Rev. Joseph Boyd
There seems to be a promise embedded in all of us and all existence that comes to fruition this time of year. I know many of you may be gathering with close family or friends this weekend, grandkids and those that you haven’t seen for a while. I know some of you celebrated Passover, a celebration of liberation from bondage, and a time to celebrate the power of being together as one people. It is very good to be here with you. This congregation, all of you, have shown me the true power of togetherness, of traveling together through all experiences, all seasons, all joys. You have shown me again and again that there is a promise in this moment that can be appreciated in all moments, if we have the support and right conditions to notice it.

We are here for a short time in the scheme of things. It is very easy for opportunities to be lost. It is easy to forget to notice this promise. But time and time again, I have been brought back to this promise by all of you. It is the promise of new life. It is the promise that in the life we are living now, there is something new and beautiful taking shape, if we can notice it.

Here in Youngstown we’ve had a period of warm weather when the daffodils have come into full bloom, and then the last few days we’ve had snow and freezing temperatures. I took a walk and checked on the daffodils after the last freeze, and they are still there, some a bit droopy from the cold, but still alive and radiant. It reminded me that each of us is completely alive. No matter the mood or circumstance, we are completely alive, completely vital. Even in ill health, we are completely alive, completely here. I feel so fortunate to have the opportunity to live in this city, a city that is completely alive, completely here. It continues to be a rich experience to travel with a congregation of people that is completely alive, completely here.

Often we can measure our life in comparison to some imagined life; some life that we think is better, more alive, more radiant. We may imagine a life when we are healthier, more successful, more attractive, more anything. But the truth is we are completely alive, completely here. It is the most ordinary thing to notice. It is not rare; it is common, common to all of us. It is so common that we might forget to notice it – we are completely alive, completely here. The more we notice it, the more strange and wonderful that experience becomes. It’s strange because it is always new. Our life is always new. We are always becoming.

Today is a good day. It is a good day not just because many of us are going to have a wonderful day and wonderful afternoon that we planned. Even if we have nothing planned, even if we’re feeling a little blue or subdued, it is a good day. It is a good day because we are completely alive, completely here. We didn’t earn it, as I’ve said it is not rare. It is common. We have that in common. We have that in common with the daffodils. We have that in common with a world that is celebrating the power of hope and love in the face of death this weekend. We are celebrating, noticing, wondering with billions of people at this very moment.

We are here with women who are putting on a colorful hat on this day, all people that are awake with expectation on this day, whether they consider themselves religious or not. We are also here with all the people who are praying for their daily bread, praying to get through the day with some kind of sustenance and shelter. We are here with all the families that are aware of someone missing this Easter. We are here with persons that are celebrating, persons who are grieving, and persons that are attempting to do both. If we can allow ourselves to take a breath, and realize we are completely here, completely here with all these people, the promise is revealed. The promise of life that is renewing itself with every breath, every time we take the time to notice.

I notice that the world is shifting, and thus I am shifting. I look ahead and I see the possibility of seeing you all in person. The board is being very mindful and careful in coming up with a reopening plan, and I’m so proud of our leadership for keeping in mind the most vulnerable among us in every decision we make. We plan to share this plan with you in the very near future, and we will continue to be committed to your safety as well as your well-being.

This year we’ve had the opportunity to engage a play called The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, and in that piece is a powerful monologue from one of the characters, Jesus of Nazareth. In the monologue, Jesus says he is in many places at once: he’s in Fallujah, Darfur, he’s comforting the powerful, and he’s also with the vulnerable. I can see why Jesus could be difficult to be in a relationship with. He embodied this promise of new life, and new life is always unexpected, common to everyone, but easily missed and not appreciated. In the play we had an opportunity to feel compassion for Judas Iscariot who betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, and then fell into panic and despair after realizing what he had done. In the gospels, one of Jesus’ last words is “Forgive them for they know not what they do.” I think this directly applies to Judas, and it can apply to us.

I think many of us have had the experience of feeling lonely and forsaken, lost and confused. I know many, including myself, have lost sight of the common miracle that we are completely alive, completely here. We’ve forgotten to let that appreciation guide our behavior rather than react to circumstances not being what we want. I really feel for Judas. Judas and others saw in Jesus a leader who would solve all their earthly problems through sheer force and determination. Judas and others were looking for liberation through political or military means, a liberation from cruel occupation from the Roman Empire. I don’t think anyone can blame them for that. Many today are seeking liberation from American empire, an economic and social caste system that makes people disposable. And I don’t think that’s wrong. I have compassion for anyone who wants to be free from violence.

But like new life, like a daffodil after a freeze, Jesus’ message was powerful but also subtle. Sometimes so subtle, that I think it is very easy to miss. The liberation that Jesus offered was not political expediency or military might. Jesus was a very poor politician. Jesus reminded his disciples including Judas of something very natural and true. His mission was not just to be near each and every person, but with each and every person. This might seem subtle on the surface, but the difference between these two ways of being, is where the promise is revealed. In our life most of us live near people. We may live in a neighborhood, a city, a country, where we are relatively near many different kinds of people and circumstances. We can go to the grocery store, and wait in line near people, even if we’re six feet away. We drive on the road near other cars. Even with our loved ones, we can sit near them, travel near them, sleep near them. But there is a world of difference between near and with. Living with each other is when we awaken to the fact that we are completely alive, completely here along with everything else. It is a radical shift when we allow ourselves to experience the truth of reality: we are living with everyone, not near everyone.

When we live near someone, we want that person to function only to fulfill our desires. We want them to be our liberator, our messiah according to our own terms. When we live near someone, we often want them to do what we think is good, help us banish what we think is bad, and give us what we imagine happiness and fulfillment to be. Most of us, including myself, can live like this nearly all the time. We look to the world and to others to satisfy our desires of who we need them to be. We don’t allow people to be who they actually are. We miss them. We don’t let a daffodil be a daffodil. We don’t let a dropping daffodil be as completely alive as an upright and sprightly one. When we live like this, we live in the illusion of being separate from the world and from other people. We are close with circumstances when they meet our desires or seem to promise us fulfillment on our terms, and when they disappoint, we move away and distance ourselves. We can be surrounded by a community, surrounded by the promise of new life, but we miss it. We settle for being near not with.

But today is a new day. Even if we lived our entire life satisfied or habituated to being near life, near other people, near ourselves, new life gives us the chance to try something different. With new life comes the promise of a new way of looking at our life, a new way of looking at our relationship with other people, a new way of experiencing our life. And it doesn’t take very long. It only takes a moment. One breath actually. We get to notice we are completely alive, completely here, no matter what state we’re in. And if we’re completely alive, that means everyone else is too, no matter what state they’re in. And when we feel this in our body, I think we feel what Jesus of Nazareth felt, a feeling that has survived his death and is still alive today: the feeling of solidarity.

That for me is the true resurrection: the feeling of solidarity. I am with all of you in this life, and I’m so grateful for all of you. I know you’re doing your best to get through your days the best way you know how, and no matter what you might think of yourself, you are beautiful. You are a child of God. You are completely alive, completely here.

I wish you joy on this day. I wish you the opportunity to be grateful for your life. I wish you love on this day. Even if you don’t feel any of these things at this moment, that’s ok. You are completely alive right now, and the way you are alive now will change, and you will be alive in a different way soon. This is the promise of new life. This is why a new day is hopeful. We don’t know what it will be, and we don’t know who we will be, and we get the opportunity to begin again. Life goes on like that, and so do we.

I hope you are able to enjoy and appreciate the beauty of this season, and I hope you know that you have a community of friendship here that is prepared to live with you, not just near you. Many of you I know are not near me. You live in other cities, other states, a few in other countries. But distance doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things. You can be anywhere, and I will be with you. I will be with you in Fallujah, I will be with you in Darfur, I will be with you in Washington DC, I will be with you in New York City, I will be with you in rural hamlets and villages, I will be with you in the Southern United States, I will be with you in Youngstown, Ohio. That is a promise.

It’s a promise that is impossible to break because it’s how things are. It seems to be embedded into our being, embedded into existence, embedded into this moment. I don’t pretend to understand it, but when I allow myself to notice it, my life gets to be what it’s been all along even if I didn’t know it. I get to live with not near you. I allow you to be with me. Jesus said to a criminal that was next to him during the crucifixion: “This day you will be with me in paradise.” That is the promise. “This day you will be with me in paradise.” Even in trying times, this day you will be with me in paradise. This day is a paradise when we are with each other. I hope you can open up to paradise on this day, the paradise that is made known when we are with each other, and allow ourselves to feel that. This day is a beautiful day. It is a beautiful day to remember who and what we love, and that includes ourselves. It is a good day to remember that there is no end to being with each other, kept alive in memory, kept alive in our hearts, kept alive in our kindness toward ourselves and each other. It is a gift to lift each other up when we’re down, and to celebrate the day we are given with each other.