Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
March 23, 2008 Easter Sunday, 9 AM Service
John 20: 1-18
A Frederick Buechner story: "A year or so ago, a friend of mine died. One morning in his sixty-eighth year he simply didn't wake up. It was about as easy a way as he could possibly have done it, but it was not easy for the people he left behind because it gave us no chance to start getting used to the idea...or to say good-bye. He died in March. In May my wife and I were staying with his widow overnight when I had a short dream about him. I dreamed he was standing there in the dark guest room where we were sleeping, looking very much himself in the navy blue jersey and white slacks he often wore. I told him how much we missed him and how glad I was to see him again. Then I said, 'Are you really there, Dudley?' I meant was he there in fact, in truth, or was I merely dreaming he was. His answer was that he was really there. 'Can you prove it?' I asked him. 'Of course,' he said. Then he plucked a strand of wool out of his jersey and tossed it to me. I caught it between my thumb and forefinger, and the feel of it was so palpable it woke me up. That's all there was to it.
"I told the dream at breakfast the next morning. I'd hardly finished speaking when my wife spoke. She said she had seen that strand of wool on the carpet as she was getting dressed. She was sure it hadn't been there the night before. I rushed upstairs to see for myself, and there it was - a little tangle of navy blue wool."
What do you think happened that night? What was it exactly? Buechner admits he isn't sure what to make of it. Simply a coincidence? An intrusive, surprising moment of transcendence? Maybe...maybe not. It would seem that the odds against such occurrences have got to be astronomical. And yet, if we had the courage to talk about them, my guess would be that they happen all the time...to people just like us. My guess is that sitting in each pew this morning, there is one person or two or more, who could share a similar experience. What do we make out of such moments...or not make out of them? Reflecting further on his experience, Buechner says, and I don't know what you might think of this, "Maybe my friend really did come to me in my dream and the thread was his sign to me that he had. Maybe it is true by God's grace that the dead are given their lives back again and that the doctrine of resurrection is not just a doctrine."
Says one New Testament scholar, "Maybe these moments are coincidence. A fluke. A quirk. Maybe they are playful intrusions into our common-sensical patterns of thought - a blue thread on the carpet - intrusions sent by heaven to disrupt us: a peek behind the curtain of exterior reality, a whisper of providence, a hint of transcendence. Or maybe we shouldn't make such a fuss over such moments. Maybe they mean nothing more than certain glitches in the electrical throbs of the brain. Or maybe they mean everything, connecting us with a reality so deep, so real and wonderful that, if we were to look at it face-to-face we would be incinerated by its glory. So all we get is a peek.” Maybe...now, my rational, practical mind tells me that we really shouldn't make too much of such moments. I mean, how much of my life do I really want to bet on a blue thread? For behind the curtain there might be only emptiness. What are we going to believe?
"I've seen the Lord!" proclaims Mary. "Say what?" "I've seen the Lord!" Now what are the disciples - what are we - going to do with information like that? I read the story, I hear Mary's testimony, and I kind of feel like I am holding Buechner's blue thread. She's seen the Lord? How can that be? In my experience, when a tomb has been closed, it remains closed. Stones just don't get rolled away...do they? Says Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann, "Mostly the world believes that all assets are frozen, and things will stay the way they are. You know: if you're dead, you're dead and you'll stay so. If you are alive, you had better scramble and get it all, because that's all there is and all there is going to be. If you are homeless, you will be that way forever. If you are number one, you better have lots and lots of power, because that's the way to get to keep it the way it is. Everything is arranged and settled and fixed and closed, and frozen and we work hard to keep the boundaries secure. With this way of reality, some of us end in complacency because it works to our advantage, some of us end in despair because we had hoped for better; but power operates largely to close things down and keep all the assets frozen." Let's let things stay just the way they are. And then it's Easter. And nothing is frozen in place anymore.
This past week I went to the Rotary Club, the early morning club in Sebastopol. Every month this club honors a student of the month. This month's student was named Eduardo, and he was there with his father, Eduardo, Sr. And he shared some his story with us. He'd gone to a Fort Ross Grade School, then to El Molino, it's an hour and a half bus ride every morning. He'd gotten into some trouble, ending up at Laguna High School. And Laguna, if you don't know, is our continuation school here in town where kids who have difficulties have a shot at graduating from high school. And he was very honest about his story. He told us, "I got into trouble. I did some things I shouldn't have done. I made some bad decisions. But now," he said, "I'm going to graduate." He's going to the J.C., going to major in viticulture, get into the grape and wine business. We heard all these testimonials from teachers of what a leader he had been. What happened? Eduardo was on a bad path - gangs, crime, drugs, jail. Instead he's graduating, going to the J.C., is going to have a career, one of the leaders in his school. What happened? Do you suppose somewhere along the way, he found a blue thread? What happened in his life? I think Easter happened. And I am wondering if it can happen for each of us.
That noted theologian, Arlo Guthrie, once observed, "The world has shown me what it has to offer. It's a nice place to visit, but I sure wouldn't want to live there."
His comments are reminiscent of the time that Linus asked Charlie Brown if there is anywhere he feels out of place. Charlie Brown replies, "Yes...earth!"
It's easy to get into that state of mind, to convince ourselves we live in a Good Friday world, where, yes, the assets are frozen, where there is nothing new under the sun, where the powerful will always oppress the weak, where there will always be war and rumors of war, where nothing can ever really change, and where death and the powers of death always have the final word. And while it might all sound pretty grim, at least we know what to expect, we have a sure and certain grasp upon what is, and that compensates for any anxiety about what might be.
And then, just when I think I have it all pretty well figured out, everything in place, Mary shows up and says, "I've seen the Lord!" You know, that it really is a lot easier to be a disciple of a Jesus who is dead and safely in a tomb. Again, at least we know what to expect. It's the natural way of things. Then Easter comes along and dares to ask, "Since when did natural get the last word?" Says Barbara Brown Taylor, "Death is natural. Loss is natural. Grief is natural. But those stones have been rolled away on this happy morning to reveal the highly unnatural truth. By the light of this day, God has planted a seed in each of us which cannot be killed, and if we remember that, then there is nothing we cannot do: move mountains, banish fear, love our enemies, change the world."
I think of young Eduardo. Somehow he got the message; he got the hope. And I want us to get it - this totally unnatural hope - to believe it, to take it to heart. Says Brueggemann, "The resurrection is not just about a dead man come back to life. It's about power at work that we cannot control, power to make human life possible in all the failed places: the old crippling identities, the old quarrels, the old silly resistance's, the old patterns of war and hate and greed...Easter is not a 'spiritual' event, but a surging of power that touches all of life. The Easter question for us is not whether you can get your mind around the resurrection, because you cannot. Rather the question is can you permit in your horizon new healing power, new surging possibility, new ways of power in an armed and fearful world? "I've seen the Lord!" And in that moment everything is new and different and possible.
Last November I planted tulip and daffodil bulbs. And on this first Sunday after the first full moon of the spring equinox – in other words, Easter – wonder of wonders, unlike our lilies here today, the bulbs are blooming. They look nothing like they did when I planted them, kind of shriveled up, they looked dead really. They have now miraculously burst into color. Quite miraculously, when you consider my checkered past as a gardener. Miraculous, but still entirely natural. Bulbs become tulips. Which means, while the bulb is always a nice illustration for a children's message, it's also a misleading illustration because again, on Easter we are talking about something unexpected and most assuredly unnatural!
It really is peculiar speech, this Easter preaching. I am quite sure that nothing I say can convince anyone this morning or even really explain anything. Easter is not exactly the stuff of rational reasonable arguments. I like the honesty of Anne Lament, when she writes, "I hate it when you can't prove the beliefs of my faith!" But, that doesn't stop her from going on and saying what it has done for her, this Easter faith, enabling her to choose, in her words, "This one thing: that love is bigger than any grim, bleak, stuff, (she uses more colorful language than I) that anyone can throw at us.”
So perhaps all I can really offer today is a hint of transcendence, an intrusion into our normal, rational, realistic patterns of thought and life, a piece of blue thread where one shouldn't be, and, just maybe, the power of a whole new kind of life, a newness that God is working among us even now. No more frightened hearts, but hearts alive, taking hold of today, trusting God to take hold of tomorrow.
John Alfred Brashear was one of the great scientists of the 20th century - born to poverty, risen to largeness of life. Back of his home was a small hill to which he and his wife would walk each evening to study the stars. The two of them were buried on that hill beneath the simple inscription: "We have loved the stars too much to fear the night."
That's Easter. Trusting that in the end his will, not ours is done. Love is the victor. Death is not the end. The end is life. Alleluia! Christ is risen indeed!