Wednesday, April 4, 2018

We Will Never Last Long in Their Tombs: Resurrection Sermon 2018

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Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” -John 20:17 

Christ is Risen. He is Risen, indeed. Alleluia! 
Christ is Risen. He is Risen, indeed. Alleluia! 

Christ is Risen. He is Risen, indeed. Alleluia! 

The sound is amazing. 

Coming in waves, 
crashing all around us. 

Stage lights, 

Fog machines. 

Central air. Left at, like, exactly 70 degrees. 

The floors don’t squeak. 

There’s neutral colored carpet. 
New enough that it at least appears to be clean 
when the lights are dimmed to the perfect dimness.  

And the lights are. Perfectly dimmed. 

There are no windows. No stained glass. 

No accidental light is allowed to enter the room.

No distractions. At all.

Up front: 
A praise team made of eternally happy smiles.

Praying fervently in the words of scripture and songs: 

“Father God, we just come before today, 
to just lift your name on high, 
to just praise your holy name, 
…to lift holy hands, 
we just come before you to just, to just…” 

Hmmm!

We are all dripping with emotion. Or faith. Or the Holy Spirit. Or something. 

It’s amazing. 

Holy as all get out 

in this curated, 
highly controlled 
and effectively manufactured spiritual environment, 

configured with unmatchable expertise 
for our optimal conversion potentiality. 

There’s another wave of sound. 

Refreshing. Welling up into eternity. 

Our heads are bowed. The pastor speaks: 

“Perhaps today is your day!”

The swells on the outside move to the inside.  

My soul is stirring.

My eyes are crying.  

And I’m deciding—my whole body is deciding—to “come on down here,” like the pastor said, 
to ascend the aisle of this little church,

to walk on down in front of God 
and my neighbors 
and everybody, 

to give my whole life, 
my whole being, 
my whole self...

Christ is Risen. Christ is Risen indeed! Hallelujah! 

Yes. I had given it all to God. 

Yet again. 

For, like, the fourth or fifth or (who knows?) maybe the fifteenth time. 

I had given it all. Again. 

But I was beginning to wonder. 

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I was delivering truck parts that year. 

In a big purple van. 

On long drives, my best friend was the radio. 

And even way up there in Wisconsin, (in a whole different state) we got this broadcast out of Chicago, 

from just a few blocks away from here. 

Live from the Pacific Garden Mission: 

It was “Unshackled!” 

A radio show with organ music in the background, 
voice actors, 
sound effects, 
and and lots and lots and lots of stories—

especially and exclusively stories of new beginnings, resurrections, conversions! 

Stories of starting over when it seemed life was at an end. 

For the record, I am still a HUGE sucker for these kind of stories. 

I love them. 

I still kind cry every time almost every time I hear them. 

So please don't hear me poking fun. 

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But (If I remember most of them correctly), there was often, in my opinion,  
something missing from these stories. 

See, the stories would go something like this: 

Jimmy meant well as a child. Teresa was a good kid!
But then he got older. She grew up. 
Jimmy made some bad decisions. 
Teresa got in with the wrong crowd. 

Teresa, Jimmy, they ended up on skid row. 

But then.. [Cue organ here]

One day Jimmy met an evangelist. One day Teresa found a bible in a motel drawer. 

Or Jimmy saw a ray of light in the hospital. 
Teresa had a near-death experience and heard the voice of our Lord. 

Or whatever. Right? 

Something happened. A turning point. 

Maybe Jimmy was just in a well controlled room in a Pentecostal church. 

Whatever. 

And then something welled up in Jimmy. 

And then Teresa cried. 

And then Jimmy gave himself to God. 

Teresa turned it all over to the Power Of The Most High. 

Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen, indeed! Alleluia! 

And then everything was hunky dory, right?

And Michael’s live, Teresa’s life, all of the lives were
never 
the same
again. 

Amen? Amen! 

Christ is Risen. He is Risen, indeed. Alleluia! 

This was the meaning of Resurrection: 
Hollywood endings, riding off into the sunset. 

Life was bad. Something happens. Life becomes good. 

And once it happens to you, things are never the same again. 

Christ is Risen. He Risen, indeed. Alleluia!

The perfect formula. Nothing messy about it. 

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This seemed to be the right way to understand Resurrection.

Formatted. Controllable. 

Predictable. 

Even manipulate-able. With lights. And fog machines. And smiles. 

New life Eternal and unchanging. Never the same again

But I was beginning to wonder. 

And I was beginning to wonder for a really simple reason. 

I was beginning to wonder, because for me: 

this definitely wasn’t my experience. 

Not any of the times I walked down that aisle. 

No matter how much Unshackled made me cry. 

I mean: 

If this really was Resurrection, why did I feel like I had to keep going up again and again? 

If this was really new life, how come I wasn't changed? Not really? 

How come I kept sinning, like all the time? 

How come I was still mean to my sister?  

Was I defective? 

Did the prayer not really take? 

Was the baptism faulty? 

Did I not really mean it? 

What went wrong?

Why was life not perfect now? 

Wasn't I on the other side of the empty tomb? 

Why did I not seem very “saved?” 

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40+ days ago we left the Mountain of Transfiguration and descended into the valley with the disciples, 
as Jesus “set his face" toward the cross and toward Jerusalem. 

Since then, together, we have been on a journey, our songs of praise turned into the silence of introspection. 

We call this journey “Lent.” Amen? Amen. 

Since then we have been winding through stories of healing 
and hope.
Stories from the bible,
as well as stories from our own lives.

We’e been winding through stories
of conflict and power, 
ashes to ashes, 
stories of prophets in the desert, 
and 
of snakes biting the liberated people on their path to the Promised Land.

We’ve been puzzling over stories 
of emancipation turned into destruction and new oppressions, 
stories of violent disputes and horrific genocide,  
stories of blood shed over the possession of land the drawing of borders and ethnic lines.

We have been hearing 
stories in the news about such violent conflicts 
as they continue to this moment, here and far away, 
far too often in the name of God.

Amen? Amen. 
We’ve been winding through 
stories that lead us through the gates of the temple
where creatures are set free 
as tables are over-turned;

and stories of palms waved as the streets are filled to the brim with blessings,
“Hosannas” sung through the hopes in the hearts of the people:   
that the dawn of the New Age and the New City had finally come!

We have been on a journey.
Through stories. And song. 

And we call this journey “Lent.”

Amen? Amen. 

Finally, Thursday we reached the base of another mountain.
We shared a meal with our friends.
And we prepared our feet for another ascent. 

Because Friday, we would walk with Jesus up a more difficult trail.  

There, at the cross, it seemed our journey had come to an end. 

“Into your hands I commend my Spirit.”

“Father forgive them.” 

“It is finished.” 

Together we sang in the dark into the Silence of God. 
“Were you there when they Crucified my Lord?”

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Christ is Risen! He is Risen in, indeed! Alleluia! 

I wonder if these images, these stories of Lent, 
(though certainly more complicated) 
might not be a more accurate
depiction of faith’s journey for those of us fortunate enough to live long enough to have a long journey.

They're not a perfect formula. 

The stories are messy. Sometimes even contradictory. 

But faith’s journey messy and sometimes contradictory. 

Lucky for us (and perhaps this is also something that Lent reveals), faith's journey happens, ore often than not, in community. Together. 

The Israelites wonder the desert. 

The women arrive at the tomb un-alone.

Perhaps these stories are a more accurate account of what it means to walk in faith together for the long-haul. 

Amen? Amen.  

At times in our lives, Transfiguration moments happen. 

At times we set up camp on sparkling mountaintops where we are transformed to the bone. 

And it feels really good. 

At times we hurt. There is pain. 

Stepping out in faith, 
we cross deserts and borders.
We seek out new institutions and new constitutions. 
Through the wilderness we travel,
in hope of finding something better and greener 
and more palatable on the other side; 

At times we enter broken temples. 

We love bloodied messiahs.

At times we cry in the garden no matter what anyone does or says to make our sadness go away. 

And at times, 
Sometimes, 
we even happen 
upon an empty tomb. 

Sometimes. We see Jesus, the Gardener. 
And even in our dry bones, he waters and digs and plants Resurrection.
Even in us, Jesus calls forth from the chaos something new.  

Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen, indeed. Alleluia!

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But through every high place, 
on the other side of every miracle, 
our eyes may tell us, if the scales have truly been removed, 
there remain crosses
there remain places of the Skull.  

There remain relationships broken that could stand to be mended, 
there remains oppression, 
corruption, 
nails, 
sour wine. 

Easter has begun. But it is not yet complete.
Resurrection has taken. But it is not yet finished. 

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today Pilate washes his hands over the death of an innocent. 
But Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today Judas’ kiss will affectionately betray. 
But Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today Mary weeps for the loss of Love and hope. 
But Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today a Mother mourns the death of another Son. 
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today the guard follows orders: "Just doing my job!" 
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today the criminalized, hanging, shout out to Christ to come down. 
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today the hope of Paradise animates dying bodies with living dreams.  
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today we bow to emperors who feed us to lions and are entertained.
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today they commission crosses built with the labor of those who die young.
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today the Centurion opens his heart:
Saying, “Truly, truly this is the Son of God!” 
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia! 
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Still today we suffer pain. And so still today we shout to be free:
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

When crosses are built, 
we’ve gotta build community. 

When there are shouts of “Crucify!," Resurrection has gotta be our song.  
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

When in Rome (or Chicago or wherever), there will always be slaughter, 
but with the Love of the Risen One welling up in us

we will never last long in their tombs. 

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed, Alleluia!

Not 4, not 5, not 15 times. 

May we ascend the aisle every moment, every breath. 

May God make us ever and eternally new. 
Again. And again. And again. 

For the journey is 
messy. And winding. And long. 

We see the crosses all around. 

But with Christ in our midst and the Love of the Risen One rising up in us, 
we will never last long in their tombs. 

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!


Amen. 



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