Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
March 23, 2008 Easter Sunday, 11 AM Service
John 20:1- 18
A few years ago the poet Donald Justice wrote a poem, Men at Forty. It begins with these words: Men at forty learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be coming back to.
Men at forty, closing doors softly. What doors do you suppose he is talking about? The doors to dreams that will never be fulfilled? The doors to relationships that just didn't work out? The door to that big break that just never came? Dylan Thomas spoke of men at forty closing doors more slowly. Being somewhat past forty myself now, I can testify to the truth of these words.
The longer I have lived, I've learned, at least I hope I've learned, to be careful about closing a door. You need to be careful about when you slam a door in someone's face, saying, "I'm done with you, it's over. I never want to see you again!'" I've learned that there are those times when you want to go back, re-open the door, and try to resume a relationship you thought you'd once sealed shut. I've learned that the future is less in my control than I once thought. You never know when something might call you back to a door you had thought permanently closed.
But I have also learned that part of growing up, becoming wiser -- again, at least I hope I'm a little wiser -- is knowing when to close a door. Sometimes we keep coming back again and again, going over the same old script, trying to make the unworkable work. Hopefully, growing older provides some wisdom to know when to close a door firmly and move on to another room. As that wise theologian Kenny Rogers reminded us, "You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away, know when to run." At times we simply have to cut our losses, end the game, close the door.
Certainly that is true of grief and loss. Says one pastor. "Those of you who have gone through grief, and who hasn't, know how important it is in the aftermath of death to close some doors. A woman in my church lost her husband to a heart attack on Christmas Eve. I stopped by her house for a visit in late January, and was aghast to see a still decorated tree, unopened packages around the room, and everything still in place as if her husband was going to walk in any minute. I told her, “You’re going to have to face the facts, close this door on your past. You have to find a way to move on.'" It's a tricky business, this closing of doors as we go through life.
Which brings me, believe it or not to Easter. I believe that Mary, on that first Easter morning, came to Jesus' tomb wanting to close a door. She had such hopes, such joy. But Jesus was now dead, crucified by Rome. That stone that closed his tomb, also closed the door on her faith, hope, possibility, on the future. I think Mary came to the tomb, in the darkness, seeking a way, finally, to close a door on all of that and somehow move on. Hope crucified, darkness overwhelming, death triumphant once again as it always is. Certainly one thing she did not expect, she who had come to close a door, was to find an open door. An open tomb. She did not expect Easter. But then, whoever does...really?
For the good news of Easter, you see, at least I think it's good news, is that we now have a Savior at large, a Savior on the loose, and you no longer know when he might decide to break down any door we close, or hide behind, and just come on in. And we have to decide...are we ready for that? Do we even want that...this kind of unexpected intrusion into our ordered and controlled lives? Old Testament scholar, Walter Breuggemann, once gave a sermon in which he said, "In the Easter season, Christians are called to notice the dangerous restlessness of God's power- a restlessness that shatters our complacency and overrides our despair. This restlessness from God makes life possible in our deadness, makes hope possible, makes healing possible, even in the midst of our hurt and hate and fear." He goes on to suggest that in spite of our lilies and banners and hymns of joy, Easter can in fact be a crisis for us. Why? Says Breuggemann, "We are left dazzled by Easter because we did not think it would happen. We are threatened because we did not want our tea party upset...At Easter there is a kind of restlessness that leaves nothing fixed and frozen, because God is on the move in more ways than we can possibly understand, and nothing can stop God's newness." I mean, just when I want to close that door - there's no hope, it's no use, I don't care, why bother, all is lost - Jesus shows up and just sticks his foot in the doorway. What a pain in the neck he can be sometimes. Is that good news?
"My life is over," she said when she found out that the cancer had spread to her optic nerve and she was now going to lose her sight, her precious sight that throughout her life had enabled her to create wonderful, beautiful things. That which she loved the most was being taken from her. But scarcely two months later, when her pastor visited her in her home, he was greeted by music, beautiful music, being played by her on her piano. "I've discovered a gift I didn't know I had until I had to reach out for it, "she said as she played Chopin. Says her minister, "I thought it was an example of Easter, how in life's complete dead ends there is something about Christ that enables him to keep coming back to us, bringing new life out of death and defeat." Again, a Savior on the loose, nothing fixed or frozen anymore.
I think of Judas, the betrayer of Jesus. Could there be a more lost soul? Do you know any parents, even non-church folk, even folks who are hostile to the church, who are naming their sons Judas these days? But Madeleine L'Engle told a wonderful Judas story: “After his death, Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit. For thousands of years he wept in his repentance and when his tears were finally spent, he looked up and saw way, way up, a glimmer of light. After he had contemplated this for another thousand years of so, he began to try to climb up toward it. The walls of the pit were dank and slimy and he kept slipping back down. Finally, after great effort, he neared the top, but then slipped and fell all the way back to the bottom. It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief, then he started to climb again. After many more falls and failures, he reached the top and dragged himself into an upper room where he found twelve people seated around a table. ‘We've been waiting for you, Judas’ Jesus said. ‘We couldn't begin until you came.’" That's Easter...No life lost, no life abandoned, new possibilities always an option...even for one such as Judas, my goodness, even for ones such as us. Are you ready for an Easter that new, that fresh, that restless, that unpredictable?
Clearly Easter caught our lilies off guard this year. Easter is what we call a movable feast. We're never quite sure when it's coming. Rome put Jesus to death, rolled a large stone in front of the tomb. End of the story...right? Then why is it that some 2000 years later he often seems more alive than ever? He comes at unexpected times, in unexpected places. He surprises us, won't leave us alone. Always whispering to this man past forty. "Are you really sure you want to close that door? You really sure you've exhausted all possibilities?"
I'll admit it. The claim of Easter - Jesus raised from the dead - is so outrageous, so against our typical ways of thinking about things, so beyond the reach of our powers of comprehension, that many of us want proof of this astounding claim. It would be really nice to know the exact location of the empty tomb, to have a little historically verifiable evidence, a shred of documentation beyond the varied and even contradictory accounts in the Bible. If only someone could have recorded it all on video.
But to tell you the truth, I don't need it. That stuff doesn't worry me much. Because we can never prove Easter is true by going back, but only by going forward. Because that is always where we will find the Risen Christ - on the move, opening doors, changing lives, indeed, grabbing lives and turning them around. There, out there ahead of us, not behind us; Jesus as a figure, not of the past, but of the present, always, always calling us into a new and surprising future.
I actually believe that Easter began when the gardener said, "Mary," and she knew who he was. That's where the miracle happened and keeps happening - not in the tomb, but in the encounter with the living Lord. And so, for me, the ongoing affirmation of the truth of Easter really is you. Despite all the perfectly good and understandable reasons why, after more than 2000 years, you should not be here, especially in what is not exactly the church-friendly culture of Sonoma County, here you are. After all these years as your pastor, I too have seen the Lord. Not as he was, nail prints in his hands, but as he is, present in you. Time and again I have seen things happening in your lives, heard you testify to amazing twists and turns, seen you meet difficulty and pain with inspiring hope and uplifted faith. I can't tell you how often I have walked away from these encounters thinking yes, Christ is risen, he is risen indeed.
And we know this. We know this because we live, still crazy after all these years. We know this because we have found, to our surprise, that we are not alone. We know this because much to our surprise, doors we thought were forever closed have opened. We know because we never know where he might turn up next. It’s Easter folks, so be ready for anything. A risen Savior is at large, he's on the loose...and he knows our names.