Is it over? Did I miss it?

The last egg hunt has ended.  The baskets and candy are half price, and the lovers of Peeps are stashing a bunch before the supply is gone. You are now entering the season of 50 New and Exciting Ways to Eat Hardboiled Eggs! Easter is done.  At least it is at WalMart where all things Easter are in the Very Deep Discount aisle.

Is this really true?  One and done?  Did I miss it? All this fuss is about bunnies and chocolate eggs?

Not really. According to the story, when the women found the tomb empty, no one believed them.  Some of the men then went to see and behold! The tomb was empty!  There are stories of appearances and angels and even an earthquake.

Tell that story today and they still won't believe you.  It is an outrageous story.  The dead one was now alive.  He walked out of his own funeral.  He is living a new kind of life.  Outrageous.

So folks tells stories about crocuses and butterflies and renewal of the spirit; they are substituted for this crazy story about a dead man walking.  We understand green sprouts pushing through the thawing ground of our winter earth.  We are lifted by the return of life to our winter world of the north.  Daffodils and tulips and lilies and Alleluia.

Except that is not Easter nor is it resurrection.  That is not the world being turned upside down and inside out.  That is not the power of the Divine beyond the visible of this world.  That is a fraud.

Easter is not like anything else.  Easter is not a metaphor nor is it a Feel Good story about overcoming the odds.  Easter is as unique as the word unique can engender.  Easter is LIFE even when we cannot understand it, or most especially when we cannot understand it.

It is almost impossible to believe, but on those days, or in those moments when you do really truly believe.......it will turn your world around.

We wait and watch........

This day is called Holy Saturday, a day of watching and waiting.  Which, of course, we are not doing.  We do not watch and wait and the women who loved Jesus did not watch and wait either, at least not in the same way.

They were not biding their time until the Sabbath was over in order to proceed with the Great. Divine. Plan because...they had no idea what the Great. Divine. Plan. was.  They had no expectation of an empty tomb.  Perhaps they spent this day (im)patiently waiting for observance of the Sabbath to pass. [Not that Jesus was all that strict a Sabbath rule follower and that scene in the temple seemed to imply that there was a whole new set of rules to be applied. Yet, women have learned since the dawn of time that standing in front of a male dominated power structure and breaking the rules has some serious, often life threatening consequences.]  More importantly I think, the women were no different from the others - when they watched Jesus die on that cross they were certain the story was over.  They waited, ready to do the work of anointing Jesus' dead body on the morrow. Nothing more, nothing less. Deep grief.

In fact,they may have been watching for approaching danger, either  Roman or Jew, come to arrest them because of their association with this Jesus.  In the gospel of John the disciples (and I am sure it wasn't just men) had locked themselves in an upper room because of their fear.  They may have been keeping an eye on each other - wondering if there was another Judas among them.

I expect they were sitting shivah.  They were observing that time of disbelief and yet horrid 'it's all too real' belief that descends upon every family when a loved one dies, especially when it is unexpected, violent, tragic.  They would stare at one another without seeing a thing.  They would have no energy, unable to keep focused on much of anything, not really hungry, dazed, surprised that the world seemed to continue on its axis when their world was crushed.  Every so often someone would begin a story with "Remember that time when....." and for a moment or two he would be present again and the terrible burden of the truth would be lifted.  I expect they found themselves in that space between now and the rest of their lives.

We, on the other hand, are not observing some religious rule in our waiting for this holy day to pass.  Neither are we watching for the danger of approaching authorities, nor the betrayal of a Judas.  We are not making plans for purchasing spices to anoint a dead body.  We do not hang in suspense whether the tomb will truly be empty on the morrow.  The Easter proclamation "He is not here.  He has been raised." was the dawn of a new creation.  The Jesus who was raised then, is raised now.  The tomb is forever and eternally empty.

However, this might be true.  On that day of waiting and watching, the disciples were weighed down with love and grief.  On this day of waiting and watching, we are weighed down with disbelief - or perhaps even worse, disinterest.  The disciples were so close they could barely breathe; we are so far distant we barely pay attention.  Our danger is not in the authorities but in our disconnect from the Divine Story, and the wondrous grace being poured out.  We wonder what difference this makes, even if it is true.


I too have been paralyzed by the disbelief of sudden grief and loss. It is difficult, painful, lasting.  In the end, it is preferrable to the empty void of meaninglessness  carved out by a life of unbelief.

We wait with longing for the sunrise on the morrow and the proclamation, once again, He is Risen!  He is risen indeed! because, in the end, our very lives are found in those words and in that Savior.

He is not here! He is risen!

Alleluia!

Remember when?  I'll bet your family has some great stories which start with 'Remember when.........' and get told again and again. These are the memories which get us laughing or leave us pensive or taste a little bittersweet.  They are our stories; they make us one.  Family members know the story and those who know the story are considered family.

Children love these kinds of stories, especially when Mom or Dad are the main characters and were young and did something silly .....you know, they acted like the children they were.  My children always loved to hear about adventures from 'when they were a baby' including all the ways they managed to fracture the English language as they learned to talk.  I only get nervous when my children are telling stories to one another and I have absolutely no recollection of the 'incidents' being described.

Sharing stories after the death of a loved one helps us place this moment in the context of an entire life lived.  The stories connect us and give us a sense of belonging while at the same time carrying us along the current of inexorable time.

When we read the stories about Jesus, we get to listen in on the disciples' story telling.  Remember when.....he fed all those people on the hillside?  Remember when.....he made that terrible storm go away?   Remember when.....he ate that last supper with us?

Remember when.....we thought he was dead.........but he wasn't?  The earthquake!  The angel!  I couldn't believe it.  I wanted to, but it was too incredible.  I told Mary and Peter told me and then I spoke to Thomas and then......it was amazing.

He is not here!  He is risen!  Who could imagine that?  What can I say?

Alleluia!  Alleluia!

Thinking about funerals

It has been a year of funerals.  Some of them expected.  Some of them made it hard to swallow.

Today I did a graveside service for a family.  I had sat with them as their loved one slowly let go of this life and embraced the next.  It took a lot longer than any of us expected, but then you could always count on this person to say or do the unexpected.

It got me thinking about what I would want when I was the one lying in that bed, looking nothing like myself and certainly nothing like I would want to look.  I am thinking I'd like to hear my children tell stories and laugh; I'd like to hear some solid hymns (I'll be sure to leave a list) and a few pieces of classical music; prayers would be nice, especially the old liturgical ones.

But in the end, I think I would like to have someone reading scripture: the stories I have come to love which have opened the door to the transcendent God for me.  The story of Moses arguing with God; Jeremiah's complaint that the Word of God was a fire in his belly.  I'd like to hear again Mary's song of praise and trust in God from Luke and the story of the woman with the 12 year flow of blood who touched the hem of Jesus' garment.  Perhaps in the end I would like to hear again of how Mary anointed Jesus' feet and then Jesus turned around and washed the feet of the disciples.

Then finally, Mark 16.1-8  Early in the morning on the first day of the week the women went to buy spices.and then went to the tomb.  They said to one another "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?"  When they looked up, the stone had been rolled away and a young man said, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here....."

When the moment comes when those who have loved me (for reasons I will never truly understand but for which I am deeply grateful) see that I am no longer there, I want them to know that those were the words that shaped my life and they are my legacy to them.

As for me, I will be with the risen Lord.

What happened to the parade?

Easter morning is all flowers and Alleluias and excitement and, well, resurrection!  For the Church, it is THE celebration of the year....well, of all time, but each year we try to pull out the stops.

Then we get to hear about the disciples hiding and Jesus appearing although the door was locked and Thomas coming to deep faith.

Then we get to hear about Jesus serving brunch on the beach and Peter hearing that he is loved, loved, loved and being sent out into the world to tell others of Jesus and take care of Jesus' flock.

And then.....we get sheep.  The sheep hear my voice.  The sheep know me.  The sheep, the sheep, the sheep.

The fourth Sunday of Easter is always Good Shepherd Sunday, and although it is a great image and a most reassuring message, I often wonder how we lost the celebration of resurrection so quickly, moving from Alleluia, from confetti and loud trumpets, to 'he makes me to lie down in green pastures.'  It seems we go from wonder to slumber much too quickly.

There are lots of gospel lessons that ooze resurrection and two of them bookend this section of John's gospel where the Good Shepherd is the main character.  First, in chapter 9, we have the healing of the man who was born blind.  Now just in case you think this is an ordinary healing I will point out two things:  in this story the fact that this man was Born. Blind. is mentioned 8 times in 34 verses with an additional 2 mentioned of the fact that he was bling.  Someone is making a point here.

Second, is the final words of the man who was born blind but who now sees "Here is an astonishing thing!...Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind."

Now there's a story of God doing a new thing right under our noses.  Never since the world began....that is definitely a 'new thing' .....the kind of new thing that Isaiah predicts and is manifest in the empty tomb.

We could never see who Jesus is/was/will be without Jesus coming to us and removing the veil over our eyes.  We would walk around, managing our lives, making a living, but we would not know Jesus and through Jesus, God the Father.

Through Jesus, we now have the ability to see, praise, worship, proclaim, and live out our lives as people healed by God.

Folks, that is resurrection.  A great story for the 4th Sunday of Easter.

That is not the story we are given....but boy would it have made a great sermon.  It gives us a strong image to shape our imagination.  It helps explain how our existence has shifted because of Jesus' presence and gift.

We start this week giving thanks that Jesus came and healed all who were born blind and gave them new life.  Amen

from Alleluia to fear in an Upper Room....

It happens every year (or at least every year that follows the Revised Common Lectionary) - we leap from Alleluia to fear and hiding.  In one week.  In truth, the events happened much more quickly but we only gather for regular worship once a week so we need to wait 7 days to discover the disciples hiding out in the Upper Room.  With. The. Door. Locked.

One week.  But then we are much more skilled at fear than at Alleluia, and besides, we have had 2000 years to digest this outrageous news about a risen Jesus and we don't quite understand what it all means so I can give those disciples a break.  Fear is a more familiar companion to this lifetime than resurrection will ever be.

Fear is learned at our mother's knee; it is a critical lesson we must all master or be crushed by the powers that prowl the night.  Most days it wears the masks of respect or caution or good sense, but the ultimate message is this: great harm can come to us.  Physical harm. Emotional harm.  Spiritual harm.  We better beware.  In the end, it is all fear.

Fear that the fragile light of life that is us will be snuffed by other forces is the foundation for so many of our actions.  Exercise, diet, work habits, diligence at school, wearing our seat belt, smoke detectors, background checks, sunscreen, savings accounts.  On our very best days, we take all these threats to our continued life as necessary nuisances and we light birthday candles and build sand castles and play soccer and do crossword puzzles and simply get on with living.  On our worst days, our fear drives our interactions with friend and foe alike so we end up contributing to the deadly atmosphere around us.

So let us not look sideways at those disciples huddled in that upper room With.The.Door.Locked.  The door won't keep the fear at bay, but it gave them all a sense of false hope.  No one was going to sneak up on them; they would decide who got into that tiny hidey hole.

Yet, they couldn't and didn't and thanks be to God.  Jesus just simply appeared in their midst ignoring the locked door, ignoring their embarrassing silence just a few days ago.  There he was, standing in the midst of them, alive, forgiving, handing out gifts of peace to all.

It was the disciples, and not Jesus who carried a lingering odor of death, drenched in the sweat of fear.  Their racing hearts  warned them that death was at the door, seeking out an opportunity to crush the life right out of them.  In the middle of that scenario (our scenarios would feature courtrooms and ERs and dark alleys and sleepless nights) Jesus stands - life in the midst of death....inviting all who were present, and all who are reading their story....to leave death behind and embrace the life that is life, the life that comes through Jesus.

With the story of Thomas, we learn that Easter isn't just about Jesus.  Jesus was the first; now he invites everyone else to follow.  Sure the Romans were still at the door and they were pretty scary fellows.  But then, look at that empty tomb.  Look at my hands and touch my side.  The Romans aren't in charge.

Welcome to the resurrection.