An Idle Tale That Changed the World

What kind of story do you tell in a graveyard? I ought to have some experience at that. We preachers get called upon to speak words in many a graveyard. And it’s all based on what happened in the graveyard on Easter morning. Today is the day that gives us something to say at the time of death.

The story is told about a young preacher who was called upon to do a service for a pauper who had no family. He was new to the area and wasn’t sure where the cemetery was so he got lost along the way. Finally, an hour after the service was supposed to begin, he pulled up to see that the hearse had already left. A backhoe was standing at the ready and there were two men waiting to fill in the hole. The vault lid was already on.

The young preacher felt very guilty and he decided he should say a few appropriate words for the man. So he put on his robe and launched into an impassioned sermon about the resurrection and new life, he read Bible verses and said a wonderful prayer. As he returned to his car one of the workers leaned to the other and said, “I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years and I ain’t never seen anything like that.”

What kind of story do you tell in the graveyard? There has been such a contrast of things going on here at Franktown these last few days. We’ve had a steady stream of services since Thursday night and the consistent theme of them has been darkness and pain and sorrow and confession and the gory details of Jesus’ death on a criminal’s cross two thousand years ago. And in the midst of it all – an Easter Egg Hunt. I know we kind of jump the gun on that, but it almost seems a kind of relief. When we’re talking crucifixion I often wonder whether it’s appropriate for children. When we get into the whipping and the nailing and the piercing and the dying, what does this say to our kids?

I don’t worry too much because I know children are resilient and for centuries we have been telling our kids scary stories to help them come to terms with the terrors of this world. Hansel and Gretel is just one of many tales that remind us that there are dangers around us. The witch in the gingerbread house is a stand-in for all the ways in which evil can lead us astray. Children do need some conditioning to prepare them for living in the world. Much as we try to protect them from it, they will face monstrous things in their lives and best that they should know the character of the world. But we also usually include a happy ending to remind them that the world is more than predators and nightmares. It is also filled with beauty and hope and goodness overcoming evil. That’s more than we can say for the evening news which never gets past the nightmares.

All the same, I wonder what sort of message we are telling about the world when we talk about Jesus and his death and resurrection. In the midst of pastel eggs and iron spikes and empty tombs are we telling a story that helps our children (and us) know the truth about this world? Or are we telling something that seems to the world an idle tale?

I don’t know about you, but I could use a story that is more than an idle tale. We have way too many idle tales. Movies have predictable plot lines that run from revenge fantasies to underdogs overcoming adversity to boy meets girl. But maybe you’re like me and you hunger for something deeper, richer, more. We want a story that is going to not only touch our hearts but transform our lives.

Avatar has been the top movie of the winter and it seems to promise that kind of story. It will take you to a whole new world and immerse you in the story with 3-D effects that are stunning to behold. And it is a beautiful thing to watch. But by the end of the movie I felt let down. All these hundreds of millions of dollars and the story ends up being about a showdown between a rebel on a righteous mission and a thug with a big machine? How many times have I seen that with the same predictable outcome?

I want a story that is going to tell me something about who I am and where I’m headed. I want a story that’s going to deal with the deepest fears and longings in my heart. I want a story that’s going to tell me why I’m here and what it is that I’m supposed to do with my life. I want a story that’s going to tell me who God is and what God is about in this world. Come to think of it, I want more than director James Cameron can give me. I want a savior.

Maybe you want that, too. Maybe that’s why we’re here. Easter is one of those days when people make a special effort to go to church. If you’re one of those folks who have been away for awhile and are back because it’s Easter, welcome back. It is a good day to be here, because this Easter story is the most important thing we have to say as Christians. And it’s a story we should never get tired of telling.

Easter is different from Christmas, too. James Miller wrote a column for Slate magazine a couple of years ago in which he noticed that we don’t commercialize Easter like we do Christmas. The culture has kind of adopted Christmas, but Easter, despite the Cadbury eggs and peeps, is not the culture holiday that Christmas is.

Miller says:

“Even agnostics and atheists who don't accept Christ's divinity can accept the general outlines of the Christmas story with little danger to their worldview. But Easter demands a response. It's hard for a non-Christian believer to say, ‘Yes, I believe that Jesus of Nazareth was crucified, died, was buried, and rose from the dead.’ That's not something you can believe without some serious ramifications: If you believe that Jesus rose from the dead, this has profound implications for your spiritual and religious life—really, for your whole life. If you believe the story, then you believe that Jesus is God, or at least God's son. What he says about the world and the way we live in that world then has a real claim on you.

Easter is an event that demands a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ There is no ‘whatever.’”[i]

There is no ‘whatever.’ This is crucial stuff. So if we are here today because of Easter it says something about how we view the world.

The story of the first Easter is simply told. It’s different from action movies or other blockbusters because nothing really happens. At least not much cinematic happens. Especially in the version of the resurrection story that we read today – from Luke. The gospel of Matthew, at least, has an earthquake and a Roman guard falling down in fear. But Luke’s narrative is a quieter sort of thing. But just because there are no explosions that doesn’t mean there isn’t drama.

When we last left the scene, it was Friday. Jesus was dead and buried. Taken down from the cross. Sealed away in a borrowed tomb. The women who had followed him from Galilee had seen his body, seen where it was laid, but then went off to prepare spices for the day when they could return. The Sabbath began at sundown that Friday night and it would not end until nightfall on Saturday. During that time, the women did not go back to the tomb.

Then early on Sunday morning, at “deepest dawn” according to Luke, they went back to the grave carrying the spices. But by the time they got to the tomb, the resurrection had already happened. This is the part we’d love to see, but none of the gospels gives us an account of how it happened that Jesus’ lifeless body left that tomb. When Mel Gibson tried to depict it in The Passion of the Christ a few years ago, he added this scene with Jesus confidently striding out, fully restored, ready to take on the world. But the gospels leave it out.

All that the women see is the huge stone that sealed the entrance rolled away from the tomb. They look inside and see that there is no body. And then two men are standing there beside them (and, yes, this part is a little cinematic) they are wearing clothes that shine like stars.

“Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” they ask. “Weren’t you listening? Didn’t he tell you? He told you this would happen. He told you about the betrayal into the hands of sinful people. He told you about the crucifixion. But on the third day…he told you…he would rise.”

They did remember. The Bible tells us they did. But they hadn’t dared to believe. That Jesus would be betrayed – that was something easy to believe since he was causing conflict with religious authorities wherever he went. That he would be crucified – they prayed that would not be true, but it was a fate for those who ran afoul of the Roman overlords – and any Messiah would do that. They could believe that. But the rising in three days bit? It just seemed ludicrous. Outlandish. Incredible. Only now it made perfect sense.

The women, and there were many – Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, many more – they ran to the disciples, the eleven Jesus had chosen (11 because Judas had fallen away), and the rest. They spilled out the story – to no effect. They did not believe them. It seemed to them an idle tale, Luke says.

Peter was the only one who made an effort to check the story out. The only one! He ran to the tomb, stooped and looked in. No body. Not even the two men the women had seen. Just the linen wrapping that had been around his body. And he left wondering what had happened.

At this point it was only the women who had experienced Easter. It would take more appearances by the risen Jesus to convince the others. But the bare facts were now out there. Jesus’ body was gone. And the women who went to the tomb now knew that victory had come in an entirely unexpected way. Jesus had confounded them in death as in life. But he had also defeated death.

An idle tale? Some still think so. But this idle tale has changed the world. Empires have fallen. Slaves have been set free. People have faced down oppressive regimes. People have given their lives in mission to tell this story. People who have been lost have been found. People who were dead in every sense that it matters are now alive. All because of this idle tale.

The early church had an interesting way of dramatizing what was happening at Easter. On the night before Easter they would gather in darkness. During the Easter vigil they would bring in the new Christians, those being baptized after months of preparation. And they would do their liturgy as if it were all still up in the air – as if the outcome was still undetermined. As if Jesus were still lying there dead in the tomb. And they would still go on with the service, expecting that the rising sun might bring the last day of creation. Maybe this year Jesus would come to bring all things to an end.

Then they would welcome the light by blessing a candle. The baptizands would turn the west – the land associated with darkness – and they would renounce the devil and his angels. They would laugh at him and literally spit at the evil forces of this world. Then they would turn to the east – the land of the rising sun – and confess their allegiance to Christ, the coming one, the risen one.

The theologian David Bentley Hart says that “to renounce one’s bonds to these [evil] beings was an act of cosmic rebellion, a declaration that one had been emancipated from…‘the prince of this world’ or…‘the god of this world’…so the life of faith was, for the early church, before all else, spiritual warfare, waged between the Kingdom of God and the kingdom of the fallen world, and every Christian on the day of his or her baptism had been conscripted into that struggle on the side of Christ.”[ii]

Is that what we signed up for? We want a word of comfort. We want a word of hope for today. And that’s what Easter is – hope and confidence that God has already determined the course and declared where it all ends. But it is also a day that reminds us that it’s not just about us. It’s about God and the great glory of this graveyard story is not just that we as individuals have won a way out of the cycle of death. The greater story is that we are swept up into what God is doing in this world – defeating evil with love, overthrowing the wrong with the right, and making us new creatures through union with Christ. If you say ‘yes’ to this story, you’re conscripted now. The kingdom of God needs every volunteer. What you can’t say is ‘whatever.’

Thanks be to God.

Luke 12:1-12

On the first day of the week at deepest dawn, they came to the grave carrying spices they had prepared. They discovered that the stone had been rolled away from the grave, and upon entering they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.

While they were confounded with this, look, two men stood beside them in clothes that shone like stars. They became frightened and bowed their faces to the ground as the men said, "Why are you looking for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has been raised. Remember what he said to you when you were in Galilee. He said that the Son of Humanity must be given over into the hands of sinful people, and be crucified, and on the third day rise."

They remembered his words. So they returned from the tomb and reported all of this to the Eleven and to the others. These were Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary, the mother of James, and others were with them. They said these things to the apostles. These words seemed to them nonsense and they did not believe them.

Peter, however, got up and ran to the tomb. He bent down and saw only a linen cloth and left, wondering to himself what was happening.

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[i] James Martin, “Happy Crossmas! How Easter resists commercialization,” Slate magazine, April 2, 2010, http://www.slate.com/id/2249525/?from=rss.

[ii] David Bentley Hart, Athiest Delusions: The Christian Revolution and its Fashionable Enemies, [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009], ebook location 1500-1506.

In the Silence

Of all the stories of the first Easter morning—and there are four of them, in Matthew, Mark, Luke & John—it is the story from Matthew that is the most Hollywood. Jerry Bruckheimer, the producer who makes big, loud movies like Pearl Harbor and Armageddon and Pirates of the Caribbean, would definitely choose Matthew if he were doing a movie of the life of Christ. Steven Spielberg? Matthew. Because it is so cinematic.

Matthew wants you to know that this is a dramatic story. He’s the gospel writer who tells you that on the day of Jesus’ crucifixion, when he breathed his last breath, there was an earthquake and the curtain in the temple was torn in two, and tombs were blasted open and people who had been dead were walking around the city. He doesn’t want there to be any doubt that when Jesus died, it was a big deal. The whole world should know that this Jesus, who lived a simple life, who was a simple carpenter and who traveled with simple fishermen and women, this Jesus was God! And when God dies on a criminal’s cross—things happen. The earth shakes. Rocks split. Curtains rip. Tombs open.

But then there is Jesus’ tomb. Jesus’ body is taken down from the cross. A rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, offers to place the body in a rich man’s tomb. This tomb is massive—hewn out of rock, sealed with a heavy stone that takes many people to put in place. This is a place intended to hold a body in security for many long years. That’s where they put the lifeless body of Jesus.

But even now the drama doesn’t end. Those who had tried Jesus and put him to death want to make sure that nothing happens to that body—that it stays in the tomb. They go to the Roman governor, to Pilate, and they ask for a guard to watch the grave. And so Pilate posts a guard and they seal the rock in place so that it cannot be disturbed.

Now here’s where the real Hollywood comes in. Picture this. A quiet garden at dawn. The tomb is still there with the stone in place. Two of Jesus’ most faithful disciples, Mary Magdalene and another Mary, who were there when the body was placed in the tomb, come quietly on the scene to see the tomb. Then—we need some CGI effects here—another earthquake! The earth trembles. An angel comes down out of the skies and rolls away the stone. He’s dressed all in white and he looks like a lightning bolt. He’s dashing and dramatic. I’m thinking Russell Crowe here.

And, oh, the guards who are supposed to be watching the tomb? They are terrified. We cut to a shot of several of them frozen in fear and then laid out on the ground like dead men. You catch the irony of this dramatic juxtaposition don’t you? The guards, who are supposed to keep Jesus from being alive, are dead. Couldn’t be any better, could it?

So there they are laid out. Russell Crowe is sitting on this huge rock he’s just moved out of the way. And he looks at the women and says, “Don’t be afraid. I know why you’re here. You’re looking for Jesus who was crucified. But he isn’t here. He has been raised, just like he said he would be. Come, take a look around.” All this drama—all this stone-rolling, all the guards—and guess what? None of it was necessary for God to do what God was going to do. Jesus was raised before any of the fireworks started! Jesus didn’t need an earthquake. Jesus didn’t need to have the stone removed. Jesus was raised already! Cut to the women peeking into the tomb, feeling the stone where he lay, staring at one another in disbelief.

But wait, Russell’s not finished talking to them yet. “He’s been raised from the dead, but you have work to do. You’ve got to go tell the other disciples that Jesus has been raised from the dead and he is going ahead of you to Galilee, (the place where they had first met Jesus). You will see him there.”

So Mary Magdalene, being played by Kiera Knightley, and the other Mary, played by Julia Roberts, run from the tomb. We hear their pounding feet and their gasps for breath. We see the orange morning sun illuminating their faces and we can tell, because they are very good actresses, that they are running away with fear and great joy. What an incredible mix of emotions! We keep this extreme close-up on their faces as they keep running. If Jerry Bruckheimer is directing we might get a few random explosions in the garden as the guards wake up from their stupor and start chasing them with grenade launchers. If Spielberg is directing, the music is swelling. But none of that happens in the Bible story, so forget I even mentioned it.

What happens in Matthew is even more dramatic, because as the women are running from the garden they run smack into a strange figure that seems to waiting for them. It’s Jesus. Jesus is waiting for them! And they fall down in front of him and grab his feet and worship him. It is true. It is really true! And Jesus says, “Rejoice. Don’t be afraid. Go tell the other disciples to meet me in Galilee. They will see me there.” And now Kiera and Julia (or Mary and Mary) get up with tears streaming down their faces and we can tell, because they are very good actresses, that the fear is gone. There is only joy now because they were the first to see the risen Lord and to know the truth—that the message of hope and life did not die on the cross. Christ is alive and everything is new. Cut to the rising sun peeking over the nearest ridge. Raise the volume on the John Williams score and roll the credits. It’s a wrap!

But you and I know that the story is not over. As dramatic as Matthew’s version of the resurrection is—it’s not the end of the story by any means. In some ways it’s only the beginning. Here we are some two thousand years later and we’re still trying to grasp what it all means. What does it mean to proclaim that Christ is Risen? When we shout Alleluia! do we have any idea what we’re saying? Is Christ alive…still? And if he is then what does that mean for me?

And has the world really changed? The world we see around us on Easter morning seems a lot like the world we lamented at the cross on Friday. There are still wars and terror. I’ve been getting dispatches from a former UVA student I worked with who is now on a base in Baghdad. He lives in a world of concrete barricades with occasional explosions in the night. There are still bombings. The economy is taking a scary turn. Our schools are changing dramatically. Families are still in trouble. Relationships are still hurting. The natural world is polluted and dying. Addictions still strangle our souls. Violence still plagues our society. Religion seems a sorry salve. And deep inside ourselves…deep in here, we sense that something is missing—that we need something more—that we need to discover new life.

So I envy those women at the tomb. They got earthquakes and angels. They got to put their fingers in the place where Jesus’ body had lain. They got to feel the cool and empty rock shelf. Most importantly, they got to hear the risen Jesus call their names and they got to hold on for dear life to his feet. I want a resurrection experience like Mary and Mary had, so that I can know that Christ is alive. Where is that Easter experience?

Oh, I know what Jesus would say. Jesus had an American in his group of disciples you know. I mean he acted like an American. His name was Thomas and you have heard him called by his nickname—Doubting Thomas. I say that Thomas was American because he was one of these folks who said things like we tend to say. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Thomas would say. “Seeing is believing,” he would say. “I’m from Missouri—Show me.” That’s how Americans respond to unbelievable things they can’t see. And what Jesus said to Thomas—after he had seen Jesus and felt the wounds in his hands and side—what Jesus says to him is, “You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who don’t see and yet believe.” That’s you and me--the people who can’t see and yet who are called to believe.

So, yes, I know what Jesus would say, but I don’t believe that’s all Jesus would say. Because Jesus also said that we would be able to see him even after he ascended into heaven. No, we don’t have an audience with Jesus like Thomas had. No, we don’t get to meet him in a garden encounter and hold on to his feet. No, we don’t even have photos. But the resurrection was something that was unseen. Despite all the special effects, no one saw the resuscitation of Jesus’ body. No one saw the actual act of Jesus rising from the dead. What there was to see and feel was an empty tomb. And where the real change took place was in the hearts and minds of the disciples.

Where did Easter happen? I believe that it didn’t happen in the place where Jesus was. It happened in the place where Jesus is—in the hearts of those who love him and who understand that they are loved by him. Easter happened in the fear and great joy of Mary and Mary. Easter happened in the dumbfounded disciples in the upper room as they encountered the risen Christ. Easter happened in the eyes of the disciples who broke bread with him in Emmaus. It happened in the breakfast they shared by the lakeshore. It happened in Paul on the road to Damascus as he was knocked off his donkey by the voice of Christ. Easter happened in Augustine and Catherine of Siena. Easter happened in Gregory and Hildegard in the Middle Ages. Easter happened in John and Charles Wesley centuries later. Easter happened in Martin Luther King, Junior and Mother Theresa. Easter happened to popes and beggars, to kings and peasants, to rich and poor, and young and old. And at last Easter happened to me.

How do I know? How can I be sure? What can I point to that would prove that Christ is living? The old hymn “He Lives” says in its chorus: “You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart.” That’s right. In here. In the same place where I sometimes feel that something is missing. Right here I also know that what is missing often is me. When Easter comes it is an assurance of deep joy that despite all the things that are happening to me, despite all the troubles of my life, despite all the real evil in the world, despite all the evidence—I and the world are held in the palm of God’s hand. That is an inexplicable joy. That is an unspeakable promise. That is a conviction that will not go away no matter how hard I try to run from it. Deep down, if you ask me straight out, I have to say that I know that Jesus lives because I feel him right here. In here I know that death cannot win ultimately. In here I know that God’s intention for me and the world is not despair but hope and life. In here I know that I and the world can be better and will be better and that I have not been abandoned. When everything else around me seems to be urging me to ask, “Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?”, still I know in here that love will triumph.

You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart. And I know it because of what I see in the Church at its best. I know this is a time of great cynicism about great institutions—particularly the Church. We have lived through a political week in which one of our presidential candidates – Obama – had to publicly struggle with an ugly side of his church.

But I know what the Church at its best does, too. At its best the church raises money for mosquito nets in Africa to save children from malaria. At its best the church builds wells for water and buys water buffalos for rice fields. In Mexico I saw the living Christ in a congregation that is vibrant in worship and stretching itself to start new missions among the poor. When I watch former students I worked with at the Wesley Foundation give their lives to a call to ministry or when they tell me about how they have found God in the unlikeliest places, I know that Christ lives. When I gather with folks around a fire, like we did last night here at Franktown, and we light candles and bring them into the sanctuary to remind ourselves of how the light overcomes the darkness. When I see our youth meet mentors they are going to spend the next 12 weeks with in the confirmation process. When we share some of the most important stories of our lives together, I know that Christ lives. In the Church, in the best of the Church, I see Christ.

You ask me how I know he lives? I know it because of what I don’t see. Because of what was not in that tomb on that morning. Because of what is not on that cross this morning. Because of who has been defeated and can no longer threaten us with death. All these things I don’t see tell me that Easter has come.

I hope that Easter has happened in here for you at some time. I hope that you, too, sense that inexplicable, unbelievable joy that contradicts all the evidence. I hope that you have had that powerful encounter with Christ and that you know that no matter how far you have run, no matter how distantly you have wandered, you have not yet escaped God’s love for you. And you can’t. Easter is ready to happen for you any day. And when it happens, nothing will ever be the same. Thanks be to God.

Matthew 28:1-10 (NRSV)
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you."
So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."