Waiting for the morning: April 17, 2022

Year C, Easter                                                             Luke 24:1-12                                                                       

            When I was in the hospital, I hated the night.  Visitors had to leave at 8pm and could not return until 8am.  At 8pm I would start to panic because I knew I had 12 hours ahead of me.  And it’s the hospital, so it’s not like you can sleep at night.  Because I had an infectious disease, I couldn’t leave the room or open the door.  It felt like I was in a tomb.  Even when I came home, I dreaded the night.  Never in my life have I been so desperate for the morning.  As I look back on it, I am reminded of Psalm 130. "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning."  I would like to tell you that the Psalm came to me in the darkness of the night when I most needed it, but it didn’t. Sometimes you have to wait.  Some nights last more than 12 hours.

            I have preached on this text from Luke several times.  Every time I read it, something different strikes me.  This year, it was the time of day that caught my attention. “On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women who had come with Jesus from Galilee came to the tomb…”  Early dawn. There are 4 Gospels that tell the story of the resurrection and they are all a little different in the way they tell the story.  One of the things they have in common is that the women come either right before dawn or at dawn. 

            There could be a ritualistic reason they came early in the morning.  Typically bodies were anointed before burial. However, because Jesus’ death and burial was unusual for a variety of reasons, the women had not been able to anoint him when they normally would have---right after death.  That must have been upsetting to them.  The act of anointing was a way these women could mourn someone who was dear to them.  It was their last opportunity to minister to him.  So it’s possible they were simply eager to move forward with this important ritual that they had been denied.

Because of COVID, most of us have had experiences of not being able to mourn people as we were once able.  It could have been being denied a timely funeral or even not being able to gather friends and family to share stories.  Some who died of COVID or were in nursing homes or hospitals with strict policies had to say goodbye through a computer or phone screen.  I said final prayers for someone through and open window while huddled with the family under an umbrella. The traumas of the past two years have been compounded by our inability to mourn and process.   Thus I think many of us can understand why it was so important for these followers of Jesus to anoint him as soon as they could.

Yet I also could not help but wonder what their nights must have been like after Jesus was crucified.  It has been two nights and two days.  Jesus rose on the third day.  The women who came to anoint him were the very same women who had been with him while he shared his parables, when he performed miracles, when he raised Lazarus from the dead.  They were the same women who had been with him when he was crucified. After witnessing the crucifixion of not just a dear friend, but a man you believed was God in the flesh…how well do you think you would sleep?  Trauma can do some crazy things to your sleep.

The psalm I opened with mentions someone watching for the morning.  I bet these women did more than watch. I would think they were desperate for the morning---desperate for a time that they could be with their friends who had shared this experience, friends they could weep openly with. Desperate for some sense of closure.

They arrived at early dawn, which means they started their journey when it was still dark.  Can you see it?  These heart-broken women trudging through the darkness to a tomb.  They must have been carrying more than just broken hearts and spices.  Because a broken heart will not propel you forward.  There must have been an ember of hope buried inside them—a memory dancing on the edges of their consciousness.  He said he would rise again.  It didn’t make sense when he said it, but what if??  It was desperation, but it was also hope that drove them into the night. Desperation and hope are often tangled together. 

I have traditional book commentaries that I consult when I am preparing a sermon and a few online commentaries.  When things get desperate (as they did this week), I occasionally just google random thoughts and words.  When I did that this week, I kept seeing websites and articles with titles like, “Evidence for the resurrection.”  Those were not links I pursued. We don’t believe in the resurrection because of evidence.  There is no body of evidence that can prove that the resurrection happened.  Despite that lack of evidence, we are still telling this story thousands of years after the event.  That in and of itself is amazing.  A religion that started with a man born in a backwater town, who collected a small band of followers and then died a gruesome death currently has 2.4 billion followers.  And that doesn’t include all of those Christians who have lived over the last 2000 years.  How could any movement survive that long without proof?

When the women went and told the other disciples that Jesus had risen, they had not yet see the risen Lord.  They had just seen the empty tomb and been told that he was risen by two men in white.  They had no real evidence. But they remembered who he was in life.  They remembered the hope he had given them, the hope they still carried even after he was crucified—when there was absolutely no good reason to hope.  Who holds on to hope after someone has been brutally murdered? Christians.  We do.  And that my friends, is what gets us through the darkest of nights and the haziest of dawns. It’s not the light that we currently see, it’s a light that we are promised. A light that seems heart wrenchingly dim at times, a light we can best see when we have experienced total darkness.

Photo by Daniel Joshua on Unsplash

Just like those desperately hopeful women, we too have to start in the night if we want to make it to the dawn.  Every single person in this church has suffered in some way over the past several years, some more than others.  I would do anything to be able to take some of that pain away.  I can’t.  I can’t give you proof of the resurrection.  But I can promise you this—that ember of hope that propelled those women through the darkness to an empty tomb burns in each one of us.  If it were not so, you would not be here.  Something brought you here. It might seem to be a family obligation, or a tradition---some perfectly ordinary reason.  But God’s works miracles in the ordinary. 

Today we receive communion at the altar for the first time in 25 months.  Communion is about a lot of things and one of those things is remembering Jesus’ words.  It’s a weekly reminder that despite the lack of proof, we still gather with hopeful expectation.  We still believe that we have a God who works miracles out of the ordinary—a God who promises that no darkness last forever.  The morning always comes.

Why are you here: April 21, 2019

Luke 24:1-12                                                                                                                        

Easter, Year C                                                                                                                          

            I have a question for you all.  Why are you here?  I am sure there are many reasons. Many of you might not be sure what that reason is.  Some of you are here because you come every Sunday and church and faith are important to you.  Some of you are here because it’s Easter and your family has always come on Easter. It’s a tradition. Some of you are here because the world is changing far too fast and you yearn for something that doesn’t change, something you can rely on.  Some of you are here because you want to hear the music and see the church full of lilies and azaleas.  And while some reasons may be better than others, I don’t believe there is a bad reason to be at church.  Because the ultimate reason for your presence here today is that God wants you here and will use whatever excuse necessary to get you here.

            While I do not know why you are here, I bet that none of you are here for a surprise.  I suspect very few people (if any) came to church thinking, I wonder what’s going to happen today.  Is Jesus going to rise again?  Are we going to sing Jesus Christ is Risen Today?  We come to Easter Sunday with a certain set of expectations.  And I get that. I know what it is like to go to church with expectations.  I was raised Catholic and one of the things I loved about the Catholic Church was the music. I go to Catholic Church once a year when I am on vacation and visiting my parents in New York and let me tell you, I get very annoyed if I don’t hear any of my favorite hymns.  Often I end up there around July 4^th and get a bunch of patriotic hymns, which really annoys me.  I think, I show up once a year, you would think that they could play my hymns.  I realize that is not a good attitude.  I should be there to worship God, but sometimes, I get too wrapped up in nostalgia and end up irritated.

            When the women went to the tomb, we know what they were expecting.  They were carrying spices so that they could anoint Jesus’ dead body.  It was an important religious custom that they were performing.  Of course, that is not what they ended up doing.  As we all know (because we have heard the story) the stone was rolled away and the tomb was empty.  No dead body to anoint.  The text says that they were perplexed.

            The windows in my office overlook our beautiful cemetery and I often see people visiting graves of loved ones who have died, either carrying flowers or just going to visit.  Imagine one of those people arriving at a grave and seeing the gravestone pushed over and a gaping hole with fresh dirt around it.  It is almost unimaginable.  Consider the fear, the confusion, the anxiety.  Would there be hope?  Probably not…because dead people don’t come back to life.  It’s one of things in life we depend on, death and taxes.  Once a body is buried or put in a tomb, that body stays  there. 

            In the Gospel story, when these women discovered the empty tomb, they were approached by two men in dazzling clothes (most likely angels).  The presence of these men did not bring comfort. They brought more fear.  The women could only bow their heads.  Instead of greeting the women or telling them not to be afraid (which is what angels typically did), these two men asked them a question, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.”  Then the angels reminded the women of the things that Jesus said to them when he was alive.  Meanwhile, we the readers are drumming our fingers impatiently asking ourselves why these women are so obtuse.  Jesus told them this was going to happen.  Why are they so surprised?  Why?  Because he died! These women saw him die and saw him buried.  Where else would they go to look for him besides a tomb?

            To their credit, they were able to take it all in.  When the angels reminded them of what Jesus said, they remembered Jesus’ words, heard them with an entirely different perspective. They remembered how they felt about him when he was alive, the way he stirred not only their hearts, but the hearts of the masses, the way he healed people, the way he loved without condition.  They remembered him and his words.  In remembering, they believed.  They were able to overcome their limited expectations and find hope in that empty tomb. 

            Why do you look for the living among the dead?  We do that all of the time.  After the horrible fire was extinguished at Notre Dame Cathedral, we saw pictures of the charred remains. We saw the video of the wooden steeple falling to the ground. We saw the hole in the vaulted ceiling.  But the most amazing picture was that of the gold cross surrounded by smoke and embers, seemingly untouched.  It stands in defiance of the wreckage that surrounds it.   Life in the midst of death.

            It might seem that the question those two angels asked is meant to point out the error on the part of the women, the foolishness of looking for Jesus Christ in a tomb.  But they weren’t foolish at all.  They were loyal to the end.  What they realized deep in their hearts, was that sometimes we do find the living God in the most desolate of places. Despite the fact that they were expecting to find a dead body, they were open to the possibility of life.  If they weren’t, they would not have listened to those angels.  They would have come up with a rational explanation for it all.  They laid down their meager expectations as soon as they were reminded of Jesus’ words. 

            In the resurrection stories, Jesus often had to remind the disciples, before they could recognize him. In the Episcopal Church, we do that every Sunday when we celebrate communion. We don’t just do it on special days.  We do it every Sunday because we need that reminder.  Our lives are so full of distractions---we need someone to remind us every Sunday of who Jesus was, what Jesus said, how we died, and how he rose again.  Read the Eucharistic Prayer.  It’s all there.  We say those words every Sunday. Then because Jesus realized that words are not always enough, we receive the body and blood of Christ at the altar rail. 

            God calls us to let go of our meager expectations. Our Lord is so much bigger than we can imagine.  He comes to us not only in the emptiness of a tomb, but in the charred remains of a burned cathedral, or the steel beams forming a cross in the wreckage after 9-11, or the darkest moment of our lives.  Death, nor fire, nor war, nor sin can conquer our God or confine our God.  Allow yourselves to be surprised by God.  Allow yourself to be reminded of God’s deep and enduring love.  Come to God’s altar. Come again and again. 

            Sometimes the challenges of our lives forces us to build walls around our hearts and we find that it is easier not to be reminded of God’s love, because then we open ourselves to being disappointed.  I understand that fear.  But this is Easter Sunday and those walls cannot protect you from a living God.  If we believe in a living God and a loving God, then those walls will shatter.  They will come down and God will come in to our hearts and our lives.    

I have seen the Lord: March 27, 2016

Easter, Year C                                                
John 20: 1-18                                                 

            In our Gospel reading for today, we have four characters:  Mary Magdalene, the unnamed beloved disciple, Peter and Jesus.  Mary is the first who we encounter.  She was the first to go to the tomb, presumably to anoint the body. When she arrived she found that the stone (which was more like a boulder) was rolled away.  She didn’t investigate further.  She did not look inside the tomb. She immediately ran in panic and told Peter and the beloved disciple what she had seen.  She assumed that the body has been stolen or moved.

            The beloved disciple was the next to approach the tomb.  He and Peter raced there.  He got there first and peered in.   Peter was close behind and rushed in past him.  It was only after Peter went in that the beloved disciple entered the tomb.  Once in the tomb he saw the linen wrapping, the clothes that Jesus had been wrapped in before he was buried—that was when he saw and believed.  The text also said that he did not understand the scripture that Jesus must rise from the dead.  This is a little confusing, but I will come back to that. 

            The last person to arrive at the tomb was Peter.  While he was the last to arrive, he was the first to go in. He was always impulsive—act first and think later.  The Gospel of John does not tell us what Peter thought.  However, the Gospel of Luke tells us that Peter was amazed.  Both the beloved disciple and Peter left as soon as they had seen the tomb.  Mary stayed and wept. 

            Each one of these disciples of Jesus had very different reactions to the empty tomb.  Peter was amazed, which means he was in a state of awe and wonderment.  The response of the beloved disciple is somewhat mysterious. It says that he saw and believed but it also says that he did not yet understand the scriptures about Jesus rising from the dead.  We know what he saw.  What did he believe?  I am not sure it matters.  The point is that he believed in something.  The empty tomb gave him just enough faith to believe in something.

            Then there was Mary.  We have the most information about her reaction.  The first time she saw the empty tomb, she ran away scared.  But she came back and this time she stayed.  She stayed and she wept.  One can only imagine how much she had already wept.  She had stood at the foot of Jesus’ cross while he was slowly dying.  I imagine that on this day she might have been hoping for some closure to her grief.  What she found was a gaping hole---not closure.  

Out of nowhere appeared two angels. Mary did not recognize them as angels.  Had she realized who they were, she might have figured things out a little more quickly.  Instead she told them that they had taken away her Lord and she did not know where to find him.  Jesus then appeared and asked why she was weeping.  She didn’t recognize him either.  Only when he said her name did she finally realize that not only was her Lord alive, he was standing right next to her. 

            Each of these disciples reacted to the empty tomb in different ways, but it would be a stretch to say that this empty tomb allowed them to believe in the resurrection.  At worst it made them even more scared, and at best it gave them something to think about.  It was only when they saw Jesus in the flesh did they truly believe.  

Yet today, I stand before you asking you to believe something based on a story that someone told 2000 years ago.  I don’t even have an empty tomb.  This story goes against everything that we know and believe about how the world works, how the human body works.

            Each disciple’s faith journey was different.  They met Jesus in different places.  Jesus approached them in different ways. The beloved disciple believed in something, but could not fully comprehend what it all meant.  Mary only believed when she heard the risen Jesus say her name.   It would seem that the beloved disciple and Peter only truly understood the resurrection when Jesus made a dramatic entrance into the room where they were hiding.

            Much like the earliest disciples we all experience faith in different ways. Some of us don’t need a lot of convincing.  We have heard the stories since we were small and it just stuck.  Some of us don’t fully understand it all, but we still believe—we are not sure what we believe, but we believe in something and that thing leaves us wanting more.  Some of us are content with the mystery and wonder of it all.  Then there are many of us who look at that empty tomb and think, “What happened to Jesus?  Where did my Lord and Savior go when I needed him most?” 

            There is something that Mary can teach us.  She teaches us to rest in our doubt, and our fear and our grief.  The other disciples left.  They figured, well there is nothing else to see here.  Mary stayed and she wept…until Jesus called her by name.  I cannot help but wonder why Jesus came to Mary first. Why not the beloved disciple or Peter, the rock on whom he would build his church?  Why did he appear to the person who seemed the most confused, the slowest to understand?  Because she stayed.  She stayed at the foot of the cross when he was crucified.  She stayed at the empty tomb when she was afraid, confused, and probably a little angry.  She stayed.

            Sometimes we confuse faith with magic.  We think it should be effortless and immediate.   We imagine it coming in visions and transcendent experiences.  For some people, that might be true.  But for most of the people I have talked to, including clergy, faith is a struggle.  It’s a long walk full of confusion and confidence, doubt and assurance, grief and joy.  That might not be what you want to hear on Easter.  Easter should be about joy and candy.  While it is more complicated than that, there is joy and love and even transcendence on Easter. Because at the end of Mary’s journey, her trips back and forth to the cross and to the grave, she was able to proclaim to the other disciples, “I have seen the Lord.”  That is the most any of us can ask for, a moment where we can say with assurance, that we have encountered the living God.   

Consider the times in your life when you have encountered God.  It doesn’t have to be majestic.  It might be very simple.   When have you have felt close to God: the birth of a child, (the baptism of a child) the first time you felt love as an adult, the holy moment when you held the hand of a loved one as they slipped into the next world, a harvest moon that took you by surprise, the rainbow you saw because you were stuck in traffic on the HRBT.   I will give you a moment.   Those moments are precious and holy. 

What makes these moments faith sustaining is the ability to put them in the context of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. That is why we meet in church to talk about these things.  Sure you can experience God outside of church.  Here is where we make the connections (between the ordinary and the extraordinary and to one another.) Sometimes it’s not all about joy and candy.  Sometimes it’s cold and rainy.  So we come together to remind ourselves and one another of these holy moments, to help one another see them more clearly. That way we can say together, “I have seen the Lord.”