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Somewhere
on God's green earth lives a lady named Runa Ware, who has
written a book entitled All Those in Favor, Say Something.
I have not read her book, but Kline Roberts has. And he has
shared with me this little slice of her story. She begins:
I once
gave detailed instructions on making a crab casserole to
a friend who had often praised the dish when enjoying it
in my home. Not long afterward, at a luncheon in her home,
she greeted me enthusiastically. "Runa, guess what?
I'm serving your gorgeous casserole today."
As we
entered the dining room, however, she confided that she
had made a few small changes. Feeling that fresh crab meat
had been grossly overpriced, she had substituted canned
tuna fish. Campbell's mushroom soup had replaced my delicate
white sauce ... well ... because it was easier. While the
sherry and blanched almonds had been omitted because she
had forgotten to put them on her grocery list.
Moments
later, as the serving spoon plunged into the steaming "piece
de resistance" she casually looked around the table
and announced to the assembled guests: "If this casserole
isn't any good, don't blame me. This is Runa Ware's recipe."
Sometimes
I think we preachers are related to that poor lady, if not
by blood, then by practice. For we have this habit of coming
to the finest of feasts and serving up watered-down versions
of the faith ... omitting the most difficult ingredients altogether ... and
then delivering the finished product half-heartedly, as if
apologizing for the meager portion of truth we are bringing
to the table.
What am
I saying? I am saying (quite frankly) that a great deal of
Easter preaching is insipid, tentative and utterly lacking
in confidence. For more centuries than I have fingers upon
which to count, the Easter morning cry has echoed antiphonally
between priest and people:
Priest:
Christ is risen.
People: He is risen, indeed.
I fear,
however, that there are a great many corners of Christendom
this morning where both priest and people are inclined toward
a more provisional antiphon:
Priest:
Christ is risen.
People: He is risen, I think
(or, I hope ... or, some say).
Since
sermons are my stock in trade, I tend to read a lot of them.
In fact, I probably read ten for every one I preach. But it
is amazing how many Easter sermons skate lightly (if at all)
over the central, and incredible, Easter affirmation ... that
death has been beaten by Jesus ... and, by implication, will
be beaten by us.
Instead,
I read a lot of stuff about the seasonal rebirth of nature ... as
if crocuses really were an answer to the cross, and as if
tulips (bursting from the ground) had something to do with
Jesus (bursting from the tomb). They aren't ... and they don't.
And I say this as one who loves crocuses and tulips. Along
with butterflies. But if I read one more Easter sermon in
which vacated cocoons are offered as examples of the resurrection,
I think I will become sick to my professional stomach.
I also
read Easter sermons that focus heavily on the ways in which
you and I can be released from emotional tombs ... like guilt,
grief, fear, sadness, despair, depression, self-loathing (those
kinds of tombs). And I am kinder in judging those sermons,
given that I have preached them myself ... and probably will
again.
But the
Creed pins all such efforts to the wall, forcing us preachers
to repent of even our most creative evasions. For in the Creed
we read: "On the third day, he rose from the dead."
And, in its getaway line, it adds: "I believe in the
forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the
life everlasting."
And if
the Creed didn't pin us to the wall, the Apostle Paul would.
For, in his answer to his Corinthian skeptics, Paul argues:
"If Christ be not raised, then our faith is in vain ... our
hope is in vain ... our preaching is in vain ... and we (of
all men) are most to be pitied." Which I find to be a
fascinating line. For, in it, Paul is staking both his and
my professional credibility on the line ... along with our
personal happiness. For one could readily retranslate the
line to read: "If Christ be not raised, then we are out
of jobs ... and (worse yet) we are out of joy."
If anything,
Paul's word to the Corinthians (written in 57 AD) proves that
doubt in the resurrection did not originate with us. Yesterday
morning found Kris at Borders, buying a baptism present for
Joy Hook. While waiting to cash out, she eavesdropped on a
vigorous debate over last week's PBS special on Jesus (and
David Crumm's front page story, two days earlier) on the work
of the Jesus Seminar. Among things being freshly reconsidered
are the physical resurrection and subsequent appearances of
Jesus. What can be said? What can't be said? Which is serious
scholarship ... diligent work ... and good grist for informed
conversation (which I will undertake with anyone who is interested).
But it is hardly new. There isn't any issue being raised ... any
theory being offered ... or any question being debated, that
we weren't discussing at Yale Divinity School in the early
`60s. And which Paul wasn't discussing in Corinth in the early
`50s (not the 1950s, mind you ... I mean, the early '50s).
Turn to the fifteenth chapter of I Corinthians. The questions
are all there. In spades. Was Christ really raised? Will we
be raised? Can flesh and blood inherit the Kingdom? With what
body shall we come?
Someone
once said to me (during a Bible study on Paul's Corinthian
correspondence): "Why didn't Paul just tell the skeptics
to read the Gospels (meaning Matthew, Mark, Luke and John)?
Which was a logical question. But a naïve one. For none
of the Gospels existed when Paul wrote to Corinth. Paul wrote
15 years before Mark ... 25 years before Matthew ... .25 years
before Luke ... and approximately 40 years before John. Which
means that questions were being raised about the resurrection
narratives before any such narratives existed ... when the
"Jesus story" was still an oral story ... and when
the "Jesus story" was still in the process of being
passed, witness to witness, friend to friend, house to house,
preacher to hearer, and letter-writer to letter-reader.
Which
makes Paul's answer to his Corinthian critics all the more
interesting, given that it represents (for all intents and
purposes) the first formal defense of "the resurrection
faith." And what is interesting to note is that Paul
roots his response, not on a discussion of the empty tomb
(nowhere does Paul use the words "empty tomb"),
but in the appearances made by the risen Lord to Peter ... to
the twelve ... to 500 brethren at one time (most of whom, he
claimed, were still alive) ... then to James ... then to the
apostles ... and "last of all (as one untimely born) to
me."
It is
interesting that Paul doesn't mention any women ... especially
Mary Magdalene who is featured so prominently in John's Easter
account. Which means that Paul didn't know about the women,
or that he knew about, but chose to disregard, the women.
But even though a modern-day attorney would use Mary Magdalene's
alleged reputation to smear her testimony unmercifully, there
it is: "I have seen the Lord," she said. Which was
enough ... when coupled with the back-up testimony of others
like her. And which was more than enough (over time) to generate
the movement that would culminate in the church. Which, itself,
was no small miracle. I mean, after Jesus resuscitated Lazarus,
nobody suggested forming a church and worshiping Lazarus.
And though I've traveled the world around, I've yet to worship
in any place named St. Lazarus.
Barbara
Brown Taylor (who I've come to admire a great deal of late)
adds: "The appearances of Jesus cinch the resurrection
for me, not what happened in the tomb. What happened in the
tomb was entirely between God and Jesus."
Warming
to her subject, she adds:
I find
myself wondering why we focus so much energy on that morning ... that
tomb ... what happened there ... and how in the world we are
going to explain it to anyone otherwise disinclined to believe
it. Because resurrection does not square with anything else
we know about physical life on this earth. No one has ever
seen it happen. Which is why it helps me to remember that
no one saw it happen on Easter, either.
No one
can say what happened inside the tomb, because no one was
there. They all arrived after the fact. Which means that
they are no better off than us, given that we have all arrived
"after the fact" also. Clearly, Jesus was not
there. His grave clothes were. In fact, they were all folded
and piled. I suppose he could have stayed put beside the
piles, sitting there (naked?) ... all pink and healthy ... .so
that everyone could come and see him for themselves. But
that is not what he did.
He had
outgrown his tomb ... which was far too small and confining
a place for something so big as the resurrection. The Risen
One had people to see and things to do. The Living One's business
was among the living ... who, as a result of meeting him, inevitably
became wiser, kinder and far more daring than they had been
before. And become so still.
More than
that as proof, I cannot offer...for the time being. And what
does "for the time being" mean? You know what it
means. But for the dense of head and heart, let me quote Father
Andrew Greeley. When asked how one could possibly authenticate
the Roman Catholic doctrine of the resurrection, Father Greeley
responded (rather cryptically, I suspect): "I suppose
that one could die." But most of us aren't ready to do
that. At least not yet. So the only alternative is to live
our way into the resurrection, trusting that while Easter
will be proved in the next life, it can be experienced in
this one.
Earlier,
I read Paul's word to the Ephesians: "No longer shall
you live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of your minds."
Which, if ever a text had your name on it ... your social security
number on it ... your zip code on it ... this one does. For
I know you people. I know that futility does not become you.
And I know that futility will not sustain you ... marked, as
it is, by its attendant images of helplessness and hopelessness.
Which explains why you found your way here this morning ... like
swallows returning to Capistrano ... to drink of the promise
that this day affords.
And let
me congratulate you. You made a good choice in coming here.
For long ago we, in this church, heard the angel ask: "Why
seek ye the living among the dead?" So we don't. Instead,
we look for life in the midst of life. And we will help you
do the same.
I recently
heard of a preacher who became so frustrated with her congregation
that she said, as her sermon was drawing to a close: "Why
don't we all just form a circle, hold hands, light a candle,
and attempt to communicate with the living?" Meaning
that she didn't think the people in her church were ... living,
that is. And meaning that hers would be a terrible church
to stumble into for Easter.
But I
shouldn't be so hard on her. Maybe one "proof" of
the resurrection is that she is still at it. This very morning,
she is standing up there in front of 20 or 30 families ... despite
the fact that her flock is declining rather than growing ... despite
the fact that few will make the effort to hear her out, and
fewer (if any) will thank her when she is done ... and despite
the fact that she receives a pittance of a salary for doing
what she is doing, while half of the people begrudge paying
her even that. But there she is ... ladling it out ... hoping,
against hope, that someone will drink it in.
Because
it's there for the thirsty ... this antidote to futility that
we call Easter. Booker T. Washington (who founded Tuskegee
Institute in 1881) is famous for his story of a ship, lost
at sea. Sighting a friendly vessel, it sent the following
signal: "Water, water, for we die of thirst." Back
came the answer: "Cast down your bucket where you are."
Second transmission, same signal: "Water, water, for
we die of thirst." Same response: "Cast down your
bucket where you are." Third exchange. Fourth. Same request.
Same answer. Finally the captain of the distressed vessel
did as he was instructed. Down went the bucket. Up came two
gallons of fresh, sparkling water. For, in the fog and darkness,
they had drifted into the mouth of the Amazon River and didn't
even know it.
And out
of your fog and darkness, you have drifted into the mouth
of the River of Life, and are to be congratulated for finding
your way here (to where it is flowing). So dip, drink, and
then get dressed ... if you haven't already.
Read further
in Ephesians 4: "Put off your old nature (belonging to
your former life) and put on a new one (clothing yourself
after the likeness of God)." Did you ever wonder about
the origin of the "new clothes for Easter" idea?
I mean, where did we get the idea that there should be hats
for the ladies, ties for the men, suits for little boys, and
pretty little dresses for pretty little girls ... not to mention
orchids, gardenias and daffodils, pinned to whatever. It was
never meant to be a fashion thing. It was never meant to be
a status thing. It was never meant to be a marketing thing.
Nor was it ever meant to be an upscale, suburban thing. In
fact, the best looking Easter crowds I have ever seen have
been in inner city churches.
It was
a way of saying: "Not just any old thing in the closet
will do, as a way of expressing what God (in raising Jesus
from the dead) has already done. In response to such news,
I must renew myself from the inside out. And reflect it, from
the outside in."
Several
years ago in Crowley's I watched a mini-drama in progress.
The dramatic personae were one angry mother, one resistant
daughter, and one tired saleslady (wishing she could go on
"break"). The mother was shouting:
What's
wrong with this dress? This was what you said you wanted.
It's the right size. It's the right color. It's the right
price. It doesn't have a belt. It doesn't have a collar.
It doesn't have puffy sleeves. It doesn't even have frills.
And since Sunday is Easter, this is the dress you are going
to wear to church.
Leading
the little girl to plant her feet and say "no."
That's all. Just "no." And leading her mother to
say: "If you think you're gonna win, think again little
girl. Because there's no way you're gonna win. No way in hell."
But you
see, Jesus Christ has already won ... over death ... over hell ... over
dark days, down days, ugly dress days and bad hair days ... over
all that is helpless, hopeless, fleeting and futile ... so
it's time (I say) to taste it on the inside and display it
on the outside. Which explains my haircut ... my shined shoes ... my
fresh-from-the-cleaning-bag suit ... my brand-spanking-new
tie ... and my wife's gardenia (among other things). I have
dipped in the river, don't you see? And if there's any part
of you that is sick of who you are ... sick of how you look ... sick
of what you're feeling ... sick of what you're doing ... .or
sick of the person you're becoming ... you can too.
*
* * * *
How does
one bring this to a close? Let me try this. While sermon surfing
(not so long ago) I came across ... are you ready for this? ... Robert
Schuller out in Garden Grove, California. He was recalling
his own remarks, some time previous, at the funeral of Hubert
Humphrey ... and of his earlier presence at Senator Humphrey's
deathbed. Describing that scene (with that man) (and that
family) at death's door, he coined a trio of phrases.
Which
was extraordinary, I thought. So I wrote it all down. I figured
I could use it at funerals. I mean, most of us have some pride
behind us. And, if we but look, even the loneliest of us have
some love around us. And if I have been at all convincing
this morning, we have a veritable river of hope before us.
So let me challenge you to some very un-Birmingham-like behavior
this glorious Easter day. Let's personalize Schuller's phrases,
long enough to say them together.
Pride
behind me.
Love around me.
Hope before me.
(three times, rising in intensity to the level of a shout)
And, as
long as we're on something of a roll:
Leader:
Christ is risen.
People: He is risen, indeed.
Note:
In preparing this Easter sermon, I accumulated debts to the
likes of Barbara Brown Taylor, Peter Gomes and William Willimon.
For additional study of the controversies engendered by the
Jesus Seminar, I would direct the reader to the work of Robert
Funk and his newly-released What Did Jesus Do? As concerns
dating for the various narratives of the New Testament, one
can approach a number of sources. While answers vary by a
decade, there is a consensus of scholarly opinion that Paul
wrote prior to the Gospels and that Mark was the initial Gospel
written (sometime around 70 AD).
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