Just After Sunrise

Mark 16.1-8   When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?”  But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him.  But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.’” Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.

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You know, sometimes the aftermath of a horrible scene can be strangely quiet.  I think that’s how it was in the early morning, after the Sabbath, when the women walked to the tomb to tend to the body of Jesus.  It was just after dawn, earlier than it is now.  I’m sure there were other people up and working – fetching water, preparing food, caring for livestock and all the things that people had to do.  It was an ordinary day – yet it was anything but an ordinary day.

And in spite of the activity, it seemed very quiet – in contrast to the violence of the Friday before.  Some of his followers had fled, some of them were in hiding.  All of them feared for their lives.

It was the women who were out, unlike the others, because first of all, it was women’s work to tend the bodies of loved ones who died, but also, because they were women and not men they were in less danger.

The men knew that, as followers of Jesus – a convicted, crucified criminal – their own lives were in danger too.  Were they not accomplices to whatever crime he had committed?  There was reason for them to be afraid.

But as the women walked toward the tomb, fretting about how they would get the stone moved out of the way, and as the men who were still laying low discussed what their next moves might be, none of them knew how everything they anticipated, everything they feared, everything they grieved was about to change.

The teacher they had followed and loved, but hadn’t fully comprehended, was not there in the tomb where they had laid him on Friday.  The strange young man who was there waiting for the women when they arrived, an angel, told them he had risen from the dead and would be waiting for them in Galilee – the place where it had all begun.  Go, tell the others, the angel said to the women.  Then go to Galilee and see Jesus.

Putting ourselves in their place, and all that they had been through, can you imagine?  We went through Maundy Thursday last week; we shared the remembrance of his last meal with his disciples and we told the story of his betrayal and arrest, his crucifixion and death – it was all heart-wrenchingly terrifying and sad, wasn’t it?  But imagine the way it was for Mary, for Peter, for James, for John?

Is it any wonder, really, that the women turned and fled in terror, and spoke to no one?

Have you ever been so terrified you couldn’t speak?

We know that they didn’t remain mute for too long.  We know that the word of Christ’s resurrection spread pretty quickly, that they did see him again on more than one occasion, and that the number of those who believed and followed Christ grew like wildfire.  We know these things, and they are the reason we are here today.  After the terror and the death there would come a time when people could say Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  He is the risen Lord.  Hallelujah!  Amen!

But in that early morning quiet, just after dawn, there was uncertainty and fear.  And silence. 

And there still is.

We have our moments of uncertainty, when we are not sure that the strength Jesus gives is enough for our weakness.  We have our moments of fear, when in spite of the assurances we have been taught from the church that nothing can separate us from Christ and his love, we still feel very much alone.  We have our moments of silence, when instead of proclaiming Christ, crucified and risen, with our words and our actions, our hearts and our eyes, we withhold this good news.  And not sharing it is the same as not having it.

The words the angel said to the women are words for us as well.  We must tell the others.  We must go out into the world and follow Jesus, who has gone ahead of us.  We must follow and obey him and then we will see him.

Mark leaves the story open … unfinished.  He leaves room for us to enter into it.  Hear the angel saying to you – He is risen!  Go and tell the others, and all of you – all of us – let us follow him!

#prosper

A day begins with anxiety and fear when who knows? how it will end – because even though the last lines seem clearly written, there is still hope for something different. 

So we begin our Friday journey.

We follow him to his arrest, to his interview with Pilate, to the judgment of the people: he should die.

We follow him up the hill, a man bent under the weight of the cross on his beaten bloodied back, and thorns pushed into his head. We follow the scorn, the jeers, the cold decisions about what is best for all.  He must die.  A necessary sacrifice.

Our eyes follow as the cross is raised, our ears follow his cries, his prayers, and the sound of him giving up his spirit – the silence.

Even in the residual noise of the day, in the waning afternoon, there is the empty silence – his spirit has left this world.

We follow to the tomb where his body is laid to rest, and the stone is rolled in.  It is done.

W.H. Auden said it well.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.[1]

Who, then, could walk away from this saying, “All in all, a good day; a prosperous day”?

Only one, perhaps, who earned his pocketful of silver with a quick kiss – easy money!

…but hangs now in the potter’s field, lifeless, defeated, tragically condemned; a loss in the end.  No – not this one.

Yet the world waits, in the emptiness of this day, suspended in midair.  Static.

We leapt off the edge when we cried “crucify him!” and watched him die.  Now we hover over the dark abyss – too hard today to see the other side.

We, who know not what we do, say:  Lord, have mercy.

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[1] Stop All the Clocks (Funeral Blues)

… unless a grain of wheat falls …

John 12:20-33                        ²⁰Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. ²¹They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” ²²Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. ²³Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. ²⁴Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. ²⁵Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. ²⁶Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

²⁷“Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. ²⁸Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” ²⁹The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” ³⁰Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. ³¹Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. ³²And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” ³³He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

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Here’s something you can try:  make a list of 100 things you love.  Don’t worry about the definition of love; don’t obsess about whether something qualifies as true love or not.  Don’t worry about having “my children” come right after “deep-dish pizza” on your list.  Just don’t think too much about it at all.  Go ahead and start now if you like.  One hundred things you love.

Do you think it will be easy to come up with 100?  Or will it be hard?  About what point will it become hard?   Around number 50?  70?  Or around number 10?

The first item on my list is books.  I started listing my children at number 16 – but I am not ashamed!  The order in which I wrote them down does not reflect the quality of my love; it doesn’t mean anything that my children come after sandals, the color pink, and good French bread.  I would die for my children but I assure you, I would not give my life for a good baguette or my favorite sandals.  I’m not that worried about my priorities, but I’m ok with loving lots of different, crazy things.  How about you?

We need a lot of love in our lives – especially right now.

I don’t have to tell you how hard things have been lately.  Winter … Lent … death.  We have been challenged to maintain our sunny dispositions and our hope.  Spring is coming, but we are also looking at the hardest days of Lent ahead of us:  Maundy Thursday and Good Friday and Black Saturday – before we can get to Easter Sunday. 

I don’t mind telling you that number 9 on my list is a sunny spot by the window.  We take our blessings wherever we find them.

We know we’re getting close to the cross, and Jesus knows it too.  He refers to it as “being glorified,” which strikes me as a little strange and a little unnerving, because we know that the path to his glorification will be a ghastly affair.  Another one of those paradoxes, I guess, that the gospel serves us. 

Jesus might be a little unsettled by it too, and this is why I think so.  In John’s gospel Jesus is usually Mr. Cool.  He’s utterly in control, self-assured, wise beyond all wisdom.  So it’s surprising to find a little bit of uncertainty when he says, “Now my soul is troubled.” 

At our midweek prayer study we had an interesting conversation about whether it’s really ok to ask God for the things you want.  Some said no; they felt very strongly that the most appropriate thing to ask is that God’s will be done, just as Jesus suggested in the prayer he taught his disciples.  And never assume you know what that will is in any particular circumstance.  Others felt that it’s okay to ask boldly for whatever you want and with regard to God's will, just trust God to sort it all out.  After all, Jesus also told us we could ask for anything. 

Yet ... here ... Jesus doesn’t seem to do that.  He might want to be saved from the hour of suffering, since he brings up the subject, but he resists making that request.  He says, “No – this is what I am here for.”  The only way out of it is through it; the only way to resurrection is through suffering and death.  But he does ask for one thing:  Father, glorify your name.

And then, just as it happened at the time of his baptism years earlier, it happens again: a voice speaks from the heavens and offers assurance.  This time, the voice says, “I have glorified it and I will glorify it again.”  Through the unspeakable suffering there will be glory; in this sacrifice there will be redemption.

Jesus says to the people who were standing around, “this voice has come for your sake, not mine.”  But maybe, a little bit, for his sake too.  To have his father in heaven come alongside him, encourage him, love him – is this not a precious gift?  Remember, Jesus was fully human and every human needs love to carry us through the good and the bad days.

Number 31 on my list is rocking chairs.

We need to be loved and to love, as long as we are alive.  It’s what makes us know we are alive.

Some seasons hold more death than we would like, and this has been such a season for Faith.  We have grieved the loss of two vital members of our family in the past couple of months – very hard loss.  This is the gift and the cost of being family together – we share our losses. 

And in addition each one of us has experienced our own personal losses and hardships.

And in this season of Lent we collectively experience the death of Jesus and the suffering of the world he took on in his passion, and we are reminded that death is always with us – that it is inevitable – unavoidable – on our way toward life. 

We are reminded that unless the grain of wheat falls to the ground it will be no more than a single grain of wheat.  But if it falls to the ground and dies it will bring forth much new life. 

We know that many things die so something new can be born.  Every year we see the leaves fall from the trees so new buds can form in the spring and life can continue.  We know that old desires sometimes must die for growth to take place in human beings. 

We know that Jesus calls us to pick up our own cross and follow him, to die to the old life and be born again, and to do it not just once but whenever it is necessary – and in some ways it is necessary every single day.

To die to sin each new day, to reject Satan and the forces of evil and make a new commitment to life, to love, every day.

Number 58 is sitting with my family around the dinner table.

If we are recommitting to life every day, we are going to have to say goodbye to some things because everything has a lifespan.  If we want to commit ourselves to life, we sometimes need to say goodbye even to things we love.

Number 75 is good memories.

This life that we have been given is worth loving because it is so full of both joy and sorrows, and sometimes there is joy hidden in the sorrow.  This life is so breathtaking because each day it offers us new gifts, surprises, some new delight, some bit of pain that comes our way, sometimes the gift of a new insight – and gratitude.  This life we have been given is for living fully, in all its joys and pains and laughter and tears and struggles, all the sharing and caring, the giving and receiving – all of it; from the highest height to the deepest valley of tears.  This life is yours to live – the mistake is in letting fear get in the way of living it.  Fear is the thing that stops life.

The sounds of children on a playground is number 63.

Soon it will be Easter morning, but before that will be Good Friday.  Soon will come resurrected life, but before that some things must die.  We need not be afraid of death, of letting go.  We can still love what we must let go; as long as we are moving toward life, we have not really lost the things we love. 

Death happens along our life journey, but as G.K. Chesterton said, this is not something for resurrection people to worry about.  We believe in life.  We believe in love, in all shapes and sizes, at all times. 

What are the things you love?  Now is the best time to think of them.

May you have at least 100 things that you love. 

May you be grateful for those loved things and people that have died.

May you always, fearlessly move toward life.

Some Thoughts on NEXTChurch 2015 - Transformation

In the sanctuary of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago, I looked up from my seat to see a large bird hanging from the rafters.  Its body and neck were made from a guitar; its head, wings, and feathers were constructed out of strips of paper.  The story behind the bird is a story of transformation.

Earlier in the week, more than 600 Presbyterians assembled for the 2015 NEXT Church National Gathering.  NEXT Church is a network that began among Presbyterian Church leaders who “believe the ‘church that is becoming’ is a church that is faithful, fruitful, diverse, and engaged in sharing good news of Jesus Christ in a changing world.”  The theme of this year’s 3-day gathering was “Beyond Our Walls, Our Fears, Ourselves:  Encountering God’s Transforming Grace.”

At opening worship on the first morning, we found our bulletins contained a strip of paper cut from familiar documents: old hymnals, Book of Order, and other church reports.  We were asked to write on the strip one thing that holds us back from moving into the future of the church.  The strips were put together to construct paper chains down the length of the sanctuary. 

Later in the day we were asked to use colored markers to write something that gives us hope for the future of the church, adding color to our chain wall.  The following day, in the midst of our shared work of discovering creative and innovative ways the church is moving forward, we were invited to tear the chains apart, link by link. 

Our final morning together we were greeted by the soaring bird – which was prayerfully created out of paper strips we used the first day to confess the fears that chain us, and the hopes that enliven us.  The message was clear, soaring above us:  all those things that hold you back have been loosed by the power of the Holy Spirit.  You are transformed … you are free.

My friends, this is the Easter story which defines us.  What was bound is now set free.  The old life is gone; God is doing a new thing.  Again and again, we are offered new birth, new life, in Christ Jesus. 

Each year on Easter Sunday this is the message.  Each Sunday of the year, in fact, this is the message – God is offering resurrected life!  That which is no longer useful may die so that something new can be born.

In this Easter season, know that the saving act of Christ was performed once and for all time. But know also that our response, the shedding of the old life and moving into the new life, is required of us each and every day.

May the blessing of Easter empower you today and every day.