But Mary Magdalene remains.
And then, in one of the most powerful and poignant moments in all of Scripture she hears a voice – she hears that voice - she hears the voice of Jesus – call her name, “Mary!”
And, right then and there, early in the morning in a garden, a new age dawns.
In that moment, Mary Magdalene is the church – she’s the first person in the whole world to know the good news, the best news of all time:
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
And, there’s no way that Mary Magdalene could possibly contain her “alleluias,” right?
So, she immediately rushes to tell the others - and soon enough Peter and the other apostles, and Paul, and so many others through the ages won’t be able to contain their “alleluias,” either.
They will share their abundant alleluias in a world hungry for hope.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
And now, my dear St. Paul and Incarnation friends, it’s time for us to share our abundant alleluias in a world that is so hungry for hope.
It’s time for us – all of us, now – to share our “alleluias” each time we call in for prayer.
It’s time for us to share our “alleluias” by welcoming our first refugees and asylees into the new Lighthouse.
It’s time for us to share our “alleluias” by feeding the hungry and clothing the naked at Triangle Park, and the homeless drop-in center, and wherever we find them.
It’s time for us to share our “alleluias” with the young people of our community, offering them a different way, offering them love and opportunity, inspiring them to finally lay down their weapons – the best way, the only way, to honor young men like Zaimier and Kaheem, whose young lives were recently snuffed out on the streets of Jersey City.
It’s time for us to share our “alleluias” by heading into our future, not with fear, but with the confidence of people who know that since Jesus is raised, no matter what happens, no matter how far from home we travel, there is nothing that can ever separate us from God’s love, nothing that can separate us from each other.
After all we have been through together – after journeying from death to new life – how can we not share our abundant “alleluias” in a world hungry for hope?
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Amen.
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