EASTER

Happy Easter! I always remember on Easter one of the few lines I’ve ever heard in church that always makes me smile. It was something the rector of a former parish in Las Vegas said, looking out over the packed church one Easter morning. Now, he was a true southern gentleman, and was polite, caring, never sarcastic, never hurtful to anyone that I ever saw. So it was especially surprising and poignant to me when he asked: ‘Do you people know that we do this every Sunday?’

I remember being in Washington D.C., for Easter one year, and you had to get a ticket to get into the Cathedral there, because the demand was way greater than the available seating. This is a phenomenon that occurs pretty much everywhere. I think I remember that question of my rector in Las Vegas because it speaks not just to something that does occur year after year, but to something that seems to be true but is not obviously explainable.

Is it our human attraction for tradition? Does the joy we feel at the coming of spring need some expression greater than we can come up with on our own? Or perhaps we just like the inspiring music and happy mood. Is it – in some places – children and Easter egg hunts?

Or might there some other reason we may let ourselves be brought, led, dragged here today – knowing we’re going to hear that amazing and improbable story?

Well, we did get to hear that story again. Or, one of the four versions of the story. This morning we heard from gospel-writer John. And his is a great one. Like his version of the Passion, it has different details than the other accounts, and creates a scene so very vivid it’s sort of like a good movie: wonderful detail, suspense and even human emotions. And, of course, an encounter with the dead-and-not-yet-ascended Jesus.

Mary Magdalene is the woman in all four gospel stories; she was Jesus’ companion. She’d been forgiven and healed by Jesus, traveled with him, probably supported him financially in his travels, and knew him – I imagine – as well as anyone; then, at the tomb, she heard him, saw him and didn’t know him. 

She’d been living in the darkness since Friday. Those of us who’ve lost a loved one have some idea just how dark it’s been for her. And of course you may say: of course she didn’t know him. We all know what death is about, and when you’re dead, you don’t suddenly come back and speak to us. It makes sense that she was too consumed with grief to allow herself to hear, to be free enough to realize what could be happening.

And then, John tells us, Jesus called her by name. And she did know him. But, imagine being in her position. What would you think? We’re so conditioned to analyze, to go to our heads, that we’d probably think someone was playing a trick on us. Messing with our reality.  

As we contemplate the mystery of resurrection, don’t differing voices and answers come at us from all directions? And, I’m the worst culprit. At this point, considering this story, I’d often begin to describe historical perspective, what the latest and most respected biblical scholarship is, the consensus among those who study such things and know more than me. I might even throw in a definition or two – I love to mess around with word definitions.

This time, though, Mary deserves better. We all deserve better. I’m not going to explain, analyze, or tell you that skeptical scholars agree that no one can return from death, that no one has ever returned from death. That what Mary, and all those others, saw was a vision. That the longing of the heart can be so great that it sees what it wants to see.

No. No. Today, that just won’t do. Because, some of you - who are here today - have already considered those things. So did people 2,000 years ago. Somewhere lurks that question – a question that is so important it may have got you here when other Sundays you aren’t – ‘is it true?’ Is it true that God lives and gives us life? Is it true that God not only established a routine, what we call the laws of nature, but that one day God broke the routine and somehow raised Jesus from the dead?

Is it true that something so extraordinary happened on that morning that we can only rebuild our broken lives on its foundation? Is it true?

For most of the year we’re about the teachings of Jesus. What they mean to us, how they might influence how we act, how we live. But, notice, those first preachers, the ones in the book of Acts, don’t say a word about the teachings of Jesus. Paul, the first and greatest Christian theologian, mentions nothing about the life or teachings of Jesus. Is it that he didn’t know, or is it just that it wasn’t the important thing for him?

They preach Christ crucified and resurrected. Christianity began with the things that are the hardest to believe. The teachings of Jesus may have been new for some, even contrary to passed-on wisdom, but still dealt with the concrete. The day-to-day. Dealt with things they could see and touch and understand. It’s almost as if the story of his life is only of interest if we see it from the vantage point of Easter. Even his teachings aren’t really so new. They only become special because of who the teacher was; that is, God’s chosen one who is to die and be raised again.

As modern people who like to think of ourselves as sophisticated, we sometimes forget that the idea that God could raise someone from the dead would be as difficult for these ancient people to believe as it is for us. These ancient people were not stupid. Although a few may have been around for the raising of Lazarus, most had seen many people die and never once had they seen anyone come to life again.

Yes, there was something in the story to doubt. There is also another way to put it: there was something in the story that reached the deepest regions of their hearts and minds, where both doubt and faith are found. That is, in the resurrection God gave us such a miracle of love and forgiveness that it is worthy of faith, and thus open to doubt. The very doubts we may hold attest to the scale and power of what we proclaim.

So the place to begin in the life of faith is not necessarily with those things we never doubt -- realities about which we hold no doubt may not be large enough to reveal God to us. So we say without apology or hesitation: what we proclaim at Easter is too mighty to be encompassed by certainty, too wonderful to be found only within the borders of our imaginations. 

Today is not about things that are beyond the reach of our doubt. Today is about those things that are large enough, mysterious enough, deep enough to reveal something of God to us. That is the promise held out to us this day, the promise of Easter, which has throughout history been the occasion of the greatest doubt and also the source of the most profound faith. We long to swim in the depths of realities that are large enough to reveal God to us.

He called her name. And Mary knew him. She knew. Those of you who have also been called by name believe her. And for the rest of us – well, we may not know Jesus like Mary did, but we are known by him. He does know our name. For that moment when we let ourselves feel him call our name, we will respond just like she did.

So, she didn’t think, she didn’t analyze, she just ran back to the others to announce, with confidence, I’m certain: ‘I have seen the Lord.’ So simple. ‘I have seen the Lord.’ Not introduced with defensiveness, or apology, or some sort of hedging like ‘I know this sounds crazy, but I think I just saw the Lord.’

Ah, if we could only learn to do the same. We learn in Acts that Peter did learn it. Maybe he was remembering Mary’s words to him on that first Easter morning: ‘I have seen the Lord.’ Paul also heard the same words and repeated them in his own way, crying out: ‘Have I not seen the Lord?” and then, after reciting a litany of appearances, he affirms: ‘Last of all, he appeared also to me.’

What about us? This morning we have listened again to the resurrection story. We have sung glorious affirmations of the Day of Resurrection. We will partake of Holy Communion and will affirm our faith.

Let us pray the longing of our hearts. Let us give up our quest for evidence, and abandon ourselves to the message of this day.

Let us ask to feel, to know the Presence. So we too can say with Mary, ‘I have seen the Lord.’    Amen.