Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord

We, as humans, love to argue; and whether we’ve studied the science of how to argue or not, we all basically know how to do it, on the evidence of the fact that we argue about all of the things, all of the time. (What I just made, in case you missed it, was an argument!) Regardless of what we’re arguing about, all arguments rely on the same fundamental principle, which is this: when all the premises of an argument are true, the conclusion must also be true. It cannot be false. An example: All Easter eggs are filled with candy. There is a basket of Easter eggs on the kitchen table. Therefore, those eggs in the basket are filled with candy. The truth of the conclusion derives from the truth of the premises, unless, of course, you don’t fill your Easter eggs with candy, in which case, you can substitute candy for flax seeds or whatever else, and the argument still holds its water. 

We love to argue, and we argue about everything: from how should fill Easter eggs to matters of global importance. In all cases, the truth of the conclusion is derived from the truth of the premises. But what happens when we consider our existence according to this principle of logic? What true premises are there about our very being, and what conclusion is logically derived from them? 

For a moment, let’s all think of something in our life that we’d like to improve. I don’t mean putting an addition on the house or swelling our investments, but something about us – something about our character – that we’d like to make better. We can identify that area of improvement because we are aware that that part of us is somehow deficient. But to say that any part of us is not what it should be implies that there is a standard against which we compare ourselves and find ourselves lacking; and this standard cannot be one of our own creation, for then it would be far easier simply to lower the standard rather than undertake the rigorous work of change. Rather, this standard is comprised of values that are outside of ourselves, such as honesty, patience, temperance, courage, and love. These values are as old as humanity itself; and, in fact, humanity has always had a sense, at times clearer than at others, that a human life that is well-lived is the one that puts those values into practice. Such values exist as a kind of law that guides human existence and leads it to its flourishing: to be a good human means to live up to the standard given to us by this law. 

Yet for there to be such a law, ingrained as it were in our very nature, there must be a Lawgiver, who has inscribed that law in all times and places in every human heart – and this Lawgiver is simply what we call God. However, we consistently fall short of the values of that law, and thus the Lawgiver becomes also our Judge; and for this Judge to be just, we would have to be held accountable for our failure to live according to the law of our existence, and it logically follows that the penalty we would incur must be of the greatest severity, for we have offended the very King of the universe. 

Now, all of humanity, regardless of their religion or culture or place in history has a sense of this: that there is a way in which humans ought to live, determined by some power outside themselves, and that we humans consistently fall short of it. And as a result, every religion and culture throughout history has tried to devise some method of reparation or atonement: building temples, sacrificing animals, going on pilgrimage, praying daily, and even (in the most extreme cases) taking human life. And even for those today who are not overtly religious, there exists also a kind of natural religiosity that seeks to amend for one’s shortcomings by sacrificing oneself to the elusive gods of fame, power, and wealth. 

So, the logic of human existence rests on these premises, which we can all validate for ourselves to be true: There is a way in which I ought to live my life. I cannot live up to it and frequently find myself falling short of it. On account of this, I have put myself at enmity with the One who has determined how I ought to live, and there is nothing that I can do to make amends for the evil I have done, nor am I able to refrain from doing it and cease offending the One who is both Lawgiver and Judge. From these premises is drawn the following, sobering conclusion: I am in a perilous place, for I have made myself an enemy of the One who governs and judges the universe. 

There are only two ways to turn a true conclusion into a false one. We must either prove that one, or more, of the premises are false (which, in this case, we cannot do), or a new premise must be inserted that disrupts the flow of logic that leads from the old premises to their conclusion. 

And this, dear friends, is exactly what Christianity claims has happened: in the person of Jesus Christ, God himself stepped into history and took on our humanity while never ceasing to be God. He took on our human nature in all things yet without sin so that by his death he could bring about the reconciliation between God and humanity that we could never attain on our own. It is only by God himself becoming one of us, and by sacrificing himself, as one of us and for us, that we could ever be released from the old logic of human existence, by which our sin has made us enemies of God. With Christ, God introduces a new premise and thus inaugurates a new logic – a God-logic – that renders the former conclusion of condemnation false. We have no longer any need to be afraid, for the God who is Lawgiver and Judge has made himself, in his supreme and unfathomable mercy, our Friend. 

His Resurrection that we celebrate today testifies that his victory over sin and the just consequence of sin, which is death, is final. In him, through him, and with him, there is only life – and it is life offered to us, not only when the course of our earthly days are over, but even now, at this very moment. For Christ came to suffer and die in atonement for our sins, but he also came that we may have life and have it in abundance (cf. Jn. 10:10). He not only makes amends for the times that we have failed to live as we ought, but in him we behold the values to which we aspire magnified to an exceeding degree. He shows us what it means to be honest and prudent, courageous and patient, and everything else that his Law has ordained for our flourishing; and he pours out his own Spirit upon us to make that life possible. 

We see Christ not as a distant figure of the past but as an ever-present reality in the daily life of his Body, which is the Church. It is in the Church where the face of Christ is seen every day in the women and men who believe in him. It is in the Church and with the Church that we hear him speak to us with his Word and where he nourishes us with the gift of his very self, his Body and Blood, in the Eucharist. By this and by all the sacraments of the Church, Christ strengthens us to fully and joyfully live the life to which he calls us, picks us up and heals us when we fall short, and orients us toward that place for which we were made: eternal life with himself in the peace of heaven. 

If these, dear friends, are the premises of God’s logic, then what is the necessary conclusion that follows from them? If God, in the person of Jesus Christ, came to save us from our sins; and Jesus by his death reconciled us to the Father and offers you and me final victory over sin and death by clinging to him through his Church, by which he feeds us, protects us, and enables us to flourish – if those premises are true, then the only conclusion that could possibly be true is that you and I leave everything behind and follow him. What other response could we have to such sheer grace than to give ourselves completely and wholeheartedly to the One who has conquered sin and death, the One who alone shows us what it means to be fully alive and unites us to himself that in him we may live now and for ages unending. To him be glory now and forever. Amen.