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Still Breathing

Luke 20:27-38

Rev. Rebecca DePoe

November 9, 2025

Today’s Scripture reading comes from the gospel of Luke: chapter 20, beginning in verse 27. Hear now the word of God:

Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to him and asked him a question, “Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother.

Now there were seven brothers; the first married a woman and died childless. Then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally, the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.”

Jesus said to them, “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. Indeed, they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection.

And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.’ Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.

This is the word of the Lord; thanks be to God.

It starts with a phone call from a number you don’t recognize. You accept the call. On the other end of the phone is a social worker with a question that takes your breath away:

We need to know if you’ll accept temporary kinship placement of your grandchildren.

In that moment, time slows down. You don’t have any diapers, or a toddler bed, or their favorite cereal in the pantry. You just know that these children-flesh of your flesh- need safety, and love, and someone to breathe steady when their world has stopped spinning.

You say yes, because what else is there to say? And in that small, trembling yes- God is still breathing. Not with a plan or a stocked pantry, but with presence. With the stubborn, life-giving Spirit that moves through every cracked place we thought was beyond repair.

It’s the same Spirit that hovered over the waters in creation. The same breath that filled dry bones in Ezekiel’s valley. The same pulse of life that carried Jesus beyond the grave. And the same love that refuses to give up on any one of us.

Because God is not the God of the dead- but the God of the living. The God who is still breathing though the chaos, still creating in the middle of heartbreak, still whispering “life isn’t finished yet.”

When I think about what it means to have your whole life turned upside down in the space of a phone call. I can’t help but think about the kind of God Jesus is talking about in today’s gospel reading.

The Sadducees come to Jesus with a question meant to trap him. They were the religious elites of their time- wealthy, educated, and closely tied to the temple system. They believed only in the written law of Moses and didn’t believe in resurrection or life after death. For them, faith was about order and control, about keeping things predictable and contained.

They ask Jesus about the resurrection like it’s a riddle to be solved- a problem to outsmart. But Jesus isn’t interested in debating the logic of the afterlife. He points them back to the living heartbeat of God. “The Lord,” he says, “is the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob… God is not God of the dead, but of the living- for to God, all of them are alive.”

It's as if Jesus is telling the Sadducees: you can’t reason your way into resurrection; you can only breathe your way into it. Because resurrection isn’t an argument- it’s an encounter with a living God who refuses to stop showing up. A God who’s still on the line, still speaking, still breathing life into people who thought their stories were over.

Resurrection isn’t just about what happens to our bodies after we die. It’s about what God is doing right now- in the spaces that feel hollow and breathless. It’s the courage to say yes to life when everything in you wants to shut down. It’s the grace that shows up in the middle of chaos, not after it’s over.

Sometimes resurrection looks like a grandmother saying yes to children who need a safe place to call home.

Sometimes it looks like showing up to visit someone in the nursing home when you don’t know what to say.

Sometimes it’s dragging yourself out of bed when you don’t feel like it, whispering “I’m still here, I’m still breathing.”

When we picture resurrection in our minds we tend to think of this big dramatic thing- angels and empty tombs, dazzling light, and trumpet sounds. But most of the time, resurrection is quiet. It’s a pulse, a breath, a flicker of life in the ashes. It’s the Spirit of God still moving through grief, still stirring in what we thought was done, still calling us to believe that nothing- not even death- can stop God’s love.

That’s what Jesus is saying to the Sadducees, and maybe to us too: You can try to put limits on life, or rules around God, but the living God doesn’t fit inside your logic. The living God is already ahead, breathing life into things you thought were beyond saving.

Not long ago, a friend told me the story about how she and her husband came to purchase their new house. Unlike most empty nesters, they decided to move into a bigger house. Her friends thought she was crazy. Why move into a five-bedroom house when your youngest is about to graduate from high school?

My friend wasn’t sure they were going to get the house when they made their competitive offer. She told me later she remembered praying “God, if this offer goes through, we’ll make this place a refuge for those who need it.”

As I told her later- you should never make deals with Jesus. He never forgets.

She though she was saying yes to hospitality. A guest room for out-of-town friends visiting Pittsburgh. A dining room large enough to host Thanksgiving dinner for the strays who wandered into her home every holiday with no family of their own to celebrate with. But a few months after they closed on the house, her phone rang. It was the call no grandparent expects, but one God uniquely equipped her for.

And because that prayer was still echoing in her heart- because God had already been preparing her to say yes- she took a deep breath and said, “we’ll make room.”

That’s resurrection. Not the shiny, Easter-morning kind with trumpets and lilies, but the real, everyday kind- the kind that makes room, that opens the door, that keep breathing love into the world even and especially when it costs something.

It’s what happens when the Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead still moves through ordinary people, turning a house into a refuge, a phone call into a calling, and an ordinary Monday into holy ground.

The Greek word fo resurrection is anastasis- it means “to stand up again.” To stand again after grief has knocked you down. To stand again when the diagnosis changes everything. To stand again when the phone call comes, when the layoff comes, or when the person you voted for isn’t elected.

Resurrection doesn’t erase the pain- it just refused to let pain have the last word. It’s God taking us by the hand, saying, “Come on, love. Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

And maybe that’s what Jesus meant when he said God is not God of the dead, but of the living. Maybe he was saying” wherever people keep standing back up, wherever breath returns to lungs that we thought were empty, wherever love keeps getting the last word- that’s where I am.

Because resurrection isn’t only something that happened once, long ago. It’s happening right now. In the quiet places where someone says yes again. In the trembling courage of a heart that decides to love again. In the weary faith of those who keep showing up, who keep feeding, forgiving, trusting, and praying, who keep breathing when it would be easier to give up.

God is still breathing.

In us.

Through us.

Around us.

And so this week, when the world feels heavy, when you’re not sure if you can stand again, take a breath. A deep, holy, ordinary breath. And remember: the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead is still at work in you.

Still calling you by name.

Still lifting you up.

Still breathing life into your dust.

Because resurrection isn’t somewhere else, someday later.

It’s right here.

It’s right now.

And it’s still breathing.

Thanks be to God,

In Jesus name,

Amen.