4.8.2026

I have to write things down.

This isn’t a new thing, so I can’t blame it on old age. I learned back at the first church I served back in the 1980s that, especially if it's right before the Sunday morning service, if I need to add a request or announcement in the service, I’ve got to write it down.

Like this past Sunday, I was asked about including a prayer of thanksgiving that the American serviceman was found in Iran. Because of Holy Week I hadn’t followed the news very closely for several days, so I had missed the story of the plane being shot down and the missing second injured airman.

But in the early hours of Easter morning, he was rescued in the mountains of Iran. 

And as I was praying on Sunday morning, I knew . . . there was . . . something else . . . but I had not written it down! 

So my apologies to the person who told me of the rescue and ALL of you have permission, when you tell me something – especially on Sunday morning – tell me to write it down! 

But we rejoice in his rescue, and I’m certain that all families who have a loved one in that region shared his family’s relief . . . a sort of  “there but for the grace of God go we.” And we remember them in our prayers, too. 

But what could be more appropriate on Easter Sunday than a rescue, because that is exactly what has happened to us. 

When Jesus died on the cross, he took on sin and death so that we wouldn’t have to. Through his crucifixion and resurrection, Jesus defeated evil in whatever forms it takes, rescuing us, not by taking up the sword, but by laying down his life.

Which is completely counterintuitive to the way of the world. 

Last summer, while preaching on Revelation, something I didn’t cover like I wanted was the image of Jesus as both a lion and a lamb in Revelation 5. In this chapter, God’s plan to rescue his persecuted people was presented as a sealed scroll. When no one was found worthy to open the scroll and set the rescue in motion, John, the witness and author of Revelation wept. In Revelation 5:5, we read: “Then one of the elders said to me, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.” 

I read the words “lion” and “conquer” and I think of strength, power, and dominance – the same qualities the people of Jesus’ day were expecting in the Messiah. After all, the Lion isn’t called the king of the jungle for nothing! 

But when John turned to see the Lion of Judah, it was not a ferocious beast that he saw. John wrote: “Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered . . .” 

He looks for a Lion and sees a Lamb – and not just any Lamb but a Lamb that looks as if it has been slaughtered, but it’s STANDING. I serve a RISEN Savior! 

That moment is really important. While John hears “Lion,” he sees a “Lamb.” This doesn’t mean the Lion was replaced by the Lamb, but the Lion was revealed as the Lamb. 

The victory of Jesus as we celebrated this week doesn’t come through domination but through sacrificial love, through suffering, through the cross. The Lion of Judah conquers not by devouring his enemies, but by dying for his enemies. The Lion doesn’t conquer by becoming more violent than the world but by refusing to become like it. 

Many who read Revelation reverse this. Instead of reading the Lion through the Lamb, many read the Lamb through the Lion. They believe Jesus will finally just give up on “love your enemy” and will conquer the ways that empires always conquer, through overwhelming force.  As a preacher once told a friend of mine, “Jesus is coming again and he’s going to kill people.” 

But that’s not what the gospel is about and that’s not what Good Friday and Easter Sunday are about. The Lamb who was slain conquers, not by killing enemies, but by giving his life for them. 

I’m reminded of the novel Les Miserables. In the story, the main character, Jean Valjean, is mercilessly pursued by a policeman, Javert. When the tables are turned and Valjean has the opportunity to kill Javert, Valjean chooses mercy and frees him. In the face of such mercy, Javert is destroyed. In the musical, he sings “This desperate man who I have hunted/He gave me my life, he gave me freedom. I should have perished by his hand/It was his right . . . And does he know/That, granting me my life today/This man has killed me even so?” Having experienced the mercy he, himself, was unable or unwilling to show, Javert self-destructs, taking his own life. 

That’s the way victory comes. We love our enemies. We absorb the violence and answer it with the same self-giving love that Jesus showed on the cross. Hopefully, when the evil person sees themselves in light of God's love, they’ll turn from their wicked ways. Some will allow the love of God to change them, but others’ refusal of God’s love will follow them to the grave. 

We learn love because God first loved us. God rescued us from sin and death, and our calling is to help carry out that rescue mission to those around us who need to hear the message of God’s love. Christos anesti! Alithos anesti! Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed! 

Blessings,
Pastor Terry