Second Sunday of Easter

Luke 20:19-31, Revelation 1:4-8


"Where are you?" God says, walking in the garden in the cool of the afternoon. Who knows how long the Creator brushed past the bushes and leaves before the first man and woman stepped out of their hiding place. Perhaps it was when God was almost on top of them. Perhaps the One who had breathed life into Adam was about to step right into the middle of their hiding place. Whatever it was, Adam stood up and says that, indeed, they had heard that God was near, but they had been afraid. So, they hid.


Jesus, in today's gospel, comes wandering right into the middle of the disciples' hiding place. They were hiding out of fear. And with good reason. Their leader had been executed just as any political prisoner was. He'd endangered the Pax Romana—the Peace of Rome. The great and mighty empire could not allow anyone to disrupt that peace. And everyone knew that the followers of an executed leader could, quite likely, start their own brand of trouble. There was, after all, the missing body at the tomb and the (fake) story about its theft.


Like Adam and Eve, the disciples had walked together with their Beloved in the afternoon. They knew, as the prophet once declared, that their Redeemer lived. But they were afraid. They are, thankfully, just like me.


One day, I often think, someone will discover that I'm a fraud. They'll stumble upon me and find that I'm not as brave, strong, impervious, perfect as I've labored to appear. And then the truth will come out. I'll be known for who I really am. So I am afraid of being found out, of being found. So I hide. I hide out of fear.


But the Divine tends to find us no matter where we are. Whether its Adam and Eve in the garden, Elijah hiding in a cave, or the disciples behind a locked door, the God-Who-Sees always finds us. And, when we least expect it, appears in the midst of us. And says the words that surprise us: "Peace to you."


Peace, not like Rome can give—peace maintained at the end of a sword, peace that demands a subjugation and a bit of a lying. No, not like Rome, America, jobs, denominations, or any other human-made entity can give. My peace, says Jesus, I give.


But what is this peace that Christ can give that no other can. No more, or less, than the peace that is "I am the Alpha and the Omega." I'm first and last, start and finish, yesterday and today, childhood and old age. I know who you've been.


I know who you can be.


Alpha and Omega, you have seen the tomorrow that brings us anxiety, and you know who we truly are and who we can truly be. Come into the midst of our fears and breathe on us.

(Thanks to Jill for reminding me what Jesus says in this week's reading, which helped me figure out what this passage was trying to say to me.)