The Greek word for “Good News,” euangelion, was part of Rome’s political vocabulary. “Good News” was something the Emperor of Rome enacted through beneficial acts, such as declaring a tax holiday. Jesus and his disciples torqued this political language for their own purposes.
On Easter morning, the two Marys in Matthew 28 run to the disciples with their own “Good News”: Jesus was alive! They had heard his voice and touched his feet with their hands! Meanwhile, the chief priests paid off the soldiers and had them make up a story of false news, that Jesus’ body had been stolen. Here we see two different forces at play—the force of good news, a love stronger than death, and the force of false news, the hate of those who wanted to erase Jesus.
Where do you see these forces today? The force of those in power who want to suppress truth for their own gain? The force of love rising up like sap in the maple trees in subversive and surprising ways?
The Good News of Jesus’s love is alive and well in our world. Let’s hold onto the Good News of Jesus’ resurrected love. Let’s not give in to the false news of despair that tells us the world is doomed to darkness, and we are too powerless to change anything.
Let’s ask Jesus to give us a “charism of resurrection”—a Spirit-given capacity to believe in subversive love as the ultimate power, as well as the desire to exercise this love, even in the midst of the ache and fear we feel. Let’s open ourselves to the presence of the resurrected Christ and see what emerges in us. Let’s see what grows.
The ache we feel as we look at the world is real. But so is the feeling of warm sun on our backs. The snap of twigs under our feet. The sight of white blossoms opening in the sun. The zooming sound of the hummingbird flying through the air. The consolation of a deep conversation.
The ache is real. But so are the choices we make. We can show up. Speak out. Reach out. Connect. Apologize. Forgive. Laugh. Protest. Write letters. Walk in the forest. Plant a garden. Risk change. Make a meal. Invite people over.
The ache is real, but so is the charism of resurrection. So is the presence of Divine Love flowing communally among us.
In closing, I offer you the words of poet Gideon Hughes as he muses over what the good news of Easter might be saying to us:
Maybe it’s saying that divinity isn’t shining lofty on a throne, but walking bent-double among the brokenness, curling up in the dark hollows and thus hallowing them.
Maybe it’s saying that the answer isn’t violence, or hatred, or dominance, but love, and the sacrifices it asks us to make.
Maybe it’s saying that the final word is always grace, and that we’re therefore part of something more expansive, hopeful, and wonderful than we could imagine.
Blessings, Anne