Our readings this week are 1 Corinthians 15.12–20 and Luke 6.17–26. 

The line in these verses that really struck me when we were considering them at housegroup last Monday was this: ‘If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins.’ At first glance it zips past, all innocuous amidst a sea of Christianisms. But look closer and you'll notice an oddity that jars against many (perhaps even most) of the explanations of the Good News of our salvation that are heard from the lips of those who still dare to be as bold as St. Paul in pronouncing the counter-rational truths of our faith. Often what is preached is the death of Christ, the crucifixion, the cross, as the central defining moment. But that is not what it says here. Here St. Paul points to something else, something a little less mundane than dying – the resurrection! If Christ had not been raised, not crucified, raised, he says, as though that's the most important part. Of course, I would hesitate to call any part of the extraordinary event that is Jesus more important than any other – his incarnation, life, teaching, miracles, death, resurrection, enthronement… I’d want to preach them all! Occasionally, though, to let one be the centre of our attention does perhaps enable a different light to shine and refract through all the others, does – like moving to sit in a different chair can make the whole room appear anew, and ask of us fresh, or forgotten, questions about familiar things made unfamiliar. An example: focusing on the crucifixion leads us to consider what Jesus has done for us. It is (as Jesus said in the moment) complete, finished, accomplished – dying is, after all, something everyone, even God, only does once. But being raised – that’s something that doesn’t end things, but starts them. It’s not about death, but life – and so it invites us to ask the question not ‘what has Jesus done’, but ‘what is Jesus doing?’ We’ve just shifted the tense from the past perfect to the present continuous, and made our conversation about our faith one that is rooted not in a dim and distant past, but in the tangible moments of everyday life. It’s no longer irrelevant because it’s about history; it’s compelling because it’s about His story - still being written – in which we are invited to take part not as footnoted names of those who were once saved, but as companions in an ongoing adventure. When, then, we turn to the gospels, we do so in a new way, not only to learn what this man did when he was around 2,000 years ago, but to open our eyes to the things he is doing now. We read them afresh as a sort of ‘Spotter’s Guide to the Living Christ’. We learn that we’re looking out for someone who spoke words of grace into the hearts of many; who offered healing from physical, mental, and spiritual anguish; someone whose goodness was almost magnetic and drew those who sought it towards him. We discover that we should be listening for someone who wasn’t scared to say outrageous things that undercut the iniquitous economic, social, political, and religious organisations and institutions around him, and who called for the blessing of the poor, hungry, and weeping… The extraordinary thing is that when we know what we’re looking for, when we practise being alert to it – to Him – he actually does become more and more apparent around us. Even more extraordinarily, when we start searching for this living, breathing, dynamic person of Jesus in our hearts, we find him there too, encouraging and enabling us to become more like him, and in so doing more like ourselves. It’s then that we’re faced with the really tough question: are we willing to echo, reflect, and show him in our words and actions? Are we willing to let him shape how we think and act, and to be his ongoing life and presence to transform the world around us? Not just once, but continuously?