Sermon 4/24/21: “Lay Down Our Lives” Seminarian Taylor Walker

Seminarian Taylor Walker

Fourth Sunday of Easter

April 24, 2021

Lay Down Our Lives

This day in the church year includes so many old favorite passages… Peter chastising the scribes for their lack of faith. David in the valley, in green pastures, by still waters. Jesus, the son of heaven come down, to be our good shepherd. And John, calling us little children, telling us to love. 

So many common themes in such an uncommon year. 

We’re in Easter – I know that because the altar has flowers on it and the skies are blue – but in some ways it feels like we didn’t leave Lent behind.  

Derek Chauvin’s trial began on March 29th. He is the police officer who murdered George Floyd last year. The trial ended this week, and he was declared guilty on all counts. 

Every day since that trial began, United States police officers have killed three or more people. Every day. 

In fact, since this day last year, one thousand three hundred and six children of God, beloved people, people who matter, have been killed by the police. 

Just saying that sentence aloud feels despicable. It’s unbelievable. But it is – very believable. It’s life in America, life under empire. 

Listen to the names of these people God loves: 

Phet Gouvonvong. Andrew Brown. Doward Baker. Antonio Cantu. Edgar Luis Tiraldo. Bradley Olsen. Larry Jenkins. Robert Delgado. Alex Garcia. Sammie Barbosa. Jeffrey Sacks. Lindani Myeni.  

Marcello Garcia. Jacob Wood. Peyton Ham. Anthony Thompson. Pier Alexander Shelton. Daunte Wright. Faustin Guetigo. Joshua Mitchell. DeShund Tanner. Douglas Barton. James Alexander.  

Devin Wyteagle Kuykendall. Tyler Green. Roy Jackel. Iremamber Sykap. Silas Lambert. Gabriel Casso. Jeffrey Appelt. Jose Arenas. Juan Carlos Estrada. Samuel Yeager. Noah Green. Natzeryt Viertell. DeShawn Tatum. James Iler. Steven Ross Glass. Ma’Khia Bryant. 

All of these people were killed by the police in the last twenty-three days. 

And we’re supposed to sit here and proclaim Christ is risen? Death is defeated? We have overcome the grave? 

We haven’t. The whole country is a graveyard. 

I know this isn’t a typical Eastertide sermon, this isn’t what people expect to hear when they come to church. People want to be uplifted in church – and I promise, there will be time for that. In Easter people want to hear, you are perfect as you are.  

And you are perfect as you are. God abides in you. But what is not perfect is this world. And we are part of it, and we are participants – sometimes knowingly, sometimes unknowingly – in the systemic sin that takes the lives of people God loves. 

Now this wrestling between, on the one hand, believing in a resurrected God, and on the other hands, the reality of our lives, as we live here in this world, is something the author of 1 John thought a lot about. 1 John is sort of an ancient commentary on the gospel of John. When you read John and the Johns straight through, you won’t see the words ‘kingdom’ or ‘good news’ or ‘repentance.’ Matt and Mark and Luke say those words a lot. 

But you know what John says? He says: love. Truth. Know. Witness. 

To John, the gospel is God’s love story to us, people who exist in a broken world of the flesh, but believe in the wholeness of the kingdom to come. Our work is to bear witness to the reality of this world, while also seeking the light and following the resurrected Christ. Together, these things are called love. 

But what does that really mean? What is expected of us? 

According to our text, to follow Christ in love, to live into the resurrection, means something concrete. Mere faith – believing that Jesus is the son of God – is not enough for John. Now I know Luther said we are saved by faith alone, and that’s true. But our task is harder and greater and more beautiful than faith alone. “Faith and love are the fruits of a single grace.” So if we call ourselves Christians, we are called to this kind of love, a kind of love that changes our lives, a kind of love that demands we lay down our lives. 

‘Lay down our lives.’  

For our Jewish friends, the expression kidush ha-shem – literally to honor the name of God – has the same meaning as ‘lay down our lives.’  

I’m not talking about martyrdom. And when John used this phrase, he wasn’t either. His example of what it means to lay down your life… is to be a person who has the goods of this world, and gives it away to the people with need. 

John reminds us that our privilege is a gift of this world, a poisoned gift. White privilege is a gift of Satan. Piles of money in banks in a city where 77,000 people sleep on the streets is a gift of Satan.  

Make no mistake. There is nothing wrong with being white, and there is nothing wrong with money. The wrongness is when we refuse to lay down our lives for our neighbors. When we refuse to let go of privilege, and money, and resources. When we let our guilt turn our gaze away - instead of letting the eyes of our hearts be opened. 

We have to love God and each other more than we love anything else in the universe - more than money, more than power, more than respectability, more than social status, more than privilege, more than comfort. 

John wrote this letter to his community and to us. And he said, little children, let us lay down our lives. He knew it was a challenge, in this world where empire tries to control every aspect of our lives. And for us in this pandemic, we are absolutely, completely exhausted. 

So what do we do with that? How is it possible for us to keep giving when it feels like the ground beneath us is pulling away? 

“Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.” 

You see, dear people. It is possible for one reason. There is another here with us. 

Jesus is the cornerstone, Peter tells us, of the new world we are building now. 

God restores our souls, David tells us, and our cups will overflow because the love of God is deeper and wider than all of the sin in this world. 

Jesus is the good shepherd, John tells us, and he will not leave us alone as we do this work. 

“The peace of Christ be with you always!” is not a greeting. It’s a description. Christ dwells in me and you. Our hearts need not condemn us. We need not drown in worry or guilt or despair. Instead we will feel holy peace and love never-ending, Grace covering us, God abiding in us, our cups overflowing. 

Church, in the knowledge of the resurrection, let us have boldness before God.  

God, teach us how to lay down our lives for justice and love. Be with us as we bear witness with eyes wide open. Help us to live into your kingdom. Embody us with your spirit, your breath flowing through us, your son walking beside us, as we try each day to love as you called us.  

Amen.