Our scripture readings today lead us straight into what it was like for the followers of Jesus since those early morning events that rocked their world. We are getting a glimpse today into what it was like in the immediate aftermath . . . stunned, grief-stricken followers huddled in a locked room looking silently at each other wondering all of the things they could not bear to say aloud.

What will happen to us now? Where will we go? What will we do? How can we go on without Jesus?

These are the questions they undoubtedly were pondering as they thought about the reality of their situation–the consequences of that rash decision they’d made only three years before to set down their fishing nets and set off to follow.

Over the next few weeks we’ll be reading through the gospel accounts of how that happened for them, but already today, in the Book of Acts, we come across the tension that was born the first moment Jesus ever opened his mouth . . . the dynamic the disciples never fully understood all those years they followed him around the countryside trying to imagine what he was telling them . . . .

A SUBSCRIBER SAYS: “Dick, I have now preached four sermons at my home parish––each on the first Sunday of the month. I draw heavily on the material you send me and put it into my own words.  The process often finds me finishing up late on a Saturday night after thinking about it for some time. Here’s the good news.  I have had people tell me––’thanks for your message’, ‘you had me all the way’, ‘you have a gift’.  If, indeed, I have a ‘gift’ it’s because I find meaning in the material you send me.  Thank you, Dick.” TRY SERMONWRITER! Resources to inspire you — and your congregation! GET YOUR FOUR FREE SAMPLES! Click here for more information

Peter and John were in trouble. That was what was going on. They’d decided in the days following Jesus’ death that there really might have been something of value, something on which they could build their lives, in the life, death and resurrection of their friend Jesus . . . and they were determined to figure out just what that tangible piece might be.

Unfortunately, it turns out the practical application of the message of Jesus ran smack into conflict with the political powers of the community in which they lived, and by our reading of Acts chapter 4, Peter and John had been called in before the Sanhedrin, the ruling class of the Jews, just like you would be called into the principal’s office (or so I’ve heard).

They were thrown in jail overnight because they were going around talking about Jesus rising from the dead, and there were people, flocks and crowds of people, who were listening to their message and becoming followers of this man Jesus, so many that in that short period since the events at the tomb, that little band of Jesus-followers had grown to almost 5,000 people.

As you might imagine, this was most troubling to the Sanhedrin. If Peter and John and their ilk were marching around convincing people that Jesus had risen from the dead and that his message of healing and compassion was worth your whole life, well, then . . . that threw quite a wrench into the carefully constructed societal structure.

There were certain things that were understood you see, certain scripts you could follow, guidelines by which society ran and ran smoothly. And anyone who came in convincing people otherwise became a very real threat to the tenuous balance of power in first century Palestine.

Just like every society, this one had rules and structures, scripts by which things ran, and these generally accepted ways of doing things insured that the things that were important: power structure, political influence, societal classification . . . that all of these scripts were adopted and lived out in a constant quest to perpetuate the status quo, society as we know it.

What the disciples had not quite realized even as they huddled in that upper room two days after Jesus died was that this man Jesus was about so much more than healing people and feeding them. He was even more than a sacrifice for sin, as some people thought. This Jesus was about turning the whole world on its head, about upending political structures and systems of power.

This Jesus was about changing the script.

As many of you know we are on the verge of opening up the newly renovated space next door. Part of the plan to move into the new space involves welcoming community partners into our building, groups that run programs and do ministry in a way that supports the mission and conviction of this congregation. Over the next few weeks we’ll be welcoming these partners to worship as we learn more about what kind of ministry will be happening here at Calvary all week long.

Through the process of learning about partner organizations we’ve come to know the folks at the Washington Theatre Lab, an organization that teaches the fundamentals of acting to populations that might not have other venues to express their stories.

As I thought this week about scripts I thought it appropriate to call the staff at the Theatre Lab and hear about what its like to engage a script. When I checking in to see if one of the staff had a few moments to talk about the process of learning a script, director Deb Gottesman told me she’d be happy to chat, she said, “as long as my name appears above the marquees in the opening credits––you know how actors are.”

A script is, as you know, a piece of writing that dictates the words and sometimes the actions of the actors as they endeavor to tell a story. Deb told me that the most thrilling experience, hands down, in the life of an actor is that very first run-through–after you’ve cracked open the script, read it through and set off on the adventure of imagining how you might take this script, adopt it as part of who you are and live it in a way that is genuine. A script is the guidelines, the rules you could say, by which we structure our society and live our lives.

What Peter and John were running into when they came before the leaders of their society was direct conflict resulting from the fact that the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the living of the gospel had offered them alternative scripts to the scripts their society offered them; and that as they cracked open the new scripts, read them through and started, as the early church, the very first read-throughs, well, that’s when things got a little dicey.

Things had been working fine for quite some time, you see, living the status quo. The Jewish leadership was able to live in tenuous peace with the Roman occupation, to adapt their practice and society to Roman dictates. And in the process they’d developed a very comfortable social structure in which there was a ruling class with money and power and influence . . . and everyone else marched along, acting out the script they’d been given.

The problem with this Jesus fellow was that, in his everyday interaction, wherever he went, in fact, he passed out new scripts. And then he held the very first read-throughs. He did shocking things like eating with societal outcasts like lepers and tax collectors. He befriended women. He challenged the long-standing code of punitive retribution and introduced grace. He opened the temple to everyone; he said and did outrageous things in the context of loving your enemies and blessing those who curse you. He said the meek were blessed and that those who mourned would be comforted.

And in this process, the process of introducing a new script, he caused a whole lot of trouble.

But here, after the resurrection, the problem surfaces again. Seems the new scripts weren’t totally eradicated by getting rid of Jesus. A few had remained, and they’d taken hold, planted themselves and sent roots deep into the hearts of a few committed followers. They were the ones now who were called into the Sanhedrin to explain their actions, to be told once and for all that the way of the world was the way it would be, and any new scripts they were trying to live, well . . . it was time to put those back up on the shelf. Jesus was gone.

There is a tradition in Ireland and Scotland that dates back to the early 400s. It was during this time that this region of the world was structured by ruling families or clans, and these clans competed against one another for land, power, money and status.

During this time of history the Roman church, the established Christian church, mounted a campaign to take the gospel message to Britannia. The church sent out missionaries who scattered all over the countryside. Because of the clan governments that were extremely closed and territorial, there was no possibility for strangers to enter the clans, much less to introduce a new religion. The end result was that these missionaries, for the most part, formed self-contained monastic communities all over what is now Ireland and Scotland. These were insular communities in which they endeavored to live and teach the Gospel message.

These monastic communities soon became threats to the clan structure of the region and ongoing conflict ensued. As a result a certain flavor of Christian practice called Celtic Christianity emerged. We’ve heard some of the prayers and some of the music of this movement today in worship, and we’ll hear it over the next few weeks, because what these beautiful reflections illustrate is the spiritual life of a community in exile, a community struggling to live by different scripts than the scripts of the empire around them. Their songs and their prayers speak of the uncertainty they felt; of the sure conviction that there were forces working against their faith; that it was going to take courage and conviction, fortitude and commitment to live the scripts they believed.

Jesus’ first disciples had to do it; Christian transplants in Britannia had to do it; and friends, if we’re serious about following this man Jesus . . . if the message and resurrection of Christ means anything to us, well, then, we have to do it, too.

What are the scripts of our empire, of our culture? What are the messages and structures by which we are encouraged to live our lives? They’re all around us, you know, making their way into our hearts and minds, permeating everything we do, every decision we make.

One of the scripts of our empire is the script of rational certitude. Did you know Americans are educated far beyond any level of previous attainment? The US Census Bureau reports that in the year 2000 86% of American adults over age 25 had completed a high school diploma; 26% if American adults over age 25 had a bachelor’s degree or higher. If you tried to calculate the level of educational attainment on a street corner in downtown DC during lunchtime on a weekday, I strongly suspect you’d find higher percentages than those.

We live in a society, in an empire, a culture that values education, and since the Enlightenment education has taught us that we can find all the answers to every question, if only we try hard enough. Mystery and doubt, not knowing the whole picture but believing anyway, well, that’s bad in the script we’re asked to live. How does this script of rational certitude fit with the message of a man who talked about possibilities, about elusive relationship with God, about a strange concept called “The Kingdom of Heaven”? They don’t fit very well.

Another script of our empire is the script of the self-made individual. We’d better find the answers in a logical and orderly way, and to do that we have to try. And, if we try hard enough, we can do anything. On our own. Look out for number one, the script of our empire tells us, and even some expressions of modern Christianity tell us this. Prosperity theology and Christianity as a means for successful living–this is the empire’s script of the self-made individual, not the script of a man who told us that real love is laying down your life for another person.

Yet another script we are asked to live is the script of redemptive violence. Order comes from above and is dictated down the chain. In the script of our empire we are taught to approach everything with a measure of distrust as the only way to insure complete protection is to strip others of their power. We learn early on to approach any kind of interaction with readiness to defend ourselves at all times because, in our commitment to living for our own interests we are certainly sure that no one else does. And this script of our empire runs up against the strange, strange idea that our lives are healed when we make ourselves vulnerable, even vulnerable to death.

Last, our empire tells us that, if anything happens to be wrong, we can fix it. Through technology or science, politics or therapy, we can find the problem and we can fix it—the script of the therapeutic solution. But the script of a man who talked about confession, repentance, forgiveness and grace flies in the face of this script of a therapeutic solution. To use our brains to fix ourselves we forget what Jesus came to remind us . . . that we are people in need of God.

Instead of accepting the scripts of our empire, it’s the work of this Easter season to look to the resurrected Christ and reach out to embrace the new scripts he offers us, scripts that set us over and against the messages of our culture. Over the next few weeks we’ll be looking hard at the scripts that the resurrection sets before us and exploring how we might live alternative scripts, scripts of mystery, suffering, reconciliation and transformation.

I learned quite a lot about the craft of acting this week. I am not sure that I fall into the category of someone who never has an audience, but I have been intrigued by these classes the Theatre Lab is offering. We’ll see . . . .

Deb told me as we talked this week that the script is a vehicle for what they call, in actor lingo, “the magic IF”. It’s a tool that you pick up, delve into and adopt until it becomes a lever from the reality in which you live to the possibility of what can be.

We are people living in an empire, a culture, that sends us clear scripts for our lives.

But we are also people who say we follow this man Jesus, risen Savior. And if we are true Christ-followers then we must know this fact: we are people who live in exile, whose task is to live the alternative scripts of the resurrected Christ in the face of strong pressure to live like everyone else.

At the very least it is confusing to live in an empire, a culture, that wants us to adopt generally accepted scripts. We mix up the messages of our culture and our faith; we water down the mandates of Jesus; we convince ourselves that we can successfully have it both ways.

But this Easter season, in the shadow of an empty tomb, we must come to the realization that, if we take the resurrection of Christ seriously, well, then, we are a people at odds with the messages of our culture, of our empire. We are a people in exile.

It’s a gift for us, then, that our rich faith tradition is filled with the story of a people who lived in exile. The Jewish people were a people who lived their whole communal life in exile for their insistence on following God. The opposition they faced seemed insurmountable. But like the early Celtic Christians, instead of retreating into private faith or abandoning their faith in despair they lived into the scripts of their faith and created a tradition of faith in exile that includes daring theological articulation–songs of praise and lament, characters of cunning and courage, vigorous doxology and the ability to live in the culture in which they found themselves without forgetting their mother tongue.

As we stumble away from the tomb to the locked rooms of our lives we are faced with the question of whether or not the resurrection means anything for us. There are other scripts, you know. Easier, more accessible scripts of the empire by which we can live with not much trouble in this world of ours.

But there are other scripts that, just to crack them open and do the first read-through would totally and utterly transform our lives. We are people in exile, disciples of a Messiah who stood up to say the scripts of the empire are not the way of God. As we set out to follow we have to decide . . . which scripts in which we’ll play a part.

Amen.

Copyright 2006, Amy Butler. Used by permission.