Mystic Congregational Church, UCC

Mystic, Connecticut

Sermon from March 27, 2005

“Resurrection Rhythm”

Rev. Patricia L. Liberty

Scriptures:

Acts 10:34-43

Matthew 28:1-10

On a steamy Sunday July morning, the crowded bus jostled along through the mountains until the occasional thatched roof homes that dotted the hillsides became crowded barrios in urban neighborhoods.  My destination was the National Cathedral in San Salvador, the final resting place of Archbishop Oscar Romero.

The plaza in front of the Cathedral was filled with women, the weekly gathering of the Mothers of the Disappeared.  Some made their way into the earthquake-damaged sanctuary to pray at the sarcophagus of the one who spoke the message they so needed to hear in those days of political turmoil.  Others remained on the plaza greeting others whose loved ones had met the same fate, watched by armed guards who surrounded the plaza making note of those present.  Often they were harassed and their homes ransacked because of their affiliation with the Mothers of the Disappeared. 

For those of us who gather to worship without fear, it is difficult to imagine that something as simple as gathering to pray could be such risky behavior.  Until that day, it was difficult for me and it has forever changed how I read the Resurrection accounts in the gospels. 

The courage of the women who went to Jesus' grave early on Easter morning cannot be overestimated.  For they, too, went to pray at the grave of their friend at great risk to themselves.

Jesus' grave was guarded.  He, too, was a threat to the political and religious systems of his day.  Like that day in San Salvador, the guards at Jesus’ tomb waited to report anyone who would admit to being a follower.

Matthew and Mark both present the women as the only witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection.  Though the details vary from Gospel to Gospel, there is a rhythm to their witness that threads its way like a heartbeat through history.  It is heard and seen and known in those who, like Mary and Mary Magdalene and the nameless Mothers of the Disappeared, have the courage to stand with a crucified and Risen Christ.  

Celebrating the resurrection of Jesus Christ is about placing ourselves in that rhythm.   It begins, most simply, in errands of love.  

Mary and Mary Magdalene arose early in the day to go to the grave.  Other gospels suggest it was to anoint the body; Matthew makes no such reference.  They went to the grave because they needed to go.  It was a final act of love. 

In some sense, their actions speak of resurrection even before finding the empty grave. Their visit to the grave, at great risk to themselves, was a witness to the truth that love is stronger than death, and perfect love casts out fear.  And perfect love is not love without error; it is love that trusts its source.  They make their way to Jesus’ grave out of love for him and love for the truth and tradition he represented. 

The rhythm of the resurrection is the steady heartbeat of God in the lives of faithful followers who continue to witness to the life of Jesus Christ in deeds of love, justice and compassion.  His love lived in them as they went on this final errand of love.  When we come to one another, to wash each other's feet, when we wait and watch with one another through the dark nights of the soul until the morning should come, we are embraced by the gentle beat of resurrection rhythm.

I have felt it in those who have been for me the voice of life and the witness of love in the darkest of hours.   I see it at work every day in those who care for the dying; their tender deeds of care and comfort bear witness to the truth of life. I see it in those who work tirelessly on behalf of those with AIDS, the homeless, battered women, and children with life-threatening diseases.  It is life giving love that takes the form of waiting, giving, presence and sharing.  When we are in that rhythm, we bear witness to the truth that perfect love casts out fear.  God's love for us is perfect and Jesus Christ was the embodiment of that love.  It is perfected in us when we take our place in the rhythm of resurrection that begins in errands of love and is translated into deeds of compassion and justice.  There is nothing to fear.

At some level Mary and Mary Magdalene believed this.  It was what sent them on their errand of love.  It was their testimony; they would not forget, ignore or deny who Jesus was, what he meant to them and what he stood for in his ministry.  If we look closely at their story, we realize that they didn’t figure it out all at once.  Their final act of love—their  visit to the grave, what they thought was their final act—was becoming something else, but they weren’t sure what.  The message of Jesus’ resurrection, as communicated by the angel transformed their perplexity to outright fear.  The text tells us they fled the tomb with fear and great joy.

Fear and great joy; it’s not the usual combination of emotion.  It was not immediately apparent to them what the resurrection WAS, much less what it meant.  The fear these women overcame to go to the tomb in the first place is replaced by a whole different fear when they meet the angel.  And as strange as it may seem, there may be some comfort in that.  What it tells me is that there is room in the Easter story for uncertainty.  There is room in the Easter story for doubt.  There is room in the Easter story for fear and great joy. Sometimes life is more frightening than death. 

And in the midst of that, there is a graciousness in the angel’s message.  “Tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”  It was okay that they didn’t fully understand.  Just go on ahead and wait. The women fled and told NO ONE because they were afraid. 

The text is very clear, it took time to live into the truth.  Part of the rhythm of the resurrection is this mix and mess of fear and waiting, silence and terror, reliving and remembering. Most of the time we run right by it and think that it was joy and delight from the very beginning, but it wasn’t.  The resurrection became real in a different way for all of them.  God used the stuff of their lives as the raw material in which to make the resurrection real.   John Shelby Spong, the ever colorful, mostly controversial now retired Episcopal Bishop of the Diocese of New Jersey, suggests in his book “The Easter Moment” that it was the remembering and the telling, the scared and sacred sharing that transformed this group of confused fisher folk into a mighty witness to an even mightier truth.  They recognized the risen Christ in their midst, were strengthened by sharing a meal in his name.  And IN TIME, they joined the resurrection rhythm, that steady heartbeat of a God whose purposes are finally unshakable and whose will is undefeatable.  The truth of the empty tomb became real when God’s loving power was felt in their hearts and in their gathering.

We can hear the words and understand them, but Easter does not become real until our own lives are transformed by it.  Like the first witnesses to the empty tomb, they heard the words and followed the simple directions from the angel, but it didn’t become real until they had some time to sit in their fear and great joy. The resurrection rhythm enters our lives when the truth becomes real in our lives.

 It is that moment when God’s promise of eternal life becomes real because of the particularity of our loss.  I never thought too much about eternal life until someone I love died.  I never thought much about the promise of God’s sustaining love until I was ill and thought I might die.   We may not think much about hope until it eludes us.  We may not think much about joy until it returns to us on the heels of despair.  The promise becomes real in the stuff of our own lives.  And it happens again and again as the stuff changes. 

It is the time when the promise of Christ’s comforting spirit and the peace that passes all understanding becomes real in the struggle of a particular moment; when that which would undo us is finally undone by the power of perfect love.  That process wherein the painful truths of our lives are gradually healed by the truth of God’s life in us is abundant in the here and now.

Albert Schweitzer wrote, “To those who would follow the Risen Christ, whether wise or simple, he will reveal himself in the conflicts and the sufferings which they shall pass through in his fellowship.  And as an ineffable mystery they shall learn in their own experience who he is.”  Resurrection is at once deeply personal and totally communal.

Easter and the truth of resurrection are a heartbeat through the ages, sometimes faint, sometimes deafening, but always present and we are in its rhythmic embrace in moments when we stand in the company of the Risen Christ bearing witness to his truth in the transformation of our own lives when we face into the evils around us with the conviction of God’s goodness.  As Martin Luther wrote in the hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”:

“And though this world with devils filled,

Should threaten to undo us,

We will not fear for God has willed,

The truth to triumph through us.”

Someone once said Jesus didn’t come to make us Christians; he came to make us human beings.  This resurrection is not about cookie cutter Christians who look alike, talk alike and think alike, worshipping some relic of a deity.  Rather, it is about individuals recreated by receiving the living presence of God in very particular moments of life.  The Easter moment is that time when we find ourselves in that eternal heartbeat of life and love and are changed by it.  It is a moment that comes again and again as we are called to new life not just for ourselves but for the sake of the world God created.  The liturgical season of Easter comes every year not so we can mark the anniversary of the resurrection as an event, but so we can be reminded of the rhythm of new life that is the fruit of discipleship.

I am grateful for the account of these women who made their way to the tomb.  It is encouraging to know that even in the sadness of what appeared to be complete defeat, there was a spark of love.  That in the face of seemingly total failure, the heartbeat of God’s love was still faintly heard.  I am grateful for their fear and great joy, for their silence and uncertainty.  

And I am grateful that it is not only the empty tomb that made believers of them, but their keeping company with others who were just as uncertain and their ability to recognize the Risen Christ in their midst when he appeared.  

Their witness is counsel for us to look for the resurrection in places we might ordinarily miss.  Their story is encouragement to keep alive the simple tasks and errands of love in the face of our greatest fears.   Their honest expression of and fear and great joy blesses our humanness when, like them, we are slow in understanding and fearful of Christ’s truth.    Their going on ahead at the direction of the angel, occasioned their meeting of the Risen Christ and is a reminder that God is always ahead of us, calling us forward, inviting us into the great rhythm of new life.

In our fragmented lives, the Risen Christ is ahead, calling us to wholeness

In sadness and grief, the Risen Christ is ahead, with the promise of healing

In the midst of all that comes to an end, the Risen Christ is ahead, with the promise of unending love

In the struggle for peace, the Risen Christ is ahead, showing the way

In the yearning for justice, the Risen Christ is ahead, calling us to repentance

In our fear of death, the Risen Christ is ahead, calling us to the hope of eternal life in Jesus Christ

In our fear of life, the Risen Christ is ahead, saying follow me.

It is the rhythm of the resurrection. 

Let us pray.  Risen Christ, you go before us and have always gone before us.  Born as an infant, you assumed all our helplessness.  Growing as a child into adulthood, you endured the trials and enjoyed the joys of our lives.  Living and working you learned of frustration and temptation.  And now, you have gone before us into death and into eternal life.  May we follow your light and mercy, your way and will.  Direct our steps and call us to follow, we pray.  Amen.

BENEDICTION

And then all that has divided us will merge

And then compassion will be wedded to power

And then softness will come to a world that is harsh and kind

And then both men and women will be gentle

And then both men and women will be strong

And then no person will be subject to another’s will

And then all will be free

And then the greed of some will give way to the need of many

And then all will share equally in the Earth’s abundance

And then all will care for the weak and the sick and the elderly

And then all will nourish the young

And they all will cherish life’s creatures

And then all will live in harmony with each other and the earth.

And when you ask, “When?”  I tell you it is now, beginning in this moment as you go from this place to live the truth of the resurrection.  Go in peace.  Amen.