Living the Resurrection in a Cynical World
Today’s Scripture reading offers a powerful blend of two themes: commandment and resurrection. “I give you a new commandment,” Jesus says, “love one another.” It’s the ultimate “you had one job” moment. He’s leaving, and He asks one thing of His followers: love. Just love. Simple in words, profound in practice.
What strikes me most about the Resurrection is this: Jesus says, “I am with you,” but He also says, “It’s on you.” All that He did—healing, feeding, forgiving, restoring—He now entrusts to us. His love, His life, His mission continue, not just through divine intervention, but within us and between us.
That’s a big ask.
I want to believe this kind of love is possible. I want to know for sure that God has my back, that someone is steering the ship. Like Ben Gibbard sings, “I’d like to feel the pressure of God, or whatever.” I’d like to know someone has their hands on the levers. Maybe you feel that same tension—between faith and doubt, between trust and despair, between hope and, well… everything.
Because if we’re being honest, a quick glance around doesn’t always inspire confidence. The world feels chaotic, fractured, heavy with cynicism. But here’s where faith asks us to plant our feet. Assurance without evidence. Believing that love matters. That gathering together matters. That our smallest acts of kindness, our moments of grace, our commitment to love—it all matters.
I hope I can be one of those holy rollers—not the caricature, but someone who takes this commandment seriously. Someone who chooses to believe that loving others, even when it seems naïve or futile, is the most radical and faithful thing we can do. Because Jesus said, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
That’s it. That’s the mark. Not perfection. Not certainty. Love.
In a world that rewards detachment and sarcasm, where doomscrolling can feel like a sport and we search in vain for answers in the endless scroll of commentary, maybe love is the only sane rebellion left. When you're stuck between hope and cynicism, between the resurrection promise and the daily mess of reality, choose love.
Choose love when it's inconvenient. Choose love when it's not returned. Choose love when the world calls it foolish. Every time you can, choose love.
By this—by this stubborn, defiant, resurrected love—the world will know we are Christ’s disciples. A love so vast it laid down its life for friends, and yet lives on in us, still moving, still calling, still choosing us to choose love.
Amen.
