March 23, 2008

Scripture:         Matthew 28:1-10

Sermon:           “He’s Not Here”

            It occurred to me that the title of this morning’s sermon is probably easy to misunderstand when you drive past the church and see it on the sign.  He’s Not Here.  That’s what it says.  He’s Not Here.  And so I have this great fear.  There are hundreds, if not thousands of people who were looking for a place to celebrate Easter here in New Albany.  And they would have been here with us.  The pews would be brimming over with folks you never saw before, and folks you never thought you’d see in church.  We’d run out of communion supplies and bulletins.  It would be one of those great Sundays where we just had to make do for all of the unexpected guests.  But, they all drove on by the church because we warned them…He’s Not Here.

            Now, who wants to go to a church where you can’t find him?

            But, for those of us who paid no attention to the sign out front, or who simply know better, he is here.  And you have found yourself in exactly the place where he is to be met.  It is so good to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ with all of you this morning.

            Of course, the words of the sermon title that may have driven so many people in search of a church where Christ can be found come from the scripture that we will receive this morning.  They are the words of the angel of the Lord who greeted two women named Mary at that first Easter sunrise.  This is the story of the resurrection as the gospel according to Matthew recalls.

            I’d like to read it with you.  Let’s turn to chapter 28, verses 1 through 10.  You can find that easily on page 44 of the New Testament in the Bibles in front of you in the pew racks.  The word of the Lord…

            After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb.  And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.  His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.  But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.  Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’  This is my message for you.”  So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.  Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!”  And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.  Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

            It’s a graveyard, you know.  The joy of what happened might make us forget—it’s a graveyard.  Headstones and grave markers.  There are flowers in front of some of the graves, but then there are many that seem to have been forgotten.  Some of the memorials have flags and reminders of years spent in the service.  And then there are a couple of fresh mounds of dirt.  Wilting flowers are laid on top.  New graves.  The resting place for those who just recently died.  Somewhere there are family and friends who are still absorbing what all that means.  A husband or a wife is in that ground.  A father or mother.  A friend.  That’s where this story begins.

            And most of us know that part of the story.  We’ve stood at those grave sides as people we’ve loved dearly were lowered down.  And we’ve said goodbye to them.  Some of us fought to keep the pain and grief from taking us over.  And then some of us just wept loudly and physically there right in front of everybody.  You know what I mean to weep physically?  Your whole body cries.  And none of us knew what to do next.  The wounds in our hearts were just too fresh.  That’s where this story begins.

            I remember when my best friend died years ago.  I remember that there were things going on all around me as if the world just kept marching on.  And I wanted to know if the earth itself was just oblivious to what had happened.  It was October.  And the leaves were gorgeous shades of yellow, orange, red, and brown.  There was a crispness to the Fall air that usually puts a little hop in your step.  Those things are usually blessings, you know.  And they all felt like a cruel joke.

            For these two women named Mary, I imagine that the Springtime air was crisp, too.  The dew was collecting on the grass.  Matthew said that the first day of the week was dawning.  And if you’ve ever been in the days after a funeral, you know that just feels all wrong.  It feels like the sun should just stay under the horizon, or behind the clouds, and leave you alone.  That’s where this story begins.

            I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the Broadway production called Rent.  Incredible, really.  And there is this one song that captures what all of this feels like.  You might know exactly what that is.  And if you don’t, someday you will.  The sting of death.  The pain and grief of loss.  None of us escapes it.  Without you…the seeds root…the flowers bloom…the children play…the stars gleam…the poets dream…the eagles fly…without you…the earth turns…the sun burns…but I die…without you.  I think that’s where this story begins.

            Where all have Mary Magdalene and the other Mary been with this friend?  What has his life meant to them?  Jesus was really more like family.  One of those companions in life that you just connect with on a level deep within the soul.  So, I imagine them in a kind of daze, you know.  Going through the motions.  Staying busy with the details of life in order to just get through each day.  Another version of this story in Mark’s gospel says that they were going to anoint the body.  I suppose that’s like the things we do at times like this.  We deal with paying the funeral home and the preacher.  We go through old photographs and make sure that the service is all taken care of.  We start sorting through the unfinished business of the deceased and dealing with the will and the estate.  I’ve seen people in this daze often.  Just putting one foot in front of the other.  Taking care of details.  If you stop too long to think about what you’re doing, you’ll break down crying.

            So, I imagine that’s where these two women were in the course of absorbing the death of Jesus.  It’s a place familiar to us.  And that’s the place where an angel of the Lord appeared and broke into the entire world and said, “He’s not here.”

            I went to visit a woman the other day.  She’s been in the hospital for about a month now.  A pickup truck hit her as she walked across the street to work one morning.  And Janet’s been in bad shape ever since.  It’s hard to even take in the injuries she’s dealing with.  Broken bones throughout her body.  A head injury that is hard to even diagnose.  She hasn’t been able to speak since it happened.

            For the first two weeks I kept expecting to get one of those phone calls that I dread.  Her brother would tell me that Janet didn’t make it.  I was sure that was going to happen.  Maybe a lot of us were.

            I was amazed last week when Janet actually seemed to look right at me.  I had my 1-year old daughter in my arms, and Janet just fixed her eyes right on her.  Children and infants have always had a place in this good woman’s heart.  And she did a couple of little things that I didn’t expect.  She shook her head “yes” when I asked if she was okay after a cough.  And she shook her head “yes” again when I asked her if we could have a prayer.  I was just sure that she’d never get this far.  But, maybe she’s going to be okay some day.

            I was curious what she’d be like a few days later.  And I went to the hospital again.  I walked down the hallway and into her room.  But, Janet’s bed was empty.  The linens were folded neatly.  The cards were no longer on the wall.  There was a woman in the room visiting the person in the other bed.  And when I walked in, she saw me and said, “She’s not here.”

            That’s about what the angel of the Lord said.  “He’s not here.  He’s been raised from the dead.”

            “She’s not here.  They sent her to rehab.  We saw her getting better every single day.  And they sent her to rehab.”  And I had just about written her off.

            I knew a man at the last church that I served over in Midway, Kentucky.  Kind of a self-centered guy.  Workaholic.  His marriage was in trouble.  Too much drinking.  Too much ignoring his family.  I was surprised when he called me one afternoon out of the blue.

            He said, “Preacher, you got a few minutes?  Can you come over and help me move a couple of things.”  It’s not exactly what I went to seminary for, you know, but I went.  And there we were out in the garage.  There were still boxes from moving into the house over a decade ago.  They were like cardboard reminders of the man’s negligence.  You couldn’t even park two cars in there.  So his wife’s car just stayed out in the driveway.  His little convertible was just too important.

            “We’ve got to get this side all cleaned out before the wife gets here.  I’ve already got the house all spic-and-span.  Anniversary is tomorrow.  Don’t want it to be the last one.”

            So, we hauled those boxes into an unfinished room above.  And just as we were coming back down the stairs for the last time, the wife pulled up.

            She stood in the doorway of the garage, her mouth kind of hanging open.  She looked at me and said, “Who is this?  And what have you done with my husband?”  Before we could say a word, she said, “Wait.  I don’t want to know where he is.  I think I’ll just take this guy that looks an awful lot like him.”

            You might as well have said, “He’s not here.”  I watched these two renew an old love and somehow the man was entirely different.  They started taking trips out of town on the weekend.  I’d see him holding her hand as they walked along the sidewalk.  He’d kiss her in public for no reason at all.  Something happened, I tell you.  Something happened.

            I have a colleague in the ministry that said in an email this week:  I once heard someone say that people will only change when the pain of not changing becomes greater than the pain of change itself.  Maybe we can only believe in the resurrection when the darkness of death becomes too great.

            Indeed.

            That’s really what this resurrection is all about.  Yes, there is this promise of living beyond the actual, literal grave that we all are going to find ourselves in one day.  But, resurrection happens now, doesn’t it?

            You know for those of us who are so jaded to think that people never really change, that resurrection is harder for us to embrace than the reality of eternal life.  People don’t change, we are sure of it.

            Maybe that’s why we’re here on this day more so than any other Sunday of the year.  We can actually believe what seems impossible when it comes to heaven and existence beyond this physical life.  But, we just don’t get to see that resurrection in our own lives on a regular enough basis.  Boy, that’s harder.  I guess we can believe in God, but believing in one another is so much trickier.

            The Apostle Paul captures this possibility of faith and change in our lives.  Listen to what he said in the sixth chapter of Romans:  Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.  He goes on to say this very central and crucial aspect of what it is that we believe and proclaim:  You also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.

            I don’t know exactly the details of each of our graves.  The things that make you less alive than you could be are different than my own.  But, I find one of my feet slipping into a deep hole in the ground that was carved out just for me.  And it threatens to pull the rest of me, body and soul, right down into it.  You know?

            This is Easter Sunday!  The angel of the Lord stood at that one empty grave and said, “He’s not here.  He’s been raised just like he said beforehand.”

            So, may the power of God that raised Jesus Christ from the dead also work within each one of us so that somebody else will say about you and me, with joyful surprise, “She’s not here.”  “He’s not here.”  “They’ve been raised.”

            In the joy of the resurrection that belongs to us right now, let’s gather around this table and receive the bread and cup.  Christ’s life given that we may live as never before.  Turn with me to #422.  And as we prepare for the Lord’s Table, let our hearts sing this hymn of great joy.  Let the music uplift you.  And let us go from this place raised up.

Rev. David James Brown

Park Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)