You.
Can’t.
Stop.
The Revolution.
Louder.
You.
Can’t.
Stop.
The Revolution.
Now clap.
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*
Amen.
Please be seated.
Sisters and brothers, we are here tonight to commit a revolutionary act.
We are here to stand up when we are told to lie down.
We are here to sing in the face of terror.
We are here to weep when we are told to smile.
We are here to lament when we are told to just shut up and go away already.
We are here to claim a story that was meant to end us, a story that was meant to kill us, a story that was meant to terrify us into submission – we are here to claim it as our life, our strength and our victory over the very forces that would see us cower before them.
Friends, just by coming together in this place, we are committing an act of resistance, an act of revolution.
And the revolution will not be stopped.
This Good Friday night, we hear the story of how Jesus was executed by the state in an act of terrorism. That’s what it was, you know. Crucifixion was state sponsored terrorism. It wasn’t just about killing someone. If you were a Roman citizen and the state decided it wanted to kill you, there were quicker, more private, more humane ways it was done. No, crucifixion was reserved for the oppressed and occupied people. Crucifixion was reserved for the people who needed to be kept in line, who needed to be put in their place.
The purpose of crucifixion was not just state sponsored murder but state sponsored terrorism. To kill someone so horribly, so publically, so gruesomely, so terrifyingly that nobody else would dream of raising their voice or anything else against the empire. Crucifixion was torturous death on the grandest public stage. And the message of crucifixion to the masses was clear and unambiguous:
We have the power. You have none.
Be very afraid. Because you are next.
The purpose of crucifixion was to terrorize the people.
The purpose of crucifixion was to stop the revolution.
And Jesus? Well Jesus was a revolutionary. Jesus was a revolutionary because he took those most on the margins, those most abandoned, most despised, most oppressed, and he put them in the center and said “What would you have me do for you?”
Jesus was a revolutionary because he spoke truth to power and not just any truth but truth that exposed the lies and frauds of the powerful. Truth that set the powerless free.
Jesus was a revolutionary because he tore down the idols and false gods that were set up to control and enslave the people and lifted up the militant nonviolent love of the one, true God whose only dream is to liberate the people.
Jesus was a revolutionary because he loved in the face of hate, he embraced in the face of exclusion, he brought life in the face of death.
Jesus was a revolutionary and revolutionaries are dangerous. Revolutionaries are a threat. Revolutionaries can change hearts with a touch, can topple empires with a word. Revolutionaries can bring down the mighty from their seats and exalt the humble and meek.
Jesus was a revolutionary.
He reminded people that even though Caesar’s image was on the coin, that God’s image was on them.
That even though the state told them their lives didn’t matter, that God said their lives mattered more than could be measured.
Jesus turned his face toward Jerusalem, toward the chief priests, the scribes, the Pharisees and the centurions and proclaimed in a loud voice that the whole damn system was guilty as hell but that he knew that they would win because the people united would never be defeated. Jesus was a revolutionary.
And Jesus did what revolutionaries do – he took to the streets. That’s right. Jesus and his followers shut down a highway … one of the main roads heading into Jerusalem. And they shouted Hosanna! Hosanna! Whose streets? Our streets! Whose streets? Our streets? Jesus was a revolutionary.
And Jesus did what revolutionaries do – he went to the center of power.
That’s right.
He went right into the temple and said, “How dare you take this place, this place that belongs to the people. This place where the very presence of God meets the people on whom God’s image rests. How dare you take this and use it for your own power and privilege. How dare you use it to oppress and imprison God’s very image. And knowing that people matter far more than property, that economic damage is insignificant compared with the horror of the oppression of an entire race of people, he overturned the tables and made a whip of cords and drove the moneychangers out of the house of God. Jesus was a revolutionary.
Jesus was a revolutionary, and revolutionaries are dangerous. Revolutionaries must be made an example of. Revolutionaries must not only be killed, they must be killed so horribly, so publicly, so gruesomely, so terrifyingly that nobody else would dream of raising their voice or anything else against the empire.
Jesus was a revolutionary, and so he was crucified because that’s how you stop a revolution.
Or so they thought.
But the revolution did not end.
They turned the crowds against him and had them shout: “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
And the revolution did not end.
They whipped him and they beat him and they spat on him.
And the revolution did not end.
They strapped a beam to his back and made him walk with his last ounce of strength to his own public execution.
And still the revolution did not end.
They pierced his hands and his feet with nails and his side with a spear. They gave him vinegar to drink and put a mocking sign over his head. They scared his disciples, other than a few incredibly brave and faithful women, into cowering in the shadows. And when they were done, when they had finally killed him, they sealed his broken, lifeless body in a tomb, rolled a stone over it and put a guard outside it just to be sure.
And still the revolution
did
not
end.
Why?
Why didn’t it end? The state did everything right. They beat him. They pierced him. They humiliated him. They drove the people in terror into hiding. It should have worked. Why didn’t it end?
Because the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
Why didn’t it end?
Because instead of fearing a crucified Christ, we proclaim a crucified Christ… Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
Why didn’t it end?
Because You. Can’t. Stop. The Revolution.
Friends, the revolution continues. And the powers of hell will never prevail against it. And the truth we proclaim tonight. The truth that has always been true since that terrible day on Calvary. The truth that can set us free. The truth that will either loose our chains or bind them tighter is this:
The only thing that can stop this revolution is us.
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we abandon the Gospel and cross of Jesus the Christ.
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we decide we care more about respectability than justice.
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we decide we care more about being a friend of the state than being a prophet to the state.
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we decide we care more about safety and survival than standing with Jesus.
And whom does Jesus stand with? Whoever is most oppressed. Whoever is most targeted. Whoever is most ridiculed. Whoever is most marginalized.
That’s where Jesus is. That’s where Jesus is right now. And the question before us this night. The question before us this night where we hear this story that is supposed to terrify us but instead inspires us. The question before us this night is if that is where Jesus is, with the oppressed, the targeted, the ridiculed, the marginalized.
If that is where Jesus is…
Where.
Are.
We?
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday. And it is well that we should. It is well that we should because there is much to lament.
"We lament the criminalization of poverty and of people who do not have access to excessive resources.
"We lament that we live in a nation and a city where it is acceptable for many to have a whole lot and for many more to not have enough
"We lament that black girls and black boys get a substandard education and then get blamed for not being able to get a job.
"We lament that neighborhoods are criminalized and villainized because they are populated by black people.
"We lament that black boys and black girls living in poverty are not able to have recreational resources and facilities, and then because they are still brilliant and ingenious, they create their own collaboratives on street corners and in alleys and in streetways, and then have those areas victimized and villainized and criminalized."
And that's not all...
We lament that we support a rabidly insane culture in this nation that sells power to black people and fear to white people in the form of a gun.
We lament that state sponsored terrorism is alive and well in the mass incarceration and extrajudicial killing of young black women and men.
We lament that economic slavery is alive and well as people and municipalities with power and privilege squeeze the labor out of black bodies through suppressing minimum wages and through balancing municipal budgets on their backs.
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday. And it is well that we should. But not only because there is much to lament, but because we as the church are at a crossroads. And the question before us is the old blues question of the crossroads:
Will we make a deal with the devil or will we stand with the Christ?
When the killing of Michael Brown and his body lying in the streets for four and half hours finally drove me out into the streets – and I say finally because I went out there much, much, much too late. But when I did, I met incredible young black women and men who got in my face.
They were not impressed with my color or with my collar.
They told me that my talk was cheap. And they had had enough of that.
They told me that I had been in my church praying while they were out there dying. And they had had enough of that.
They told me that I had been caring more about preserving my respectability and policing their profane language than about working for justice and ending the profane conditions in which they had been living. And they had certainly had enough of that.
They said, “You want to help? Then don’t come out here and preach at us. Come out here and stand with us. Stand against the tear gas and the rubber bullets. Stand against the pepper spray and the riot gear. Stand up and speak out. Amplify our voices. Do your white folk work. Give away your power and let us lead.”
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday because we as the church are at a crossroads. And the question before us is the old blues question of the crossroads:
Will we make a deal with the devil or will we stand with the Christ?
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is alive and well. He is out in the streets right now. He is standing up and he is shutting it down. And he is waiting for his church to get it together. He is waiting for his church to leave the comfort of our buildings and to get out there and join him. To toss Caesar’s coins back in his face, overturn tables and start making whips of cords. To meet oppression with militant nonviolent love.
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is alive and well. And he is standing where he always stands, with the oppressed, the targeted, the ridiculed and the marginalized.
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is leading the fight for freedom. And he bids us to get out of our comfortable pews and join him.
The devil is telling us to play it safe. The devil is telling us that if we play it safe we can keep our buildings and our reputations. That people in high places will say nice things about us. That we can keep our seats of honor at banquets and places of privilege in the public square.
Jesus is telling us those things are nothing but finely gilded prisons and they have been keeping us bound for far too long – and that we need to have had enough of that.
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is telling us that we need to lay it all on the line because truly we have nothing to lose but our chains.
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday because we as the church are at a crossroads.
As we tell the story of the cross, will we celebrate that together we can leave everything behind and carry that cross with him and with each other, counting all things as loss compared with the surpassing excellence of knowing Christ Jesus our Lord?
As we hear the nails pounded into his flesh, will we celebrate that the worst the world could offer could not stop the revolution then, and that the baton is being passed to us?
As we see his body laid in the tomb will we proclaim with one voice that that body is us, that the tomb is not the end, and that this party is just getting started?
As we leave this place will we go not to the comfort of our homes but into the streets. Will we not hoard power for ourselves but give it away to a new generation of young, black, queer, profane leaders. Will we live in such away that even agents of the empire will, like the centurion, look on us and say “truly this is the Son of God?”
Because, friends, that is who we are.
We are the Body of Christ.
We are the revolution.
And as long as we remember that, the revolution will never be stopped.
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