EASTER IS FOR YOU - March 23, 2008
John 20:1-18
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
On Easter Sunday, worshipers entering the sanctuary at McMasters United Methodist Church in Turtle Creek, PA, were greeted by two giant, red capital letters -- M-T -- behind the altar. M-T stands, of course, for "empty," and the good news of the empty tomb.The pastor planned to quiz the children about the M-T during the children's message early in the service. With the brightly dressed children gathered around him on the chancel steps, the pastor asked: "What's different about the church today, kids?"After an expectant pause, the pastor's own daughter threw her hands into the air and replied: "It's full, Dad!"
The first Easter began in the deep darkness of a night without stars or moonlight -- the darkness of a desperate soul in despair. It was the darkness of a world without hope, the darkness of a world where fear was the dominant emotion. Through that darkness a woman stumbled, picking her way along a rocky path. The woman was named Mary, and her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. Mark tells us that she was determined to anoint the body of Jesus of Nazareth, who had been crucified just before Passover, and buried so quickly that his body had not been properly prepared. Even though there was a huge stone that had been rolled in front of the opening of the cave where Jesus had been buried, Mary came, as soon as she could, hoping above hope that she would be able to put the spices on Jesus' body.
Are we like Mary, stumbling through life, grief stricken, tears flowing either from our eyes, or dry tears flowing from our soul, but also determined to do the right thing, even though it seems impossible?
John tells us that when Mary arrived at the tomb, probably in the cold of the first gray light of dawn, she could hardly believe her eyes. Was she seeing things, or was that a shadow on the cave -- no, no, it was true, the stone had been rolled away!! Now Mary's tears flowed freely, tears of relief, even in her sorrow. Yes, she would be able to touch Jesus once more, to say good-by, to anoint his body with the spices she had brought as a last tribute of gratitude for all he had taught her, all he had showed her, about the love of God that had changed her life and brought her joy. Yes, Mary was relieved that the stone had been rolled away, and she quickened her steps.
Is this part of the story for us? Are we carrying a huge stone around in our hearts? Are we weighted down from grief and pain? Are the burdens that we carry around with us keeping us from expressing gratitude to those we love? On Easter morning, we find the stone rolled away. We don't have to heave and push and strain to roll it away, it is God who rolls the stone away. It is God who rolls away our sorrow, releasing us from the pain, difficulties and disappointments of life. With Mary, our steps become quicker, easier, and we move with ease and hope and we, too, feel relief and yes, even joy!
After finding the stone rolled away, Mary looked in the tomb, and was amazed to find that Jesus body was not there. She immediately ran to tell Peter and the other disciple, who of course came to see for themselves.
Wouldn't you have wanted to tell someone? Wouldn't you have wanted to see for yourself, too?
One disciple saw, and believed. John doesn't tell us what the other disciple thought -- was he confused, frightened, excited -- or a little of all three?
On this joyous Easter morning about 2,000 years later, can we run to the tomb to find it empty and be amazed all over again?
Can we empty ourselves of that old self -- the one who was skeptical, or thoughtless, who felt hurt and pain and sorrow so deeply, who was perhaps bitter and angry, or blamed a difficult childhood -- can we empty all that from our lives, so that we can heal from the wounds of life that pierce our lives like the nails pierced Jesus' hands, the hands that we can reach out to one another with, and know that their hands are wounded too? Sometimes our hurts are so deep that they feel like they pierce our sides, like the sword that pierced Jesus' side.
But the truth was that the tomb was empty -- and Jesus makes it possible to empty ourselves of all that hurt and pain, so that we can heal and start again.
After looking in the tomb, the disciples went back home, but that isn't the end of the story. Mary, that determined woman, stayed at the tomb, in the garden, weeping again. She bent over to take one last look, just to make sure, and when she turned around she saw someone she thought was the gardener, and it was when he called her name (Mary!) that she knew -- and she turned around and exclaimed, "Rabbi," or "Teacher."
In calling her name, Jesus reminds Mary that he is "The Good Shepherd" from John chapter 10 -- the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23, the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep, the Good Shepherd who knows his sheep by name and whose sheep know him, the Good Shepherd who cares for each sheep, the Good Shepherd who knows God, and God knows him. With that connection, Mary understands, and she rushes over to touch Jesus, but he said to her, "Do not hold on to me . . ."
Do not hold on to me. How many times have we wanted to hold on to something that had changed, that was over, that once had meaning but now, well, maybe now we don't know exactly what the meaning is.
Don't we all cling to what we know, what we once knew, what is comfortable, and what seems safe?
The buzz word for the presidential campaign is "change," but change is threatening, and people are beginning to ask of all the candidates, "How much change, what kind of change, how are you going to create change, and how fast?"
Even when we say we want change, even when we know we need change, our good intentions to make those changes seem to bend right back around on us until we're living in the same old patterns once again.
We try, and try again, to hold on, but Jesus says, we can't hold on. We can't hold on the to past, no matter how hard we try. We can never go back, and we can't hold on, Jesus calls us to move ahead, to look toward life here on earth, and toward eternal life. Jesus is on his way to return to heaven, to His Father who is now our Father, to His God who is now our God.
And that is when Mary understands, the light of Christ which overcomes the darkness overcomes her grief and pain, and I can imagine the joy that propels her feet on the way back to the disciples, where she gives one of the great confessions of faith that we have in the Bible when she tells them, "I have seen the Lord." Today, Easter Sunday, is the one Sunday of the year when we can exclaim with Mary, "I have seen the Lord!"
In 1963, George C. Wallace, governor of Alabama, literally stood in the door of the University of Alabama, preventing Vivian Malone Jones, a young African-American woman, from enrolling as a student. Thirty-three years later, Wallace awarded Jones the first Lurleen B. Wallace Award of Courage. (The award, named in honor of Wallace's wife, recognizes women who have made outstanding contributions to the state of Alabama.) Wallace publicly apologized to Jones for the 1963 controversy; Jones in turn forgave Wallace.
Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., on hand for the event, said, "This event really is a moment of reconciliation and redemption."
Yes, on this Easter Sunday, we have seen the Lord.
In From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya, Ruth Tucker writes about Dr. Eleanor Chestnut. After arriving in China in 1893 under the American Presbyterian missions board, Dr. Chestnut built a hospital, using her own money to buy bricks and mortar. The need for her services was so great, she performed surgery in her bathroom until the building was completed. One operation involved the amputation of a common laborer's leg. Complications arose, and skin grafts were needed. A few days later, another doctor asked Chestnut why she was limping. "Oh, it's nothing," was her terse reply. Finally, a nurse revealed that the skin graft for the patient, a coolie, came from Dr. Chestnut's own leg, taken with only local anesthetic.
Yes, on this Easter Sunday, we have seen the Lord.
In Executive Edge, a management consultant tells the story of a little girl named Schia. When Schia was four years old, her baby brother was born. "Little Schia began to ask her parents to leave her alone with the new baby. They worried that, like most 4-year-olds, she might want to hit or shake him, so they said no."
Over time, though, since Schia wasn't showing signs of jealousy, they changed their minds and decided to let Schia have her private conference with the baby. "Elated, Schia went into the baby's room and shut the door, but it opened a crackÐenough for her curious parents to peek in and listen. They saw little Schia walk quietly up to her baby brother, put her face close to his, and say, "Baby, tell me what God feels like. I'm starting to forget."
"Easter is not a time for groping through dusty, musty tombs to disprove spontaneous generation or even to prove life eternal. It is a day to fan the ashes of dead hope, a day to banish doubts and seek the slopes where the sun is rising, to revel in the faith which transports us out of ourselves and the dead past into the vast and inviting unknown."Ê On this Easter morning, we come with Mary, perhaps weeping with her, to the tomb and find that the stone has been rolled away. The challenge of Easter is to let God roll away the stones of our burdens, fears, sorrows and regrets so that when God calls our names, we will be able to say with Mary, "I have seen the Lord."
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Amen
Pastor Fran
