Seeing Resurrection
Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
April 4, 2010; Easter Sunday, Year C
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary
(Luke 24:1-12) – On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women who had come with Jesus from Galilee came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again." Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.
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St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
April 4, 2010; Easter Sunday, Year C
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary
(Luke 24:1-12) – On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women who had come with Jesus from Galilee came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again." Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.
______________________________
Ken Kaisch is an Episcopal priest who remembers his sophomore year of college as the year his close friend Bert died. Bert's car hit a patch of black ice, wrapped around a tree, and Bert died. Ken walked the streets asking, "Why?" "Why Bert? He had so much to offer, and he was such a warm and gentle soul. Why, God, why?" He walked aimlessly raging, pointlessly questioning, grieving deeply.
In the middle of the night, on empty streets, what he took to be reality – everything in front of him, everything ordinary that he saw, the street, the quiet still trees, the sky – was peeled back as though it had been painted on a cloth and the cloth swept open like a theater curtain. Ken saw two angels holding the corners, with a vast space beyond. In this space, Bert appeared to him and said in his own voice and with his own words, "It's okay, Ken, you don't have to grieve so hard. I'm in a good place and I'm glad to be here. I don't want to go back. I'm okay." And with that, the angelic beings loosed their hands, the curtain fell back into place, and his conventional "reality" reappeared in front of him.
Ken was stunned. After he had slowly made his way home, he found he was no longer feeling anger and grief. In place of those emotions he felt a deep sense of peacefulness. He knew that Bert was okay. He let go of his sorrow. 1
There is one level of our understanding of resurrection that speaks peacefully to us of something that lives beyond our mortal lives. The disciples became convinced not only that their friend Jesus who died now lived, but also that in some intense, intimate way, he was with them forever. They knew that they too would be with him forever, now and beyond death. Their fear and grief gave way to joy and courage.
Resurrection is what God does best. God brings life out of death. Resurrection is stamped into the DNA of reality. Not only as we see spring explode out of winter, but as we see grieving humans bring new meaning and new life out of their own experience of death.
Parishioner Rebecca Hass' twenty-one year old cousin was taking a prescription for his allergies. He complained that he was still having troubles, so a friend said, "Well, here. Try this," and gave him another prescription medication that the friend was taking for allergy problems. The drugs interacted terribly, and Rebecca's cousin died. His mother started a movement called "Keep the Cure Secure." She works tirelessly teaching children and youth, parents and teachers about the risks of sharing prescription medications. She is saving lives in the memory of her son. She is bringing life out of death.
How many other lives have been saved by similar movements: Our Rogers neighbors Rhonda and Mike Fincher who started the Kendrick Fincher Memorial to educate coaches and athletes about hydration after their eighth grade son died of dehydration during football practice. Gatorade and the NFL now help sponsor Heat-Safety education nationwide. How many lives are saved by the advocacy work of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, begun as one mother's response to her child's death; or the Amber Alert early response system for missing children. Bumper stickers around here remind us to "Buckle up for Brittany," Jan Judy's granddaughter. Life truly does come out of death.
Life can come out of death for institutions as well.
A few years ago the suffragan bishop of Chicago visited All Saints' Church to explain the reality of the numbers to them and the diocesan intention that they close. Predictably the congregation reacted defensively, as they remembered the baptisms, marriages and funerals – as they told of old times and dying hopes and dreams – while the bishop listened patiently. The numbers did not change. Then one matriarch named Bea suddenly proclaimed, "Wow – I guess we really have died." When she said that, the words just sat in the room. Then the bishop said, "You know the problem comes when people are dead and think they're alive. But we've got a belief about death. We believe that if you've died, then you can rise." At that moment, the bishop changed his mind.
At about the same time, my friend Bonnie Perry moved to Chicago when her spouse took a new teaching position, but Bonnie, a priest, couldn't find a job. So the bishop gave her a half-time job at the church he nearly closed. Bonnie arrived on All Saints' Sunday. A crowd of 35 people were there that first Sunday. Pledge income was $23,000. Current payables was $25,000. They owed $48,000 for a roof loan, on a roof that still leaked. They hadn't paid their diocesan apportionment in two years, and they didn't have a copier. Soon afterward when the diocesan bishop visited, a piece of plaster fell from the parish hall ceiling directly onto his plate. He looked up warily, and said to Bonnie, "I just love the faux finish on your ceiling." Bonnie thought – the place is so close to death, you can smell resurrection.
At her first vestry meeting, as they struggled with how to pay the bills, Bonnie asked if there were people in need in the neighborhood. Oh, yes, they answered. How about a food pantry? Oh we've tried that. People would ring the doorbell and Father would give them food. What if we were more intentional than that – have volunteers give food away? Oh, we tried that, but it frightened some of our older women. I'm used to being around poor people, Bonnie said, what if I'm always there? And what if we advertise? Then people will come. Then what? Then the food will be gone. Then what? At that point, something clicked. Something dawned. Then we'll just get more food.
That was 1992. I talked with Bonnie this week. Two-hundred thirty are in church at All Saints' on Sundays; the budget is $425,000. Last Tuesday 380 neighbors came by to pick up groceries and 125 stuck around for a hot meal served by more than 60 volunteers with their Community Kitchen/Food Pantry program. They have special outreach programs to help rebuild St. Luke's Episcopal Church in New Orleans and have made three mission trips and sent over $75,000 to the impoverished African diocese of Sudan. Now they are excited about a capital funds campaign which will address some of the continuing roof and building challenges. It is an alive and vital church. And they have a copier.
Bonnie says, "God did it." The Holy Spirit energizes their work and worship. She says they also are a passionate people. They say that they want everyone to know what they love and to do what they love at church. They have vision, especially for outreach – to feed and to shelter. And they love liturgy. Bonnie says "we are gifted to be in a denomination that has an intuitive sense of the importance of ritual and sacramental experiences."
As I listened to Bonnie tell about her church, I felt so many connections with the energy and spirit of this church, where we welcome 150 people to lunch each Monday and Wednesday, and where we give out Angel Food groceries to hundreds more each month, where we give healing touch to hurting people from all over our community, and bring children from Washington Elementary for after-school tutoring help. I thought about the Seven Hills Homeless Center which started as a mission of this parish, and the Community Clinic at St. Francis House which once resided here and is now has a $12-million budget serving un-met medical and dental needs in four communities. I thought about our music and our worship and our young people. I feel the same spirit here that Bonnie feels in her congregation.
What we say here is that everyone has a ministry. Where does your deep gladness and the world's deep need meet? What is your ministry? What can we do to empower your ministry?
But resurrection is not just about church stuff. It's not just about life after death. And it's not just about creating something life-giving after death has stalked our paths. Resurrection is a way of living every day. It is a way of seeing life with new eyes.
There's another story that Ken Kaisch tells. Ken was raised in Alaska, where on some days the sun shines only a few hours each day. One day in elementary school his teacher Mrs. Stohl asked the children a simple question, "Class, what color is the snow out there?" The knowing smart-aleck fifth graders replied, "The snow is white, Mrs. Stohl. Can't you see?" "I am looking, and it is not white," said Mrs. Stohl. Now that caused some consternation for the class, because Mrs. Stohl was an exceptional teacher, and usually she knew what she was talking about. But here she was, telling them that snow was not white. They puzzled in stunned silence.
Then Linda, the quiet girl who was the artist among them spoke up softly. "You're right, Mrs. Stohl, it isn't white. It's blue." Shocked jaws dropped. Blue? They all looked out the window at the snow illumined by the sun low to the horizon. It was as if scales had fallen from their eyes, and they all saw the snow. The snow was blue, and even many shades of blue. They saw the purples, the grays, the blacks – all of the beautiful colors. And in all their looking, they did not see any white. 2
There is a resurrection way of seeing. It is to look at life as a mystery, full of wonder and beauty. It is to see life as a gift, with hidden purpose and possibility. Often people who have survived a life-threatening moment say they see life this way, with new appreciation and vividness. It is a way of seeing that can be nurtured and practiced.
Part of the purpose of worship and of prayer is to open our eyes to new realities, resurrection realities, spiritual realities that allow us to see the blues and purples in snow, that reach for opportunities to serve others even when we're not quite getting by, that create life out of death, that know that things can be okay even when they seem lost. "I am about to create new heavens and a new earth," the prophet says. We can create that every day, with God's help. We can see every sunrise as a miracle of life's new beginning, every spring as a wonderful gift, every smile as the smile of God, every death as the opening to resurrection.
When the women left the tomb that Easter morning and told the still skeptical men, "He is risen," little did they know what God had done. Later that evening their eyes were opened and they knew him in the breaking of the bread. Now know we know Christ's risen life as we look around this room and if we can see with resurrection eyes, we will see Christ alive in us as living parts of his Body. And we can know him each Sunday in the breaking of the bread.
Christ is risen, and we shall live with him forever. But more than that, Christ is risen, and we can live with him today. Tomorrow. Each morning as we are given the resurrection gift of new life. We don't have to grieve so hard, we can "Keep the Cure Secure" and hydrate and "Buckle up for Brittany," we can know what we love and do what we love in ministry, we can see the blues and purples in snow and the resurrection of each new day.
Alleluia! Christ is Risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
In the middle of the night, on empty streets, what he took to be reality – everything in front of him, everything ordinary that he saw, the street, the quiet still trees, the sky – was peeled back as though it had been painted on a cloth and the cloth swept open like a theater curtain. Ken saw two angels holding the corners, with a vast space beyond. In this space, Bert appeared to him and said in his own voice and with his own words, "It's okay, Ken, you don't have to grieve so hard. I'm in a good place and I'm glad to be here. I don't want to go back. I'm okay." And with that, the angelic beings loosed their hands, the curtain fell back into place, and his conventional "reality" reappeared in front of him.
Ken was stunned. After he had slowly made his way home, he found he was no longer feeling anger and grief. In place of those emotions he felt a deep sense of peacefulness. He knew that Bert was okay. He let go of his sorrow. 1
There is one level of our understanding of resurrection that speaks peacefully to us of something that lives beyond our mortal lives. The disciples became convinced not only that their friend Jesus who died now lived, but also that in some intense, intimate way, he was with them forever. They knew that they too would be with him forever, now and beyond death. Their fear and grief gave way to joy and courage.
Resurrection is what God does best. God brings life out of death. Resurrection is stamped into the DNA of reality. Not only as we see spring explode out of winter, but as we see grieving humans bring new meaning and new life out of their own experience of death.
Parishioner Rebecca Hass' twenty-one year old cousin was taking a prescription for his allergies. He complained that he was still having troubles, so a friend said, "Well, here. Try this," and gave him another prescription medication that the friend was taking for allergy problems. The drugs interacted terribly, and Rebecca's cousin died. His mother started a movement called "Keep the Cure Secure." She works tirelessly teaching children and youth, parents and teachers about the risks of sharing prescription medications. She is saving lives in the memory of her son. She is bringing life out of death.
How many other lives have been saved by similar movements: Our Rogers neighbors Rhonda and Mike Fincher who started the Kendrick Fincher Memorial to educate coaches and athletes about hydration after their eighth grade son died of dehydration during football practice. Gatorade and the NFL now help sponsor Heat-Safety education nationwide. How many lives are saved by the advocacy work of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, begun as one mother's response to her child's death; or the Amber Alert early response system for missing children. Bumper stickers around here remind us to "Buckle up for Brittany," Jan Judy's granddaughter. Life truly does come out of death.
Life can come out of death for institutions as well.
A few years ago the suffragan bishop of Chicago visited All Saints' Church to explain the reality of the numbers to them and the diocesan intention that they close. Predictably the congregation reacted defensively, as they remembered the baptisms, marriages and funerals – as they told of old times and dying hopes and dreams – while the bishop listened patiently. The numbers did not change. Then one matriarch named Bea suddenly proclaimed, "Wow – I guess we really have died." When she said that, the words just sat in the room. Then the bishop said, "You know the problem comes when people are dead and think they're alive. But we've got a belief about death. We believe that if you've died, then you can rise." At that moment, the bishop changed his mind.
At about the same time, my friend Bonnie Perry moved to Chicago when her spouse took a new teaching position, but Bonnie, a priest, couldn't find a job. So the bishop gave her a half-time job at the church he nearly closed. Bonnie arrived on All Saints' Sunday. A crowd of 35 people were there that first Sunday. Pledge income was $23,000. Current payables was $25,000. They owed $48,000 for a roof loan, on a roof that still leaked. They hadn't paid their diocesan apportionment in two years, and they didn't have a copier. Soon afterward when the diocesan bishop visited, a piece of plaster fell from the parish hall ceiling directly onto his plate. He looked up warily, and said to Bonnie, "I just love the faux finish on your ceiling." Bonnie thought – the place is so close to death, you can smell resurrection.
At her first vestry meeting, as they struggled with how to pay the bills, Bonnie asked if there were people in need in the neighborhood. Oh, yes, they answered. How about a food pantry? Oh we've tried that. People would ring the doorbell and Father would give them food. What if we were more intentional than that – have volunteers give food away? Oh, we tried that, but it frightened some of our older women. I'm used to being around poor people, Bonnie said, what if I'm always there? And what if we advertise? Then people will come. Then what? Then the food will be gone. Then what? At that point, something clicked. Something dawned. Then we'll just get more food.
That was 1992. I talked with Bonnie this week. Two-hundred thirty are in church at All Saints' on Sundays; the budget is $425,000. Last Tuesday 380 neighbors came by to pick up groceries and 125 stuck around for a hot meal served by more than 60 volunteers with their Community Kitchen/Food Pantry program. They have special outreach programs to help rebuild St. Luke's Episcopal Church in New Orleans and have made three mission trips and sent over $75,000 to the impoverished African diocese of Sudan. Now they are excited about a capital funds campaign which will address some of the continuing roof and building challenges. It is an alive and vital church. And they have a copier.
Bonnie says, "God did it." The Holy Spirit energizes their work and worship. She says they also are a passionate people. They say that they want everyone to know what they love and to do what they love at church. They have vision, especially for outreach – to feed and to shelter. And they love liturgy. Bonnie says "we are gifted to be in a denomination that has an intuitive sense of the importance of ritual and sacramental experiences."
As I listened to Bonnie tell about her church, I felt so many connections with the energy and spirit of this church, where we welcome 150 people to lunch each Monday and Wednesday, and where we give out Angel Food groceries to hundreds more each month, where we give healing touch to hurting people from all over our community, and bring children from Washington Elementary for after-school tutoring help. I thought about the Seven Hills Homeless Center which started as a mission of this parish, and the Community Clinic at St. Francis House which once resided here and is now has a $12-million budget serving un-met medical and dental needs in four communities. I thought about our music and our worship and our young people. I feel the same spirit here that Bonnie feels in her congregation.
What we say here is that everyone has a ministry. Where does your deep gladness and the world's deep need meet? What is your ministry? What can we do to empower your ministry?
But resurrection is not just about church stuff. It's not just about life after death. And it's not just about creating something life-giving after death has stalked our paths. Resurrection is a way of living every day. It is a way of seeing life with new eyes.
There's another story that Ken Kaisch tells. Ken was raised in Alaska, where on some days the sun shines only a few hours each day. One day in elementary school his teacher Mrs. Stohl asked the children a simple question, "Class, what color is the snow out there?" The knowing smart-aleck fifth graders replied, "The snow is white, Mrs. Stohl. Can't you see?" "I am looking, and it is not white," said Mrs. Stohl. Now that caused some consternation for the class, because Mrs. Stohl was an exceptional teacher, and usually she knew what she was talking about. But here she was, telling them that snow was not white. They puzzled in stunned silence.
Then Linda, the quiet girl who was the artist among them spoke up softly. "You're right, Mrs. Stohl, it isn't white. It's blue." Shocked jaws dropped. Blue? They all looked out the window at the snow illumined by the sun low to the horizon. It was as if scales had fallen from their eyes, and they all saw the snow. The snow was blue, and even many shades of blue. They saw the purples, the grays, the blacks – all of the beautiful colors. And in all their looking, they did not see any white. 2
There is a resurrection way of seeing. It is to look at life as a mystery, full of wonder and beauty. It is to see life as a gift, with hidden purpose and possibility. Often people who have survived a life-threatening moment say they see life this way, with new appreciation and vividness. It is a way of seeing that can be nurtured and practiced.
Part of the purpose of worship and of prayer is to open our eyes to new realities, resurrection realities, spiritual realities that allow us to see the blues and purples in snow, that reach for opportunities to serve others even when we're not quite getting by, that create life out of death, that know that things can be okay even when they seem lost. "I am about to create new heavens and a new earth," the prophet says. We can create that every day, with God's help. We can see every sunrise as a miracle of life's new beginning, every spring as a wonderful gift, every smile as the smile of God, every death as the opening to resurrection.
When the women left the tomb that Easter morning and told the still skeptical men, "He is risen," little did they know what God had done. Later that evening their eyes were opened and they knew him in the breaking of the bread. Now know we know Christ's risen life as we look around this room and if we can see with resurrection eyes, we will see Christ alive in us as living parts of his Body. And we can know him each Sunday in the breaking of the bread.
Christ is risen, and we shall live with him forever. But more than that, Christ is risen, and we can live with him today. Tomorrow. Each morning as we are given the resurrection gift of new life. We don't have to grieve so hard, we can "Keep the Cure Secure" and hydrate and "Buckle up for Brittany," we can know what we love and do what we love in ministry, we can see the blues and purples in snow and the resurrection of each new day.
Alleluia! Christ is Risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
_____
1 Ken Kaisch, Finding God. Paulist Press, p. 6-7
2 Ibid, p. 5
2 Ibid, p. 5
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God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.
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posted by Lowell @ 4/03/2010 03:19:00 PM
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