Resurrecting Humanity: The Sermon No One Asked Me To Preach

Good morning! Happy Easter to everyone!

I hope you managed to find all the hidden eggs before the squirrels did, or that your Easter bonnet isn’t too windswept, or perhaps you’re just basking in the glow of successfully navigating family brunch logistics. There’s a certain chaotic joy to this day, isn’t there? A whirlwind of pastels, sugar, and traditions that somehow brings us together.

But beneath the chocolate bunnies and the festive meals, Easter carries a message far more profound. It’s the story, at its heart, of resurrection. A story of life refusing to be silenced, of hope pushing through the darkest despair, of emergence from the tomb. And as I look around our world today, that theme – resurrection – feels incredibly urgent, perhaps not just for one figure in history, but for the very essence of our shared humanity and the rights that protect it.

Because, let’s be honest, sometimes it feels like fundamental principles are being carefully, deliberately, put away – entombed, even. We hear reports, like the recent ones about the State Department, suggesting a conscious effort to “streamline” – what a sterile word! – the definition of human rights. Decisions being made to exclude or minimize reporting on abuses that, for decades, were considered vital to acknowledge: things like horrific prison conditions, rampant government corruption, the denial of peaceful assembly, the forced return of refugees to danger, violence targeting LGBTQ+ people, extensive gender-based violence, the denial of basic democratic participation.

Now, this isn’t just about changing words in a government report. This is about choosing what to see and what to ignore. It’s about drawing lines and deciding whose suffering merits the world’s attention and whose doesn’t fit the current policy objectives. When institutions charged with upholding human rights start carving out exceptions, omitting inconvenient truths, or creating hierarchies of whose dignity matters most, they are performing a kind of burial service for empathy. They are signaling to perpetrators around the globe that perhaps the watchdog is looking away, that certain abuses are now permissible, or at least, less consequential in the eyes of the powerful.

And make no mistake – this selective vision, this deliberate narrowing of concern, is a danger to everyone. It normalizes indifference. It chips away at the foundational idea of universal human rights. If we accept that some rights are expendable, or that some groups are less deserving of protection, we weaken the entire structure. The logic that excludes one group today can easily be adapted to exclude another tomorrow. It’s a slippery slope towards a world where human dignity is conditional, granted, or revoked based on political winds or social prejudice. That’s the tomb we risk sealing ourselves into – a tomb of cynicism and selective humanity.

The Easter story, for Christians, centers on a singular, divine resurrection – a miracle that overturned death itself and became the bedrock of faith, a promise of ultimate hope. The resurrection we need now, the one that feels so pressing in our current moment, is different. It’s not about defying biological death, but about defying moral death. It’s about resurrecting our collective conscience, our commitment to the inherent worth of every single person. The stone that sealed Jesus’s tomb, tradition tells us, was rolled away. The stone sealing the tomb of our fullest humanity – the stone of indifference, of fear, of tribalism, of defining rights down to meaningless minimums – we are the ones who have to roll that stone away. It requires not divine intervention, but human intention. Human courage. Human action. Human love.  

So, what does it mean, on this Easter Sunday, to be agents of that resurrection – the resurrection of humanity and human rights?

First, we must resurrect empathy. We have to consciously resist the urge to look away, to accept the curated, “streamlined” version of reality. We must seek out the stories being erased, listen to the voices being silenced. We must care about the prisoner enduring torture, the activist jailed without trial, the family fleeing persecution only to be turned back, the person attacked for who they love or how they identify, the victim of systemic corruption or gendered violence. We must refuse to let their humanity be rendered invisible.

Second, we must resurrect the definition. We have to insist, loudly and clearly, that human rights are universal, indivisible, and interconnected. Freedom from torture is a human right. Freedom from discrimination is a human right. The right to peaceful assembly, the right to participate in one’s government, the right to live free from pervasive corruption that steals futures – these are human rights. We cannot allow them to be defined away for political convenience.  

Third, we must resurrect our voices. Silence in the face of diminishing rights is complicity. We need to speak truth to power, challenge the narratives that dehumanize or exclude, and demand accountability from our leaders and institutions. Whether it’s through voting, protesting, contacting representatives, supporting advocacy groups, or simply engaging in difficult conversations, our voices are essential to rolling back the tide of indifference.

Fourth, we must resurrect connection. Recognizing our shared vulnerability is key. An erosion of rights anywhere ultimately threatens rights everywhere. We need to build solidarity across different struggles, understanding that the fight for racial justice, LGBTQ+ equality, economic fairness, religious freedom, and political liberty are all part of the same larger struggle for human dignity.

And finally, we must resurrect action. Empathy, definition, voice, and connection must translate into deeds. Supporting organizations on the front lines, volunteering time, making ethical choices in our consumption, creating welcoming communities – these are the tangible ways we breathe life back into the principles we claim to uphold.

Easter is the ultimate story of hope springing from desolation. Resurrecting a robust, fearless, compassionate commitment to human rights for every person on this planet might feel like an overwhelming task in these fractured times. It might feel like trying to roll away an impossibly heavy stone. But it is the necessary work. It is the most profound way to affirm life and reject the forces that seek to diminish it.

Let this Easter be more than a commemoration. Let it be a commission. A call to step out of any tomb of complacency, to challenge the darkness of indifference, and to actively, intentionally, participate in the resurrection of humanity – in our policies, in our communities, and in our own hearts. Let us go forth and bring that renewed hope, that resurrected humanity, vibrantly back to life.

Amen.