Becoming Easter People
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church
May 5, 2024
Sermon by Father Richard Mallory
Acts 10:34-43 Corinthians 15:1-11 John 20:1-18
March 31, 2024
I'm telling you, that last hymn was dancing music. Now, don't you go and tell my Baptist forefathers and foremothers that I'm talking about dancing in the pulpit. You know, at one time, there was a Baptist college where a boy and a girl were walking along the campus holding hands. A Baptist professor came up and said, "Don't be holding hands. You know what that can lead to? Dancing."
Thank you for indulging my Baptist stories; they are very near and dear to my heart. At the same time, I discovered the Episcopal Church when I went to seminary and was drawn to it for many reasons. That was a marvelous discovery. I went into seminary as a Baptist and came out as an Episcopalian. I think of seminary as an oven experience, and sometimes life is like that for all of us. We feel like we're in an oven, getting overheated and hard-pressed.
Just off the cuff, spring can be a hard time for people, especially for those who struggle with depression. In a group of people this large, there has to be someone who is struggling with depression, and it's very real. I've been there. I was unable to finish my work in my second year of seminary because I was so depressed. I had other episodes of depression, but I got good help, psychotherapy, and medication. So if you're dealing with depression, please take care of yourself. Please reach out to people who are ready to help you because we are blessed in this city with many skilled people who can help you struggle with your darkness.
Well, one Easter morning, a preacher climbed into his pulpit without saying a word. He took out his razor, a beautiful marble bowl for his shaving cream, and an old-fashioned shaving brush with a beautiful handle. He began to lather up, took his razor, and proceeded to shave—without saying anything. Then he put it down and said to the congregation, "When you go out of here and tell people what you saw, they will not believe you." And that's how it was with the resurrection.
So the question comes: What makes the resurrection so difficult to accept? Let's let that question just hang in the air for a moment.
Even though it was still dark, she came to the tomb and realized that the stone was missing. The entrance to the tomb was open. She was startled and confused and ran to find Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved. She blurts out her understanding in the moment: "He's not in the tomb. His body is missing." Peter and the unnamed disciple took off for the tomb without missing a beat. They got competitive, and the one who was loved by Jesus especially got there first. He peeked in and saw the clothes that had been on the body. Then Peter, being impetuous as he was, rushed right in without pausing and looked around. Seeing Peter didn't suffer any harm, the other disciple went in too. Even though the narrator tells us that they believed, neither of them is really connecting the dots at this point. The two men finished there and went back home.
The male disciples exit, and our focus shifts to Mary Magdalene. At some point, she returns to the tomb to grieve. She cannot find the body, so she goes to the place where it was last seen. She continues to cry and mourn, each tear expressing her love and devotion to the one who meant so much to her. She had already expressed her loyalty by situating herself at the foot of the cross. She musters her courage and looks into the tomb. Then she sees two angels, one at where the head would have been and one at where the feet would have been.
Now, unlike the majority of angel sightings in the Bible, these angels don't say the usual comment, "Fear not." For some reason, they assess her as not needing reassurance. This woman of unusual courage is abruptly confronted with the question, "Why are you weeping?" That's where I want to intervene and jump into the story myself: "Now look here, you angel, you'd be crying too if your most beloved teacher had just died and been murdered." People in shock and loss have their own timetable to work through their grief. In times past, in small European villages, there was a custom whereby a mourner would wear an armband to signal to citizens that they were in the stage of grief and mourning. The person wore it for a year, which can be just the very beginning of working through traumatic loss.
But in this story, things move quickly. Mary answers the question as best she can. Raw in her emotion, she says, "It's not just the Lord who is missing, it's my Lord who is gone." She doesn't know where they have laid him. Then she breaks off from further conversation, turns away, and doesn't want to be grilled or justify her tears.
Turning, she sees Jesus but doesn't know it is him. We, the reader and the listeners, know, but Mary does not. He asks her the same question and adds another: "Why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?" She cannot accurately see or perceive at this point. She assumes he's the gardener and grows impatient, as if to say, "Will someone please tell me where Jesus' body is? Where is the body?" She accuses the gardener of being a grave robber.
But then, shades of non-awareness disappear, and recognition dawns. It was all in his tone of voice when he said her name. She turns toward him and exclaims, "Rabboni! Teacher!" She's open to continued learning in this moment of celebration. If there are tears now, they are tears of joy. She touches him. Whether she grabs him in a full-body embrace or takes both hands into hers, we know he experiences her as holding on, clinging. It's understandable that she wants to keep him around, but he is on a journey back to his Father. Mary needs to prepare herself for a new relationship with Jesus that will be through the Spirit, Advocate, Protector, and Holy Spirit.
Jesus commissions her to go tell his brothers—assumed to be the disciples who were at the Last Supper and had just been called friends for the first time by their teacher. Now Jesus is saying, "Tell my brothers, tell my siblings." This is confirmation for you and many that we are the friends of Jesus. He sees us that way. We are the siblings; he is our brother. The implication of gospel love is immense as we are invited into fellowship.
She goes and finds these men who mostly fled and hid when things got scary on Friday. She told them simply, "I have seen the Lord." They did not see Christ themselves until that night when Christ found them behind locked doors in a room because they were scared.
For all time, the news of the resurrection is brought to the community by the word of a woman: Mary of Magdala, the first apostle of the risen Christ.
Back to that question: What makes it so difficult to believe in the resurrection? I think there's a great deal of cynicism that flows through our society, suggesting everything is false and untrustworthy. Let's just go through the motions, keep our heads down, and play the game. Underneath this cynicism is fear, fear that beats us down.
In the Acts passage, it is said how Jesus went around healing those who had been beaten down. No, I don't think it's the devil that beats us down; I think it's you and me in our dark moments and dark times. And there's something even pleasurable about beating ourselves down, as if we know better.
The heritage we have of belonging and being saved by a risen Christ and by a God whose mercy and love exceeds every imaginable possibility can be overwhelming. So we creep back into our little tombs and administer punishment to ourselves. This sort of thing can happen without our awareness.
God doesn't want this for us. The antidote to fear is connection, being known and seen, like Mary being called by her name with care and respect. We do this for one another in community. And from this glorious gospel, we are reminded that we are branches connected to the source, the whole vine.
The fourth gospel is especially aware of God's presence that creates beloved community. I know of an Episcopal Church in Maine where two men are going to undergo surgery on Tuesday. One is donating his kidney to his friend. He's giving his kidney to his fellow Christian, his brother. The light of Christ will be strong in that Maine hospital on Tuesday. The light of Christ will shine much further than the city of Portland, Maine, because of that act.
He's not laying down his life for his friend, as Jesus once held up as the epitome of love, but he is making a big sacrifice. Why would a person do that? What gives him the means to do it? Did he hear a message from God? Or was it something deep within himself that told him, "I have to do that. I can do it, and I'm going to do it."
A Roman Catholic sister talks about this passage when she says that in a world that otherwise would have every reason for paralyzing cynicism, pessimism, and despair, believes in a risen Lord, and they become an Easter people of hope who make a difference in our world.
Most of us would not blame Mary Magdalene for wanting to remain in Jesus' embrace, wanting to believe that those last days of horror were just a great nightmare and wanting to feel assured that now all would be well again.
Yet reveling in the experience of the risen Lord while any of our brothers and sisters are locked in an upper room in fear, bondage, anxiety, depression, and without hope is not an option for a loving disciple. Anyone who has seen the Lord, sensed the Lord, or been called by the Lord feels an urgency that all people should know the good news of God's saving love and victory over sin and death. Everyone must know that the lost have been found, that there is a new creation.
I would add that the lost parts of ourselves are found and known and brought back to life, or perhaps brought to life for the first time. We are an Easter people, and that makes all the difference in our lives. We are commissioned and empowered to share the news of reconciliation with our fragmented and lost world that needs the message so very much.
Living out that truth gives meaning to life, hope, peace, and joy. As we live out the high calling of life within the light of Christ Jesus, he will always and forever have the final word.
Amen.
