April 16, 2017
John 20:1-18
“Is it possible that we are perpetually out of context?” A colleague of mine asked that question as we gathered to discuss our Easter passages. Of course, that question makes no sense out of context, so I’ll explain.
Some of you may remember my story about Dom the barber. Dom was the man who cut my hair from the age of 3 through my childhood and into my young adulthood. Dom pretty much cut the hair of all the boys and men who lived in Harrington Park, NJ. So, he knew everybody and everybody knew Dom.
Of course, when you move off to college it is hard to stay consistent with the same barber, and then when your parents move to another state and you go off to graduate school you pretty much kiss that barber goodbye.
But, it just so happened that when my first extended break came around I needed a haircut, and since Harrington Park wasn’t radically out of the way on my trip to Maryland, where my parents now lived, I thought I would get up early and stop at Dom’s.
Well, I got up so early that Dom wasn’t in yet when I had made it down there, so I sat myself in the little convenience store around the corner and read the paper while I waited. Well, in came this guy who looked vaguely familiar. He said, “Timmy! Long time no see! How are you? What have you been up to? How’s your family?…” We exchanged pleasantries like that for a minute or two until he got his coffee and left saying, “Make sure you tell your family hello for me.”
I waited a few more minutes and thought, “Okay, maybe Dom’s over there now” and I headed over. Sure enough, the lights were on, I open the door, and Dom turns around, “Timmy, why didn’t you tell me you were getting your hair cut?”
Out of context I couldn’t even recognize the man I had gotten up early and driven 100 miles to see.
This morning we encounter Mary grieving at the tomb of Jesus. Of course, she had just witnessed his horrifying death and the utter destruction of her hopes and dreams, and as she approaches his grave she finds that the stone has been rolled away. What this empty tomb means to Peter and John we aren’t quite sure. They go into the tomb, see the grave cloths and the folded shroud, and they leave. The gospel tells us that John “believes,” but it’s not quite clear what exactly he believes.
We do, however, know what Mary believes. “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” This she says to the two angles who appear to her with little or no effect. Generally, when angels show up people are a bit more impressed. But, not here, not now, not as Mary grieves and searches for the one thing that matters to her.
“Woman, why are you weeping,” she hears a voice. This time it is Christ himself, risen, and standing before her. Yet, he has the same impact as the angels; that is, not much of one. She thinks he’s the gardener and says, just tell me where you’ve put him and I’ll take him off your hands.
You see, Mary’s context is not resurrection; it is death. Her context is one of loss; it is all that Christ stood for, gone! It is the life-depleting ways of the world eventually winning out until there is nothing left but to give the dead a proper burial. In such a context she cannot see what God is doing. In such a context she cannot see resurrection even as it stand there in front of her.
So, back to my friend’s question: “Are we perpetually out of context?” Can we see resurrection?
It’s very tempting for preachers to look to the events of spring time in pointing to Easter’s Good News. “What,” asks preaching professor Thomas Troeger, “could be more natural than for preachers to point to the wonder of new shoots sprouting and new blooms, springing to life as an emblem of resurrection?” But maybe that’s not the best way to go, he suggests. Maybe that just encourages us to think that what’s happening here is normal. Maybe that has a way of taking the power out of resurrection. Instead, he says, think of the resurrection as, “the radical disruption of finitude.” Think of it as, “the resilience of the divine vitalities, as the intrusion of grace when we have reduced existence to the bounds of human limitation, as the unexpected opening of new possibilities when we have concluded that we are trapped in a morass of corruption and violence, as the renewal of life when we think death has triumphed, as the persistence of love when we believe hate has wiped it out, as the restoration of our visionary powers when we think we have lost the power to dream great dreams, and as the stranger who turns out to be not the gardener but the very one whom the world has crucified.”[1]
In other words, think of Easter as a divine disruption of what is normal. Think of it as the intrusion of an entirely new context in which to live.
“Mary,” this gardener says. “Mary,” he says, and suddenly he’s no longer the gardener. “Mary,” he says, and now Mary sees. This is where the passage shifts, where the magic happens, where resurrection becomes a reality. Here’s where the context changes. When Jesus calls her by name, when despite her blindness she is seen and know by a God whose tomb is forever empty. When this happens everything changes.
I’m reminded of a Christmas hymn: “Long lay the world in sin and error pining – ‘til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.” It’s about the birth of Christ, but it’s also about a particular Christ who is born and reborn and reborn again and again. It’s about a new context that becomes our reality when the soul feels its worth, when we too hear the holy one of God call us by name. (Name the names of some of the people in church today…)
Another colleague of mine lamented the other day the “cultural malaise” that the church, that people of faith, find themselves up against. He suggested that its attack on Christianity was far from over. And, I suspect he is right. I suspect that just in our culture alone there are more than enough messages out there moving us to think and see Godlessly. “You are what you earn!” As you hear and believe that you will find it harder and harder to hear the voice of God calling you by name. “You are what you have achieved; you are no greater than your sins; you are as the world sees you.” As you hear and believe these messages it will be harder and harder to see resurrection even when it is right before your very eyes.
And friends, it is right before our very eyes. The task isn’t so much in spotting the miracle somewhere out there: rather, it is in recognizing that you are the miracle. The task is spotting your own sacred worth; it is lingering at the tomb in order to hear the savior speak your name despite the other noises you may be hearing. It is allowing yourself to be a product of God’s intrusion, the resurrection, and sacred worth from above.
When this happens we’re much more apt to see resurrection elsewhere as well. We’ll see it in the people sitting next to us: miracles of God’s eternal love. We’ll see it as we forgive and are forgiven. We’ll see it as we surrender and find help and healing. We’ll see it as we serve and as community forms. We’ll see it in all these places and more because resurrection will be our context.
[1] Sermon Sparks, page 22.