Easter is, paradoxically, the easiest and at the same time the most challenging Sunday of the year to preach. On the one hand, it is easy because of the beautiful symbolism of the flowered cross, a baby dedication, baptisms of our youth, all the wonderful music and dance topped off by our beloved Oakhurst tradition of Easter Wings and the wider church's beloved Hallelujah chorus. With all this, even if the sermon flops, it's a wonderful service anyway. On the other hand, it is a challenge to at least do my part; after all, they give an Oscar to the best supporting actor and actress, so you don‚t have to be the star to play an important role. I also enjoy the opportunity to once again delve into the resurrection accounts to see if there is a new word from God for me that might also be fresh and meaningful for you. It never fails to amaze me that each time I immerse myself in the resurrection stories, there is always something new and surprising that I had not noticed before, a reminder that these stories are still vibrant and alive.
I love the story of Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene that opened our worship today. (John 20: 1-18) There is so much to explore in that story that it's easy to "tarry there," to borrow an expression from the old hymn, "I Come to the Garden Alone." But this year it was the story after that which seemed to call out to me. (John 20: 19-23) The first resurrection story in John is that of Easter morning, which ends with Mary Magdalene excitedly telling all the disciples, "I have seen the Lord," and telling them all about her meeting the risen Christ. The next story happens on Easter night. You might think the disciples would be celebrating but instead they are hovered behind locked doors in fear. It appears they did not believe a word Mary had said. Luke's account says that when the apostles heard from Mary and some other women that Jesus was alive, "these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them." (24:11)
Or maybe they did not want to believe it, to get their hopes up for nothing. But then the narrator gives us a clue as to what the real issue was. The doors were locked and they were hiding in fear. John says that they were hiding "in fear of the Jews," an unfortunate choice of words. This reflects more what was happening in John's time than when Jesus was crucified. The final version of the gospel of John was written at least a generation after Jesus‚ death, some years after the fall of the Temple and probably not long after the separation between the synagogue and the newly emerging church, which consisted of both Jews and a growing number of Gentiles. For the narrator of John, the hostility from this family fight was fresh. Jesus and all his disciples were Jews, so the idea that they were afraid of the Jews makes no sense. More likely, Jesus‚ disciples were afraid of the Jewish authorities, the scribes and priests who had been in conflict with Jesus over his interpretations of scripture and other things he did to undermine their authority and threaten their power. Despite whatever degree they collaborated, it was the Romans who had him crucified as a political agitator.
What really scared the disciples was seeing Jesus so horribly murdered and fearing the same thing could easily happen to them. It is common to think of the opposite of faith in Christ to be unbelief. The saved are those who believe in Jesus Christ as Lord and savior, the unsaved are those who do not believe. But throughout the gospels, the opposite of faith seems to be fear. You can see this in our culture, which is wracked by fear. Even former national security adviser Brzezinski recently said, "The war on terror‚ has created a culture of fear in America. The Bush administrations‚ elevation of these three words into a national mantra since the horrific events of 9/11 has had a pernicious effect on American democracy, on America's psyche and on U.S. standing in the world." (Atlanta Journal Constitution, April 5, 2007, A 15.)
From the announcement of Jesus‚ birth to the accounts of his resurrection, a consistent message in the gospels is, "Do not fear." The opposite of faith is fear. Out of fear, the disciples do not go looking for the risen Jesus, so he comes looking for them. Suddenly, Jesus appears and his first words to them are words of pure grace. He does not say, "Hey, where were you guys when I needed you?" Or to Peter, "What happened to your three fold promise not to deny me? These re the kinds of things I would have wanted to say, but no, what Jesus says is "Peace be with you."
This is what Jesus wants for the disciples. After the disciples had time to rejoice with Jesus, he said it again. Shalom aleichem. Peace be with you, a traditional Jewish greeting to this day. And for that matter, also among Muslims: "As-Salamu Alaykum." Peace be upon you. The first word spoken Jesus speaks to the disciples is peace, which says how the work of peace is first and foremost for the church, and a bridge between our Jewish and Muslim neighbors around the world. "Peace be with you," Jesus says. Peace to drive out our fears and fill us with hope. Peace to connect us with the community of faith who support each other.
And then Jesus says. "As God has sent me, so I send you." When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit." This is fascinating to me. In Luke's account in Acts, the Holy Spirit arrives fifty days after Easter on Pentecost, and it comes with a violent wind and tongues of fire. But in John's account, on Easter evening, Jesus breathes on them and says, "Receive the Holy Spirit." What an intimate thing to do. I imagine him going around and breathing on each one individually. The disciples had all run and hid when Jesus breathed his last breath, and it seemed all was lost. But here he is back among them, breathing the Holy Spirit upon them, and saying "As God has sent me, so I send you." Jesus makes it clear the resurrection peace is to be shared. As God sent Jesus to embody peace and love in a broken world, so Jesus sends us to continue to embody peace and love in the world.
I recently read a sermon by former Oakhurst member Ken Sehested, entitled "Lovers in a Dangerous Time," in which he spoke powerfully of this. "This is the word of the Gospel: We are shaped in the ways of compassion because we have been loved by One Who is greater than we. We are saved by submitting to the disarming power of grace". And the result of our disarming hearts "is that we instinctively begin, without even thinking about it, to live as disarming agents in the world. We are freed from fear. And fearless people are seen as subversive to those now in control. We preach salvation to a corrupt world, justice and peace to a violent social order. We conform to the pattern of Jesus, our Lord-become-friend who was himself God's action of unilateral disarmament. We are lovers in a dangerous time."
After Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit into them, he says one last thing and then he is gone. "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained." That would seem to give Jesus‚ followers the power to decide who gets forgiveness and who does not. Except that Jesus has just said that they are being sent as God had sent him. Therefore, the model for whether to forgive or not was Jesus. Jesus, who said, "You have heard it said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say unto you. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." (Matthew 5: 43-44.)
As God sent Jesus, so Jesus sends us into the world as his instruments of peace, forgiveness, and love. Not just individually, but as a community. A powerful example of that was seen by the world last October after Charles Roberts, a 32-year-old milk truck driver entered a one-room Amish school house in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, with guns and took 10 girls hostage. He murdered five of them. One girl who was shot but survived, later told of the oldest girl there, who pleaded with him, "Shoot me, and leave the others alone." Jesus had said to the disciples, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends." (John 15: 1-13) In the midst of their deep grief and anguish, the Amish community reached out to the murderer's family, offering forgiveness and love, and the world a powerful witness to the love of Christ which shapes their beloved community. I have been reluctant to use this as a sermon illustration, not wanting to minimize the enormous evil that was Charles Roberts, or the depth of the suffering the Amish endured and the loss they still face. But as I come to Easter Sunday this year, it is a powerful incarnation of the racial forgiveness and shalom of Christ, who is risen and alive.
And whose work goes on in his disciples. In 1992 Puccinin, who wrote such great works as Madame Butterfly, La Boheme, and La Tusca, was dying with cancer. Still he decided to write one more opera, entitled, Turandot. In 1924 Puccini died. The premier of his final opera took place in Milan, Italy, as La Scala Opera House, under the baton of Puccini's best student, Toscanini. The performance proceeded to the point where Puccini had abruptly ended it unfinished, because of his death. Toscanini paused and turned to the audience, laid down his baton and said, "Thus far, the master wrote—and then the master died." Toscanini then picked up the baton and shouted to the audience, "But his disciples finished his music." And the opera went on to its grand conclusion.
Carry on.
Shalom aleichem.
As-Salamu Alaykum.
Peace be with you.
The peace of Christ be with you.