Inescapable Love: He is Risen!

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Our staff meeting last week was very hectic—there were last-minute details, missing details, and changing details to be reckoned with. As we prepared to close the meeting and pray our way into Holy Week, our choir director shared a Facebook meme with us. Pilate says to Joseph of Arimathea, “Why are you giving your brand-new burial tomb to Jesus of Nazareth?” Joseph replies, “It’s only for the weekend.”

Today’s Gospel places us at the scene of the empty tomb. Through a character—perhaps an angel—the women learn that Jesus has been raised. And then they are given a commission: ‘Go and tell the others.’

Mark describes the women fleeing from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Terror, amazement, fear -- those words held my attention this week.

I began to think about all the out-of-this world, divine events these women had experienced as they walked with Jesus. Miracles. Healings. Feedings. Parables. They saw Lazarus walk out of a tomb…alive.

And yet Mark says this empty tomb caused them to flee from the scene.

There is something quite different about this empty tomb.

Jesus raised Lazarus from human death to human life. Lazarus was restored to the life he had.

God raised Jesus from human death to resurrected life….life that is eternal.

This empty tomb is the beginning of new life, new hope. It is a mic-drop moment: He is risen. Go and tell the world.

The original, written version of Mark’s gospel ended with the passage we heard today—with the women running away, telling no one what they had seen and heard. It was a powerful conclusion because it begged a rhetorical question for every one of us: If I was standing at that empty tomb, if I heard God’s messenger say to me, “Go and tell the world”….What would I do?

Earlier this morning, we blessed a new processional cross for St. Christopher’s. It is a replica of the cross that led this congregation into worship for many years. I chose Easter Day to reveal the cross because it symbolizes our new life at St. Christopher’s. God is calling us to new life—to go and tell the world that Jesus the Christ is risen. As a congregation, St. Christopher’s has walked forward in faith time and time again. And we are flourishing as we faithfully answer God’s call.

In a few moments the processional cross will lead us to the font, where we will baptize 5 people into the Body of Christ—this, too, is a sign of new life.

For those being baptized, it is a new birth into the life of Christ, into the life of the Church of every time and place.

For the Church universal, there is new life. Each time we welcome one of God’s own into the Body of Christ, the Church itself is renewed.

For all of us, there is new life as we affirm our own vow to “do all in our power to support the newly baptized in their life in Christ.” That is quite a commitment. Because to support the spiritual growth and life of these young people, we are committing ourselves to a St. Christopher’s that is deeply rooted in youth ministry, in adult ministry, in worship, in service and in leadership.

There is new life when we acknowledge that we are not raising up a congregation for yesterday’s calling—or even the calling this particular moment. We are raising up a congregation that will say “Yes” to God’s call on this Easter Day and all the Easter Days yet to come.

A few days ago, we talked about Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter being like a triptych—a piece of art with three panels. Maundy Thursday’s panel shows foot washing, a new commandment, and the Garden of Gethsemane. Good Friday’s panel is the cross. And Easter shows us an empty tomb, the pronouncement that Jesus is Risen, and a commission to “Go, and tell the world!”

We have walked through each of those panels this week. And now it time to step back and look at the work in its totality. What is God’s message through this work?

Like art, each of us will interpret God’s work differently. I see God’s unconditional love for Creation, for the broken person that I am. I see redemption—offered freely for all Creation, across all time and place. I see new life—new hope—new joy.

Christ came to reconcile Creation to God. Through his death, resurrection, and ascension, new life is given to all of us—eternal life in Christ. Every day is Easter—in this life and in the life to come.

Today, we stand at the empty tomb with the women who were there first. We, too, hear the pronouncement that Jesus is Risen. We, too, hear the commission, “Go and tell the world!” We, too, feel the amazement and terror. For that rhetorical question is still hanging in the air: What will I do with the good news?

Alleluia! Christ is Risen.

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Where Love Abides

By Paula Jefferson • 08 May, 2024

When I turned three years old, my mom took me to the pediatrician for a 36-month check-up. Dr. Lynn did all the usual things and then he folded arms and observed me for a while. Eventually, he turned to my mom and asked, “Betty, is she always like this?” Mom said, “yes—this is who she is.” Dr. Lynn said, “I think this is ADHD…Ritalin would calm things down for her.” But, there was a caveat. If Dr. Lynn was wrong, and I did not have ADHD, Ritalin would cause a counter-reaction—and I would be even more hyper than usual. Spoiler alert: I do not have ADHD. My parents talked it over and decided that Sunday morning would be a perfect chance to test Ritalin. Of course, my parents didn’t go to church. They sent my sister and I with Grandma. On Sunday morning, my unsuspecting Grandma picked us up and we went to the little Baptist church in my hometown. By the time Rev. Bolster was leaning to his sermon—waving his arms and shouting for Jesus, Ritalin was coursing through my veins. I wanted to preach, too. So, I slid off the pew and under the pew in front us. Then I began to army crawl toward the front of the church. And, wow, suddenly I noticed all these shiny dress shoes without shoelaces and I began gathering people’s shoes along the way. When I popped up in front of the first row, I had an armful of shoes. I dropped them and ran up the stairs to stand beside Rev. Bolster. None of this activity had affected his sermon. He was still waving his arms and shouting, and was I mimicking everything he did. Grandma finally had enough and came to get me. My first sermon ended very abruptly. Because I was so young, I have no personal memory of this event or the rest of the day before Ritalin wore off. The reason I know the story so well is because, in my family, Sunday dinner was a command performance. After church, my aunts and uncles and cousins gathered at grandma’s home for a big meal. When the dessert plates were finally cleared, the coffee pot came to the dinner table. Everyone pushed their chairs back from the table and then the story telling began. Stories, like the day of Ritalin, were told over and over again. I heard stories about my parents and my aunts and uncles when they were children, stories about when our family came to America, stories about families in our community. We sat at the table for hours. Sunday dinner was holy space, a weekly ritual where the real dish being served was relationship. Today’s Gospel reading places us at the Maundy Thursday dinner table. Jesus has already washed everyone’s feet, Judas has gone into the night to betray Jesus, and now everyone’s pushed their chairs back from the dinner table. It’s that time in the evening when they’re expecting Jesus to teach. Maybe it will be a new parable or a recalling a particular healing or that time when the disciples went out on their own, two by two. But tonight’s conversation will not be a trip down memory lane. Instead, Jesus will speak to them for hours…Chapters 14, 15, 16, and 17 of John’s Gospel are called “the farewell discourses.” All of it happens after the meal. These are the words Jesus felt he needed to say to his family and friends before he moved to the Garden of Gethsemane and the cross. What he chose to say was all about relationship. “As the Father has loved me, [he said], so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. It sounds circular because it is. Jesus is part of God’s life in the Trinity. He has extended his love to us. We are invited to abide in Jesus’ love which abides in God’s love. This is an ever-evolving, never-ending relationship into which the incarnate Christ welcomes you and me. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”. Because Jesus said this at the Maundy Thursday meal, it seems like he is referring to the cross. This week, I wondered if he is also reflecting on all of his life. From the moment of Jesus’ birth, his life invited people to come and abide in God’s love. The shepherds, the wise men, Herod—all of them felt a new Presence in our world. Wherever Jesus went, he welcomed people into relationship. He listened, he told stories about his relationship with his Father, and he taught us a new way of being in relationship: As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. He tossed the keys to his life to us, and said “You are my kin…come, abide in me”. Many of you know I grew up in Appalachia, where passing down stories from generation to generation is the fabric of community. We know one another’s stories—and we hold them for one another. We do much the same thing in our congregational life: We read Scripture that tells us about God’s engagement with our world over thousands of years. We recite creeds. We pray as a community for our community. We sing together. We break bread and share the cup of Christ’s new covenant. And then what? We pass these stories to new generations of followers through Christian formation, through our welcome of guests who come to see what the Church means today. We abide in God’s love when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked and bind up the wounds of need. We abide in God’s love when we listen deeply and hold one another’s stories. This is relationship. It is what Jesus offered to us. We are called to toss the keys to our life—St. Christopher’s life—to a community of people desperate to know Love. Amen.