1 post tagged “an easter sermon”

A few months ago, I noticed a big, colorful foam board sign in the Little House with the words “Miracles are coming.” It was sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. I figured that someone from the AA or OA groups that use our space might have accidentally left it behind after a meeting. But the sign didn’t disappear. And so after a few weeks, I moved it to the top of the bookcase so that we could enjoy both of the framed pictures that rest on the mantel – and the sign. A few days later, it was gone. “What a shame,” I thought to myself. While I found the message a bit cryptic – or perhaps a bit more new age-y than I am, I appreciated the spontaneous sign of spirituality and the burst of color. I concluded that the sign’s creator must have been offended by my relocation of the message to another part of the lounge and went on with my work. And then, on Good Friday, the sign reappeared – on top of the bookcase. I saw it before heading out to participate in the Stations of the Cross and couldn’t help but smile. Good Friday – a day of solemnity and solace in the Christian community – and in the midst of that was a reminder of hope, a reminder that the impossible is sometimes made possible.

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Jesus asked Mary as she stood outside the tomb. Her grief was so strong and tears too numerous to see the miracle in front of her. I picture here my young cousins so overcome by tears of separation anxiety that they no longer recognize their parents when they do walk back into the room – it takes reassuring words and hug to for recognition to break through. It’s not just tears that can be blinding. Sometimes our focus is so intense – or gaze set in one direction – that we totally miss where we need to be present.

Lately I’ve been watching the TV series “House” on DVD. It’s another one of those medical shows – emphasis on complex medical cases with unpredictable twists. The main character of the show is a gruff, sarcastic middle-aged doctor named Greg House, who walks with a cane and pops pain pills like they are candy. He supervises a trinity of gifted young neurologists. Every episode, a new case presents itself and the young team is broadsided. They follow the symptoms down one path, are certain they are going in the right direction – and inevitably find themselves needing to change course. House’s genius is his ability to make room for a change in approach – he’s able to stay present, but at the same time remain open and respond to the strange signs around him. That’s what makes him a brilliant diagnostician.

The resurrection of the Jesus is the “strange sign” and miracle that greets us this Easter morning. Unlike Mary weeping at the side of the empty tomb or the medical team on House – we are probably not broadsided by it. On a certain level, we know this story well – Jesus eats a last meal with his loved ones, he is handed over to the authorities, is crucified and rises. The question is: how do we know this in our bones – how to we embody this story within our selves?

The brilliance of the liturgical calendar – of inventions like Lent and Holy Week – is that we are taken on a journey of no return. It’s like boarding a rollercoaster tram – the safety bar comes down on you – and short of a mal-function  (which you pray won’t happen) – you only get to exit after having up and down the peaks and through the cork screws. Lent and Holy Week are a bit more gentle than a roller coaster – but they can take us to some difficult and scary places – as well as places of utter bliss and joy. In this day and age, as we find our religious holidays being exploited more and more by consumeristic culture, the journey through Lent and Holy Week can help to keep us grounded for Easter.

Today, we greet the Jesus of life. He’s at first mistaken by Mary to be a gardener – a quiet, tender-type of growth. And then just like that -- she registers the miracle before her very eyes. This weekend I picked up some daffodils from Trader Joe’s – the kind that sell for $1.29 and have yet to flower. Clip the stems, place in water and they pop open overnight! A visible sign of life – emerging rapidly – it’s delightful and wonderful. And this is what Mary wrestled to wrap her head around – on a much larger and profound level – during the wee hours of the dawn.

There is a famous quote from Irenaeus that reads “the glory of God is the human being fully alive.” What signs of life, growth and hope can we point to our communities this Easter season? When we look at our own life, where do we find ourselves most alive? A few nights ago Tavis Smiley interviewed the now famous author Anne Lamott. As a part of that interview, he asked her where the journey from Good Friday to Easter brings her this year. She talked about her own struggle with the landscape of the current political climate – and about feeling that a new hope was sprouting up around her through presidential campaigns. Regardless of whether or not you share Anne’s particular sentiments, that feeling of a heaviness about to be lifted – be it the heaviness of death, of an illness, of a broken relationship or of physical violence – is at the core of Jesus’ Easter proclamation. And how are we to celebrate the gift of Jesus’ resurrected life? Well, according to Anne Lamott – we can do this in small, slow and sometimes messy ways: agreeing not to look away, bearing witness, not killing – keeping a note by the phone to remind us “do not kill” (!), giving food to the hungry, saying what is true, recognizing the beauty of good people, seeing a vision of hope about us – and carrying that hope like glass of water – it may be just a small cup, but still carries the power to bring life to our world. Living in a world where the needs are so great and belonging to a small church community surrounded by so many needs – in this context, Anne’s message is an especially powerful one for us to hear. It is not in the flurry of Easter trappings peddled to us in the stores that we will come know the meaning of resurrection. It’s in our willingness to follow strange signs where they might lead us. It’s in our ability to remain open to the mystery of the impossible becoming possible. It’s in our willingness to carry hope like a glass of water – and knowing where to find the most parched patches of ourselves and our world and dousing with the water of life.

Amen.

The Rev. Nicole Janelle
St. Michael's, Isla Vista
Easter 2008