⁶  I gave my back to those who struck me
and my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard;
I did not hide my face
from insult and spitting.
⁷  The Lord GOD helps me;
therefore I have not been disgraced;
therefore I have set my face like flint,
and I know that I shall not be put to shame;
⁸      he who vindicates me is near.
Who will contend with me?
Let us stand up together.
Who are my adversaries?
Let them confront me.
⁹  It is the Lord GOD who helps me;
who will declare me guilty?
All of them will wear out like a garment;
The moth will eat them up. —Isaiah 50:6-9 (NRSV)

One needn’t look far these days for evidence that we’re living in a Good Friday world—every day of every week. Someone once observed that each generation eventually comes to believe that theirs is beset by more trouble and suffering than any previous generation has experienced. I don’t know if that’s true (for one thing, that kind of thinking can lead to a pretty pessimistic view of the arc of history), but trust few would argue that our own generation hasn’t seen more than enough trouble and suffering, regardless of what our ancestors experienced.

Hundreds, if not thousands of volumes have been written through the ages dealing with the problem of evil. Like most people who haven’t devoted their lives to the academic study of theology or philosophy, I suspect, I’ve read virtually none of them. But aside from the questions raised by theodicy—that is, accepting the fact that evil exists, and indeed, seems to flourish—it’s certainly not beyond the reach of ordinary folk to identify the manifestations of evil all around us. Regardless of what one believes about the relationship between a good, holy, and just God and the existence of evil, those manifestations remain. And it is those manifestations with which we must deal.

They come at us from myriad angles and in varying degrees. Whether it’s the unspeakable physical violence of Daesh against Christians, Jews, and Muslims in the Middle East, or the verbal invective of faith against faith in our own country, it’s a manifestation of evil. Be it the staggering poverty and rampant disease in West Africa, or the impoverishment born of social injustice and lack of access to adequate health care in the United States, it’s a manifestation of evil. There’s the reality of systemic racism if you’re a person of color here, and for those for whom it’s not a reality, there’s a perception of unfair accusations of racism—either way, it’s a manifestation of evil. It might be casual accusations of heresy, or ridicule of those who don’t believe as we do (guilty here), or angry name-calling, or the introduction of back-room politics in our presbytery meetings—but yes, evil manifests itself even in the church.

We’re filled with greed which, as I see it, is just another riff on fear. Unable to fully accept the grace God offers us or to embrace the fact that we are valued beyond measure by our God, we’re afraid of someone else getting ahead of us in line. We fear that by making ourselves vulnerable through an unconditional love of others—especially those who don’t look, or think, or act, or believe as we do—we may somehow lose out on the abundance that God has made available to us. We insist on our own way, whether it be in the sacred or the secular world, and that drives us to subordinate the needs of others to our own. We’re living in a Good Friday world.

Twenty-three years ago, in the midst of the riots that occurred in Los Angeles—a reaction to the acquittal of the police officers who had beaten him savagely during his arrest the previous year—a tearful Rodney King pleaded with both the rioters and the system against which they were lashing out, in essence, “can’t we all just get along?” Given the anger and violence that raged around him that night, it seemed a stunningly naïve plea. But is it really so difficult for us to know a little of what Mr. King was feeling? Who among us has not felt a sense of desperation in the face of the seemingly out-of-control conflict that surrounds us every day—a desperate longing for peace and justice, for cooperation toward common goals, for tolerance and mutual respect?

A better world is, of course, available to us. We are, after all, Easter People. In the person of Christ—because Christ lived and because he dwells within and among us—we have been given the greatest gift of all. We have been shown an answer—a very simple answer, really, if difficult for us to live out—to the seemingly endless cycle of evil begetting evil: Love. Plain and simple, love. And in the Easter story, we have literally been shown how it works. We see a man, as fully human and therefore as susceptible to pain and doubt, sorrow and suffering and fear as any man who ever lived, putting it all aside while being subjected to unspeakable cruelty so that we might see the power that love has to conquer it all. He loved the people who tortured and killed him.

Where might we be if we were to exercise that same kind of love? What might the world be like if, instead of insisting on our own way, we insisted on the way Christ showed us? How might the world be different if, instead of worshiping orthodoxy, or our own version of truth, or our own comfort and safety, or the freedom we claim to judge others, we worshiped the exercise of unconditional love that Christ modeled so selflessly for us? As I see it, that world has already been named, and it’s the kingdom of God.

To be sure, it’s not easy being Easter People in a Good Friday world, even among other Easter People. There will be those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; there will be insinuations and innuendo; there will be mockery and ridicule; and for some, there will be physical violence and suffering. But as Easter People we have seen the power of love, even over death; and we find strength against evil in the mighty fortress that is our God. It’s up to us to act like Easter People.