Something gets us to church on Easter Day. I’ve always
been quite thankful and not a little moved to see people appear on Easter that
rarely if ever come any other time. Far from disparaging that, I think it is
wonderful, and if you’re one who is rarely here, know that the doors of this
building and the doors of our hearts are flung wide open for you. You’re at
home here, though it might feel ever so unlike any “home” you’re used to or
that you long for.
I suppose that for all of us, Easter is important because
it’s the Day of the Lord’s Resurrection. And so it is. But how many of us know
that the resurrection we are celebrating is not only past and future, but also
present? Let that sink in. Easter is not just about something that happened to
Jesus once upon a time. Nor is it about a future life you have in a heaven when
you die, however true both of those things might be. Easter—resurrection—is
something that is built into the fabric of the universe. Resurrection is
something as close to you as your arm or your body hair or your breath or your
heart. It doesn’t depend on whether you understand it or believe it or whether
you can prove it or photograph it, no more than do the laws of gravity and
thermodynamics.
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| Waccamaw River, Conway, SC Native Americans gave it the name meaning "Dark Waters" |
Let me tell you what I mean—with a story. I grew up near the
ocean in South Carolina. At a very early age—as far back as I can remember—I
learned to be respectful of the ocean. But there’s a fine line between respect
and fear. It didn’t take me long before I had gulped down enough salt water
from big waves breaking over my little body that I developed a fear of
drowning. I heard stories now and again of persons drowning along the shore. All
of that reinforced a firm fear of water, so much so that I went all the way
through childhood without learning to swim. It didn’t help matters much that
the river that ran through my hometown was inky dark. Peering into it was
gazing into a mystery. I wasn’t about to go to the river to learn to swim. And
forget swimming pools. Only a few wealthy people had one at all, and there were
no public pools around. By the time I was in Boy Scouts at age 11, I was
embarrassed to be one of the few kids my age who could not swim. The longer I
put it off, the more fearful I became. Jumping off the pier and into the lake
at scout camp was like an act of sure suicide.
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| A firm fear of the ocean kept me from going deep. |
Fortunately, there was an older lad there who was a gentle and good teacher. He met me where I was, helped me overcome my fear of water, and taught me the side stroke that seemed far less intimidating than the crawl. Before my first week at camp was over, I’d learned to swim. And the most important thing I learned was how not to fight the water but how to work with the water so that the water would work for me. Water became not my enemy to be feared and resisted, but my friend.
Think of resurrection as, like water to the swimmer,
surrounding us all the time. Think of it as part and parcel of the environment
in which we live. Think of it as a Presence upholding us, whether we are aware
of it or not. You might have in your life something you do or some place you go
where you feel completely at home. Say it’s a golf course or your kitchen. You
are used to going there, you are drawn to what you do, so much so that it has
become a part of you. You don’t even have to think twice about how to get there
or what to do when you return to a favorite pastime or task. You’re a natural
at it, because your nature—your soul—deeply loves what you do or where you are.
To take the analogy a bit further, you know that, though you may love golf and
be ever so good at it, you can still be frustrated by the put you missed
sinking by 1”, or how the new club you spent too much money hasn’t really
improved your drives. And sometimes, if your soul’s shelter is the kitchen,
though you’ve been doing it for 60 years, still every once in awhile a cake
will flop for no good reason. So it is with the life called “resurrection.” It
is indeed a life to be lived, and no life that is alive is without challenges
and opportunities to grow.
Jesus’ whole life was a resurrection. Every time he uttered
a liberating word to a peasant, or fed a hungry belly, or laid his healing hand
on a sick person, or shared a meal with outcasts he was rolling away big heavy
stones, crashing through the walls of tombs in which human dignity and
potential are stifled to death, raising up even the lowliest things and people,
dejected and despised, bringing them to light and life. When he entered the
temple on Monday of Holy Week and cleared out the money changers and their
animals, he was taking on the powers of death and hell quite literally—the
powers that colluded with the strength of empire to squeeze the vulnerable and
powerless. Resurrection is not all sweetness and soft landings, especially not for
those who arrogate to themselves the control of people, the right to despoil
the planet, the leeway to trample on justice for the poor and the weak.
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| Edward Knippers, "Crowning with Thorns" |
pieces of wood or have nails driven through your wrists, but you’ll get a taste of loneliness and perhaps even have your moments when you’ll wonder, “My God, my God, why, why, why have you forsaken me?” But that is what following Jesus entails. And that is what living resurrection is: it is following him.
Then does resurrection have nothing to do with going to
heaven? Of course it does! The trouble is, we have located “heaven” both in the
future and in some other world than this. Heaven is where God is. And God is
everywhere. Heaven is not the future; heaven is eternal, and therefore outside
of time, and therefore eternally “present” we might say. So to be with God is
inseparable from living in the resurrection. And living in the resurrection is
inseparable from being engaged in God’s justice, God’s mercy, God’s
forgiveness, and God’s love.
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| Down under and back up again |
When you forget everything else about baptism, remember
this: it is “down under and back up again.” That is the motion of baptism. Down
under the water, and back up again. That should remind us of something else: death
and resurrection. It is the motion of Christ: down into the tomb and back up
again. Once we begin to see that, then it becomes apparent that that is the way
life itself is. We go along, we fall, we get up and go some more. We are always,
every minute of our lives, in every transaction, repeating the pattern: down
under, back up again. The big breakthrough comes when we recognize that this
ordinary pattern is itself the secret of life, of truth, of all that is. Life
is not about amassing as many toys or riches or accomplishments as we can. It
is not about saving our lives by making them as secure and death-proof as
possible. It is about, well, learning not to fight the water but to embrace it
and befriend it. Don’t sweat it: you’re fine and you will be fine. Just let go.
Let go, even though every fiber in your being be scared to death as you face
the darkness of the water, and in the bottom of your soul you break a sweat and
say, “Not this, O God. Let this pass from me. I can’t do it. I just can’t.” It
is in those crises that you are being handed over to suffering, call it what
you will: suffering and death. But when you’re hauled into the courtyard of the
powers that make sport of you, take courage. Let go. Trust. Go ahead and lift that
heavy beam and follow your master all the way. Nobody ever said that it would
be a snap.
But you already have the assurance that there will dawn a
yet more glorious day. And if you are living the resurrection, you know that
the long-promised kingdom has already arrived, the realm in which you share the
reign, whole, free, and totally at home.
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| Graydon Parrish (b. 1970) "Resurrection" |
A sermon for Easter Day, April 1, 2018.
© Frank Gasque Dunn, 2018
