Easter Sunday Sermon, 2010
The four Gospels in the New Testament do not describe the actual event of the resurrection. Jesus dies, is put to rest, and then women go to see the tomb and it is empty. That time in between the death of Jesus and the arrival of the women, it seems, is left to the imagination.
Jon Sobrino, a Jesuit liberation theologian says no, “The Gospel writers did not give free rein to the imagination. To depict Jesus’ resurrection in itself puts faith on a false trail by conceptualizing the resurrection as a return to living under the conditions of our current existence.” To return to our current context, to image a world after the resurrection similar or just a little better than the world we live in today is a horrible lie.
It was a matter of fact that the Gospel writers did not depict the resurrection itself, it is a matter of duty, Sobrino says, that they refer us instead, as in today’s Gospel, to something just as important, Jesus’ appearances to the disciples.
Today’s Gospel picks up with Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and the other women, arriving at Jesus’ tomb with spices, to cover the smell of a decaying body. They left their homes, I imagine in a somber mood, sad from the events of days earlier, taking their time as they travel to a place where they do not want to go. Along their way, I imagine, they break down in tears, and have to stop, consoling each other in this time of grief.
They are a mess, heartbroken and dejected. All that they knew and loved was gone, and when they arrive at Jesus’ tomb they find the stone rolled away, and they are perplexed. Are they dreaming, what is happening, how could this be?
I like to think that despite their perplexity, despite their confusion there was a piece inside of them that was beginning to wake up. A piece inside of them that was quietly saying, “This is supposed to happen”. It is that piece of faith that we often do not know we have, that piece of us that is faithful beyond our own comprehension.
That piece of us that allows ourselves to be rooted in the knowledge and hope of God in the world, despite stark evidence to the contrary, especially in this day and age with death everywhere we look. Where earthquakes rarely precede the arrival of angels. That sliver or knowledge might be our intuition, it might be our subconscious, I don't know, but it is there and most of us have had that experience, knowing we grasped it, or held it only in our 20/20 hindsight vision.
You know what I am talking about, that sixth sense, if you want to call it that, that part of our gut that causes us to stand fast in situations similar to the Gospel story, a piece in our mind that tickles our conscious with some sort of understanding that even though this moment is confusing, it is supposed to be like this.
There is a poem I have that speaks to this, in a silly way, written by Joan Siegel it begins, ”There ought to be a word for the way you know how to get some place but don't remember the names of streets or the number of turns”. There ought to be a word for that sliver of faith we think we have that only shows up in our understanding after the fact.
The women, puzzled by the stone rolled away and an empty tomb knew there was something up, but also knew, somewhere in their bodies, or in their minds or even in their souls that this was something that was supposed to happen. It was a seed of faith planted years earlier by the teachings of Jesus, by the life of Jesus, by his word and flesh and his love.
How else do I explain the fact that they stayed put, puzzling this new occurrence rather than fleeing from it? Then, as they puzzle this new event, they remember, the Gospel says it right there, “Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest.” They remembered Jesus’ words. They remembered Jesus’ life. They remembered Jesus’ teaching.
Life, suddenly, is changed. Life, immediately holds new possibilities. Life has shifted and the women see a new future. It is all there and the words and teaching of Jesus’ life now come into view for them, a path is revealed and joy is shared as they skip in the hope of the resurrection.
Remembering is one of the most important acts we do as the Church. Re – Membering, putting together pieces of a story that has been told and interpreted for thousands of years. It is what we do. We remember the story of Jesus, we remember the story of the early Church, we remember the difficult stories of the great Schism, and the Reformation. We remember the history of the Church in America. We remember the story of Gethsemane. We remember the stories of our childhood. We remember the stories of the last year. We remember what happened yesterday. We remember, it is what we do here in the Church.
But our remembering is not simply fond recollection. Our remembering is like the experience of the women in today’s Gospel. We remember the words of the people and the institutions and the communities that have gone before and we are changed, we are reminded of the call at our core and in our baptism that we are called to speak the Good News. To participate with God in the work God is already doing in the world.
Too often we look for the living among the dead, too often we are caught staring into the recesses of our memories, not doing the work of remembering, or breaking open God’s presence in the moments that have changed and transformed us. We try hard to understand the mystery that God wishes not to share with us, to understand the complexities we have no right to comprehend. We try to fit the unimaginable resurrection into an imaginable box that will make us warm and happy, knowing all along that the box never contained this miraculous event, only our own imaginings of what might have happened.
Ours is to respond, to leap for joy on this day of Christ’s resurrection, to fall to our knees in tears, to do something miraculous, or to do something completely crazy and out of character, to do something no one would have ever expected us to do. As Wendell Berry wrote in his poem Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front, “Practice Resurrection”. He writes in that poem,
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what humanity
has not encountered humanity has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Today we baptize five children, today we mark in the minds, and the hearts of several families, memories that will never be forgotten. Memories that will always be held with joy, with hope and with faith. Jace, Anton, Arvid, Anna, Cian, today you become part of a story that has existed for centuries and generations, we all look forward to seeing how each of you will teach us what it means to practice resurrection. What it means to live resurrection, what it means to embody resurrection. Today, because of you, because of us, we will be changed. We will remember. We will live.
Jon Sobrino, a Jesuit liberation theologian says no, “The Gospel writers did not give free rein to the imagination. To depict Jesus’ resurrection in itself puts faith on a false trail by conceptualizing the resurrection as a return to living under the conditions of our current existence.” To return to our current context, to image a world after the resurrection similar or just a little better than the world we live in today is a horrible lie.
It was a matter of fact that the Gospel writers did not depict the resurrection itself, it is a matter of duty, Sobrino says, that they refer us instead, as in today’s Gospel, to something just as important, Jesus’ appearances to the disciples.
Today’s Gospel picks up with Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and the other women, arriving at Jesus’ tomb with spices, to cover the smell of a decaying body. They left their homes, I imagine in a somber mood, sad from the events of days earlier, taking their time as they travel to a place where they do not want to go. Along their way, I imagine, they break down in tears, and have to stop, consoling each other in this time of grief.
They are a mess, heartbroken and dejected. All that they knew and loved was gone, and when they arrive at Jesus’ tomb they find the stone rolled away, and they are perplexed. Are they dreaming, what is happening, how could this be?
I like to think that despite their perplexity, despite their confusion there was a piece inside of them that was beginning to wake up. A piece inside of them that was quietly saying, “This is supposed to happen”. It is that piece of faith that we often do not know we have, that piece of us that is faithful beyond our own comprehension.
That piece of us that allows ourselves to be rooted in the knowledge and hope of God in the world, despite stark evidence to the contrary, especially in this day and age with death everywhere we look. Where earthquakes rarely precede the arrival of angels. That sliver or knowledge might be our intuition, it might be our subconscious, I don't know, but it is there and most of us have had that experience, knowing we grasped it, or held it only in our 20/20 hindsight vision.
You know what I am talking about, that sixth sense, if you want to call it that, that part of our gut that causes us to stand fast in situations similar to the Gospel story, a piece in our mind that tickles our conscious with some sort of understanding that even though this moment is confusing, it is supposed to be like this.
There is a poem I have that speaks to this, in a silly way, written by Joan Siegel it begins, ”There ought to be a word for the way you know how to get some place but don't remember the names of streets or the number of turns”. There ought to be a word for that sliver of faith we think we have that only shows up in our understanding after the fact.
The women, puzzled by the stone rolled away and an empty tomb knew there was something up, but also knew, somewhere in their bodies, or in their minds or even in their souls that this was something that was supposed to happen. It was a seed of faith planted years earlier by the teachings of Jesus, by the life of Jesus, by his word and flesh and his love.
How else do I explain the fact that they stayed put, puzzling this new occurrence rather than fleeing from it? Then, as they puzzle this new event, they remember, the Gospel says it right there, “Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest.” They remembered Jesus’ words. They remembered Jesus’ life. They remembered Jesus’ teaching.
Life, suddenly, is changed. Life, immediately holds new possibilities. Life has shifted and the women see a new future. It is all there and the words and teaching of Jesus’ life now come into view for them, a path is revealed and joy is shared as they skip in the hope of the resurrection.
Remembering is one of the most important acts we do as the Church. Re – Membering, putting together pieces of a story that has been told and interpreted for thousands of years. It is what we do. We remember the story of Jesus, we remember the story of the early Church, we remember the difficult stories of the great Schism, and the Reformation. We remember the history of the Church in America. We remember the story of Gethsemane. We remember the stories of our childhood. We remember the stories of the last year. We remember what happened yesterday. We remember, it is what we do here in the Church.
But our remembering is not simply fond recollection. Our remembering is like the experience of the women in today’s Gospel. We remember the words of the people and the institutions and the communities that have gone before and we are changed, we are reminded of the call at our core and in our baptism that we are called to speak the Good News. To participate with God in the work God is already doing in the world.
Too often we look for the living among the dead, too often we are caught staring into the recesses of our memories, not doing the work of remembering, or breaking open God’s presence in the moments that have changed and transformed us. We try hard to understand the mystery that God wishes not to share with us, to understand the complexities we have no right to comprehend. We try to fit the unimaginable resurrection into an imaginable box that will make us warm and happy, knowing all along that the box never contained this miraculous event, only our own imaginings of what might have happened.
Ours is to respond, to leap for joy on this day of Christ’s resurrection, to fall to our knees in tears, to do something miraculous, or to do something completely crazy and out of character, to do something no one would have ever expected us to do. As Wendell Berry wrote in his poem Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front, “Practice Resurrection”. He writes in that poem,
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what humanity
has not encountered humanity has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Today we baptize five children, today we mark in the minds, and the hearts of several families, memories that will never be forgotten. Memories that will always be held with joy, with hope and with faith. Jace, Anton, Arvid, Anna, Cian, today you become part of a story that has existed for centuries and generations, we all look forward to seeing how each of you will teach us what it means to practice resurrection. What it means to live resurrection, what it means to embody resurrection. Today, because of you, because of us, we will be changed. We will remember. We will live.
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