Easter

So, I had to write this one by hand because of a computer issue. It was good, actually. And when I finally typed it into my file, it felt like it was more of a poem than prose. So, here you go.

John 20:1-18
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

I am so glad that Lent is over and that today is Easter that I am going to begin with a joke:

[I do not know the origin of this joke.]

How many Christians does it take to change a light bulb?

Charismatic: Only one. Hands already in the air.

Pentecostals: Ten. One to change the bulb and nine to pray against the spirit of darkness.

Presbyterians: None. Lights will go off and on at predestined times.

Roman Catholic: None. Candles only.

Baptists: At least 15. One to change the light bulb and three committees to approve the change and decide who brings the potato salad.

Episcopalians: Three. One to call the electrician, one to mix the drinks and one to talk about how much better the old bulb was.

Mormons: Five. One man to change the bulb and four wives to tell him how to do it.

Unitarians: We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your own journey you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your light bulb for the next Sunday service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions including incandescent, fluorescent, three-way, long-life and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

Methodists: Undetermined. Whether your light bulb is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved. You can be a light bulb, turnip bulb or tulip bulb. A church-wide lighting service is planned for Sunday. Bring a bulb of your choice and a covered dish.

Nazarene: Six. One woman to replace the bulb while five men review the church lighting policy.

Lutherans: None. Lutherans don't believe in change.

Amish: What's a light bulb?


Regardless of how we do it,
on this day we gather
in the name of the one who transforms our grief
into new life.
And it all started—
this whole thing,
this faith we claim,
this liturgy we do together,
this belief that draws every single one of us here today—
it all started with a word:
her name, “Mary.”

I always imagine the story the same way:
the two Marys show up;
they have a job to do.
They think they know how it will all go down;
then they encounter a surprise!
Startled from their grief,
their eyes—swollen
from sobbing for 3 days—
are suddenly wide open.
He’s gone.

It’s kind of a funny way
to begin a message:
silence.
It must have been the setting:
utter silence.
Jaws dropped.
Eyes popping out.
Voice unable to speak at first.
Then feet hitting the ground hard,
as hard as a heart pounding.
Breath rushing in and out,
like something overwhelmingly tragic
and unbelievably wonderful
had happened.
But which was it?

Out of tribal loyalty and concern,
Mary goes to the 12,
and Peter goes back to the tomb
with her,
along with the un-named one.
Peter’s silence is deafening.
It’s like a silent movie at this point:
lots of action, no lines whatsoever.

In the silence,
Mary begins to cry.
Nothing but tears
for what feels like forever.
It’s gone from unbelievably awful…
to worse.
Now his body is gone.
“We were afraid something like this would happen”—
the words are all over her face,
and Peter’s
as he runs away.

The angels aren’t much help at first.
They do break the silence:
“What’s the matter with you, honey?”
And then the gardener:
“What’s the matter, ma’am?”
And then Jesus becomes recognizable:
“Mary!”

The beginning of all this—
this celebration,
this creed,
these hymns,
this cross,
our new clothes,
this sacred text—
it all started for us with a word,
a summons into the light;
he was made known to her
in the breaking of her misery!

Many of you may be rejoicing today
that the season of Lent is over!
(Hooray!)
Many of you may be rejoicing today
at the reunion of family and loved ones.
Many of you may be rejoicing today
that Spring is upon us,
and yesterday was a perfect Spring day.
Mary rejoices today
because her story begins here:
in the garden,
at the sound of her name.

John is the only gospel to tell this story.
In it I hear a foretaste
of the Pentecost story
we’ll encounter in 50 days:
each one hearing the deeds of power
God has done
in a language she or he can understand.
A familiar voice to start a revolution:
“Mary!”

“Susan!”
“Kevin!”
“Brenda!”
“Teresa!”
“Lou!”
“Marcus!”
“Bryan!”
“Laura!”

It’s your story today:
of sorrow over what was in your life,
of despair over what your future appears to be,
of weeping over what you may have lost,
of anger over not knowing or being in control of
even the corpse
of what has gone wrong for you.

It’s you there in the garden,
with God’s witnesses bringing you hope—
what you have lost is not here.
Your life,
your hope,
your resurrection is here!
Because you have been here,
you have seen the body of Christ—
redeemed by his blood,
made known
as the body calls you out
to love and serve the Lord.

Go to our brothers and sisters,
and tell them that God has done this,
that the end you grieve for is not the end,
that there is hope alive in the world
beyond our understanding.

Christ is risen, he is risen indeed!

Thanks be to God. Amen.