Easter Sunday - Back to the Beginning

Matthew 28:1-10

That first Easter was unlike any that came afterwards. The followers were scattered, on the run, hiding. The minute the sabbath ended on Saturday night, some of them would have been rushing on the roads back to their hometowns, fleeing Jerusalem, afraid of getting found by the Roman soldiers and arrested as compatriots of Jesus, as rebels against Rome. All four Gospels tells us that the women stayed, and they were first at the tomb, but the others were nowhere to be found. And I’m not going to disparage them, their fear was genuine, and the arrest of one would likely have led to the arrest of the others. The women might be overlooked by the soldiers, but not the men, who would have faced the same interrogation and then crucifixion as Jesus. And so they stayed away, they didn’t gather, as they would in the years following, to celebrate that Jesus who died was now raised. Every year after that, the followers of Jesus would come together as a community and proclaim the glory of God with one voice, and eat from one bread and drink from one cup together, singing Alleluias and greeting stranger and friend alike with the words, Christ has risen! But not that first Easter. That first Easter was different.

Until now. This is the hardest Easter of the church since that first one. Yes, there have been wars, where congregations in certain cities or certain countries would not have been able to gather, but this is the first time in history when the global church, around the world, has not come together––to be in our congregations, in our buildings, side-by-side with fellow Christians, raising one voice and greeting stranger and friend. We are, like Jesus’ followers on that very first Easter, dispersed––spread out, out-of-touch with one another, literally–– desperate for Good News. 

And so this year, the story of Jesus’ resurrection appearance to those very first disciples resonates more deeply than ever. We know the isolation, we know the fear, we know the uncertainty, and we want, more than anything, to believe that Christ’s promise to be with us always is true.

Did you notice the last thing that Jesus says to the women who have found him? “Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” 

It’s a kind of a throw-away verse. Most people focus on the second half of the sentence, that the disciples will see Jesus. And this very important––the disciples will see Jesus, no longer dead, but risen. What a glorious thing––this is why we are gathered today!

But what is also important, particularly for us today, is where the disciples will see Jesus. In Galilee. Galilee is where it all began. Matthew is actually directing the readers to go back to the beginning of the Gospel and read it all again. And when we do, we find that it was in Galilee that the disciples Peter and Andrew first met Jesus. Remember that? They were fishermen, who lived next to the sea of Galilee, and Jesus came and found them with their boats, and called them to be with him.

And now Jesus tells the women that he’s going back to where it started, back to their hometown, where the disciples had probably fled already, to meet them all there. He wasn’t abandoning them, or turning his back on them, as they did to him. And he wasn’t asking them to come the empty tomb, or to the Temple in Jerusalem. Instead, he was going to be with them, to reconnect with them, to show himself as the Lord of Life at their homes.

At their homes.

I think that this Easter has more than one thing in common with that very first Easter. Just as the disciples could not go to Jerusalem, to the Temple, to be reunited with the risen Lord, we cannot go to church. And so, just the risen Lord went to Galilee, to the disciples’ homes to be with them, Jesus Christ comes to be with us. In our homes.

This is the message that we have always proclaimed, that Jesus is with us always. That there is no place too humble for Jesus to go, that there is no person whom Jesus will reject, but this year, it takes on new meaning. Like the first disciples, we are met by the risen Jesus in places we least expect. Not in a glorious sanctuary, with dozens of lilies, and shining white paraments, crowded with family and friends, but in our homes. With floors that probably need vacuuming, and shelves that need dusting, and driveways that might still need shovelling. Whether you are dressed in your fancy Easter clothes, or you are still in your pajamas, you are being met by the risen Jesus who is not ashamed to be at your table, however messy it might be. You are being met by the risen Jesus who brings new life wherever he goes, who brings resurrection to your home.

This is what the disciples discovered that very first Easter and what we celebrate today––that Jesus is risen, that death is not the end, and that God is always with us.

We will remember this Easter for the rest of our lives, as the year we could not go to church. But my prayer to God is that you will also remember it as the Easter that you experienced that Christ came to you, in your homes, where you are. And that even though you are all apart from one another, that you know that God gathers you together with one another, and with the whole Christian church, in the new life of the resurrected Christ. My prayer is that this Easter you experience that there truly is nothing, not death, and not even this quarantined life, that can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our risen Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Good Friday - A Funeral Semon

Isaiah 25:6-9; Romans 6:3-11; John 19:16b-40

Did Jesus’ mother, and his aunt, and the two Mary’s who were his followers grieve? I mean, I’m sure they did, they must have, because grief is connected to love, and they loved him deeply, so they must have grieved deeply, but the Gospel only tells us what they did, not how they felt. I’m not blaming the Gospel––emotions were not a huge part of the vocabulary of those times. In the last few decades especially, we have progressed in our understanding of emotional and mental health and trauma. Words like PTSD, depression, anxiety, trauma––these are words that weren’t in the Bible, although the experiences were probably the same. And so today, we can name what those women, and indeed all of Jesus’ followers were experiencing, and we can call it grief.

We are in grief. It’s important to say that, and to hear it, and to acknowledge it. Each one of us, to varying degrees, are experiencing a global grief that is both specific and general. On an individual scale, we may be grieving the death of a loved one, made more intense because we cannot gather together and share one another’s burdens. Some of us are grieving the loss of work. Losing one’s job causes grief. Not just because the income is lost, which is always significant, but also because the meaning and worth that we derive from working is lost, too. If we are lucky enough to still be working, we may be grieving the loss of daily interaction with our co-workers, or the loss of our normal workplace. These are genuine losses.

If you are a student or a teacher, you will be grieving the loss of your classrooms and your learning communities. If you are still working in the public sphere––if you are a health worker, or a postal worker, or a retail worker, or a utility worker––you are probably grieving the loss of security and safety, as you must wonder which of the people you come face-to-face with might get you sick.

If you are a senior, you are likely grieving the loss of your social gatherings, of seeing the faces of young people, of getting together for coffee and a chat.

If you are a parent, especially of school-aged children, then you are likely grieving your own losses and those your children’s.

You may be grieving the shut-down of those things that give you joy, like the arts, or sports leagues. It may sound silly to say that we grief the loss of the Stanley Cup or NBA playoffs this year, but some of us do. The grief is real.

And those are just the specific losses. We are also grieving the death of systems that are almost too big to grasp but have an impact nonetheless. The death of the economy as we know it, of the world as we know it. We are grieving the profound loss of a future on which we built our present.

Today is a day to grieve. It is a day when we can gather together and acknowledge that death is real, that loss is real, and that in the face of all this, we are exhausted and overwhelmed. Oh yes, the exhaustion that you have been feeling is a symptom of grief. I am guessing that most of you are more tired than usual, even if you are doing less than usual. That is a manifestation of grief. As is being constantly forgetful, short-tempered, and easily distracted. You are not the only one experiencing these things. We all are. This is grief. All of the manifestations of grief that we have heard about––denial, depression, bargaining, anger or blame (either of others or ourselves)––these are all our daily realities right now, along with having trouble sleeping or needing to sleep more, having poor appetites or eating more junk food, and decreased motivation. Made worse, of course, because we are protecting one another by staying apart. Technology, as life-saving as it is right now, is no substitute for physical presence. Another loss we grieve.

But here is the thing about grief and Good Friday. About grieving on this day of crucifixion. We are not grieving alone.

Today, above all other days, we proclaim that God is with us in grief, because it is God who is on the cross. Today is the day that we proclaim that God the Son, Jesus Christ, experienced what it is to die alone. What it is to be separated from family and friends as you take your last breath. Today is the day that we proclaim that God the Father experienced what it is to grieve the loss of a beloved. God did not turn away from the pain of the world, did not escape into some heavenly cloud until it was all over. God descended into the pain, into loss, into grief. 

God not only experienced it two thousand years ago, God continues to experience it today. God has never abandoned God’s creation, not even in its darkest moments, and so God is with the seniors in McKenzie Towne, God is with the critically ill in ICU, God is with the nurses and doctors and morgue workers in cities overwhelmed by death, God is with those who are sitting at their kitchen table crossing items off a grocery list because they can’t afford all of them anymore. God is with you, and God grieves with you. This not some abstract statement. God became human, and God suffered, and God died. God knows, in bone and flesh, in heart and mind, what you are going through, because––as Emmanuel, as the Word made flesh, as Jesus of Nazareth––God has felt it, too.

And yet, “if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” We cling to this promise, and we proclaim it even today, especially today, because it means that just as Christ shares our loss with us, we share new life with him. We know that Good Friday is not the end. We know that the crucified one is raised, that the tomb is empty. Jesus was raised, the first of us all, as a fulfillment of God’s promise that God “will destroy ... the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; God will swallow up death forever.” We know that the Lord “will keep [our] going out and [our] coming in from this time on and for evermore.” We have seen this accomplished in Jesus’ resurrection to new life, and we will share in that, because we are united with him.

 Grief does not mean we have given up hope, and hope does not mean that we do not grieve. Grief and hope, the cross and the empty tomb, go together. We know that death is real, and we proclaim that it is not the end. Today is a day to lament and grieve, and it is okay to take the time to acknowledge the pain of our losses. And so, for now, we will sit with our grief, and we will lament, both our own pain and the pain we have caused others. But we will do so knowing that God is with us at every moment, and we will do so secure in the promise that new life is coming. Thanks be to God. Amen.