"an empty tomb; overflowing hearts"

Anna Blaedel
First UMC, Osage
April 12, 2009
Easter Sunday
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
John 20:1-18

Those of you who read the Easter article on the front page of this week’s Press News have glimpsed a preview of my Easter sermon. You know what’s coming. Let me quote, myself: “At Easter, we celebrate God’s Resurrection Power. We celebrate signs of this power for renewed life and love for all—the empty tomb, the risen Christ, God’s desire to coax new life out of death, renewed hope out of utter hopelessness. In the Easter story, we meet a resurrected Savior. This One who was an outcast, betrayed even by friends, persecuted by the powerful, damned by religious authorities, tortured, crucified, executed by the state—This One is Alive! Hear the Good News! Death and injustice did not win. God’s love is triumphant! Hallelujah!”

Hear this poem, written by Anne Hillman:

we look with uncertainty
beyond the old choices for
clear-cut answers
to a softer, more permeable aliveness
which is every moment
at the brink of death;
for something new is being born in us
if we let it.
we stand at a new doorway,
awaiting that which comes…
daring to be human creatures.
vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
learning to love.

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all of our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O God, our living strength, and resurrected redeemer.

Not quite two weeks ago, a small handful of people gathered in the resource room here at this church and envisioned a new way for this community of faith to live into our ministry of transforming the world, building beloved community, creating the kindom of god, here, now. We talked about planting a community garden. And, this summer, having a series of events—seminars, cooking classes, community meals—aimed at educating and embodying being good stewards of our bodies, of the land, of our food. Helping families who have very little money learn how to cook and eat for nourishment, and enjoyment. Helping us practice our sacramental call to gather at table, feed each other, give thanks to God, and be fed, in body and soul. The meeting felt, at least to me, Spirit led. Ideas and visions and possibilities poured out.

Now, I have already confessed to you all my utter lack of knowledge and experience in all things gardening, and my desire to learn, to cultivate this practice. But the Spirit seemed to be moving, and I know there are many sitting in these pews today who are excellent gardeners, committed participants in this community, and practitioners of extravagant generosity. So, I started praying. That God would give us what we needed. That it would be clear if there was enough energy and excitement around this project to make it possible, and to sustain it. I prayed, and I started planting seeds, in soil, and in some of you.

A few days later, after emerging from my morning prayer time with this community garden centered in my heart, I walked into the church. Sitting on the floor next to the door was a flat, full of baby cabbage plants. Offered, from someone outside the church, for us. Just in case, we had use of them. Just in case we wanted to plant them. Just in case. Grace. Then, on Friday, a woman from here in town called, someone I have never met, saying she heard we might want to start a garden. Would we want to use her plot, since she can’t garden anymore? It sure would be fun, if you’re willing to tend land of a Presbyterian, she said. She attended this church until she married, decades ago.

Over and over, I was floored. Surprised by these seemingly swift confirmations of and answers to prayer. So surprised. My heart overflowed. Mystery. Spirit. Gratitude. Grace.

But why was I surprised? Is this not the promise God has made, a promise lived out over and over in our lives? The psalmist knows to cry out: Give thanks to God, for God is good; God’s steadfast love endures forever! This is the day our God has made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it!”

So why, when we glimpse God’s goodness, when we experience God’s steadfast love enduring, carrying us through—why is it surprising? This is the day, after all, our God has made! Let our hearts overflow with joy, and be glad in it!

In this morning’s reading from the gospel of John, the gospel writer tells of the resurrection stories, and points to the ways Jesus’ promises from previous chapters are fulfilled. The reader, the hearer, US—we are invited to see that Jesus’ words about the future life of the community can and indeed are a source of new life. We are invited to remember the promises—of Jesus, of God.

Piece by piece the evidence of the empty tomb is unveiled—first Mary sees the stone; then the beloved disciple finds the linen clothes; then Simon Peter discovers the head covering.
And Mary, Mary is heartbroken. Her heart is overflowing. Full of grief. Consumed by loss. She is weeping. Mary sees the stone rolled away and at once assumes someone has stolen Jesus’ body. Not only has she lost this beloved Teacher, Leader, Prophet, Messiah. Now she can’t even tend to the body, and lay him to rest. The last remnant of the relationship seems to have disappeared.

Now remember, Jesus had been promising to return. Predicting that he would rise from death. Prophesying this resurrection power. This promise was partly responsible for his death, what so terrified the powers that be. The politicians whose stronghold was threatened, the religious leaders whose doctrines and proclamations were cracking and crumbling to their core. Jesus’ resurrection should come as no surprise to these, the gathered faithful. There was nothing secretive about it. Nothing outside what had already been promised.

What should surprise us in this story is how these three—Simon Peter, the beloved disciple, and Mary Magdalene—saw the empty tomb and didn’t recognize, immediately, the signs of resurrection, unleashed and unloosed.

But then again, your pastor was surprised to find the cabbage plants after praying for a sign. And surprised again when a stranger called, offering garden space.

The great theologian Karl Barth, when preaching to a bunch of preachers, once said this: “If the resurrection is true, then each of us has some serious changes to make in our living.” Give thanks to God, for God is good; God’s love endures forever! This is the day! Rejoice and be glad!

Easter is an invitation into a whole world of new possibilities. If the old adage is true, and nothing is certain but death and taxes, suddenly half of the certainty slips away. Death is not longer certain. Its final say, no longer final. Its dependability, no longer dependable.

Bill Cotton, a United Methodist pastor in this conference wrote: “The word that Jesus lives lifted the world right off its hinges. A crack appears in the prison walls of our presuming we have the answers [and know what’s around the corner.] A stone is rolled away from the tomb of our entrapments.” Entrapments—Certainty. Cynicism. Fear.

“Woman, why are you weeping?” This question is first posed to Mary by the male disciples, who happen upon her. Then, by the risen Christ, assumed to be the gardener. Jesus said to Mary, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” She said to this supposed gardener, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Then, Jesus reveals himself to her. “Mary!” he says, and she turns and says, “Rabbouni!” Teacher! Mary recognizes Jesus because he calls her by name. In her grief and confusion and desperation, she is known, deeply known. And the power of resurrection, once glimpsed, is now glaringly obvious. Mary stands at a new doorway, vulnerable to the beauty of existence, learning how to love.

And Jesus shares with Mary the Good News: We share a Creator; we share one God. My Creator and your Creator, my God and your God. And, even this good news means Mary has to let go once again. She is called to trust in the unshakable, unbreakable bond of relationship, made even more real through the resurrection. “Something new is being born in us, if we let it.”

Listen again to the Easter Blessing in Anne Hillman’s poem:

we look with uncertainty
beyond the old choices for
clear-cut answers
to a softer, more permeable aliveness
which is every moment
at the brink of death;
for something new is being born in us
if we let it.
we stand at a new doorway,
awaiting that which comes…
daring to be human creatures.
vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
learning to love.

The Good News is Alive! This is the promise; it should come as no surprise! Hear the Good News! We are called by name into relationship with the Living God. The Resurrected One invites us to learn how to love. Death and injustice do not win. God’s love is triumphing! Hallelujah! Amen.