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Would
you believe that Mother Duck has returned, arriving in our
yard in time for Palm Sunday? As some of you will remember,
she appeared last year, scouted out the terrain, built a nest
beneath our kitchen window, laid seven eggs, whereupon she
proceeded to sit on them, hatch them, and then carted off
the ducklings that came out of them before I could enjoy and
spoil them. Then, later last summer, she came back and did
it all over again.
She's
gotten to know us, I think ... like us, I think ... trust
us, I think. But what do I know? We feed her bits and pieces
of bread ... just enough for her, but not enough for the coons
and the squirrels (who tend to like eggs with their toast).
Those of you who know the habits of fowl tell me that I'll
have her forever, or until she outlives her child-bearing
capacities. I only wish she'd leave her babies around a while,
once they hatch. But within 24 hours, both she and they are
gone ... off to Quarton Lake, I suspect.
As wildlife
goes, Mother Duck is rather plain. Every visit finds her wearing
the same old brown dress. Her husband, by comparison, is quite
the gay blade. Either he shops at Nordstrom's, or else God
has expended half a crayon box in the process of creating
him. Unlike his wife, he never comes into our yard ... never
finds stuff for the nest ... never helps with labor or delivery
... never does any of that stuff. What he does is watch her
in the early morning from his elevated perch on my next-door
neighbor's roof. Given that my next-door neighbors are Jewish,
I figure that Mother and Father Duck have an interfaith marriage.
Then,
to our utter surprise and delight, our daughter, Julie, flew
home on Good Friday night from Harvard. Upon arriving, she
took the Metro Car to Birmingham and used her cell phone to
call us from our front porch at 12:15 a.m. She then announced
that she was locked out of her room, laughing as we sleepily
struggled to realize that the room she was locked out of was
not in Cambridge, Mass., but Birmingham, Mich. Mother Duck.
Daughter Julie. Sooner or later, what goes around, comes around.
But not always in a timely fashion.
About
a month ago, I heard tell of a Boy Scout training exercise
in the art of giving first aid. To make things more realistic,
several victims had been placed in various parts of the woods,
ready to announce the nature and extent of their injuries
to the first group of scouts who happened upon them. But one
of the victims was so far off the beaten track that he spent
the better part of the day without being found. In other words,
medical relief (real or imagined) never came his way. Which
explains why the group that finally tracked him down, discovered
a note rather than a victim. Opening it up, they read: "I
have bled to death and gone home."
Well,
on Friday afternoon, Jesus bled to death and went home. He
was pronounced dead at 2:35 p.m., next door (in the sanctuary
of First Presbyterian Church). I was still there. But the
choir missed it, given that they sang at 12:30 and took off
for lunch. But I can report that Jesus' death was handled
decently and in good order. After all, that's the way Presbyterians
like to do things.
Except
that where Jesus' death was concerned, the God who wouldn't
save him from it, brought him through it. Who says so? I say
so. But I am far from alone. Assuming that you listened to
the text this morning, you know that I have backing.
Years
ago, I concentrated my Easter preaching on the emptiness of
the tomb, rather than on the appearances (to others) of the
resurrected Jesus. Poor scholar that I was in those days,
I thought that the "appearances" were later additions
to the story ... perhaps colored a bit ... or even created
(in part) by the early church. It was my theory that when
the early church felt its case to be weak, it thought that
its resurrection claim might be buttressed by the testimony
of a few eyewitnesses. In later years, I learned otherwise.
In reality, it was the "appearances" which anchored
the earliest Christian preaching, with the "empty tomb"
narratives perhaps added later.
The Apostle
Paul consistently pointed to the Resurrection as the cornerstone
of Christian preaching. But Paul ... who wrote 20 years before
Mark, 35 years before Matthew and Luke, and 50 years before
John ... never referred to an "empty tomb tradition"
in his letters. But, over and over again, he named an entire
list of people who had met the risen Lord.
I will
be the first to admit that the details of the post-Resurrection
appearances are both sketchy and contradictory. Read together,
they raise as many questions as they answer. Jesus seemed
to appear differently to different people. In one Gospel,
he came through a locked door with no suggestion that anybody
opened it first. The implication being that his body was somewhat
ethereal and ghost-like. Yet, in another Gospel, it is suggested
that he swallowed a piece of fish and ate it whole ... a suggestion
which would require a body that was anything but ethereal
and ghost-like. In more than one appearance, people who had
every reason to know him, didn't recognize him. And Matthew
even had the honesty to admit that when the eleven remaining
disciples rendezvoused with him in Galilee, some (not one,
but "some") doubted. Still, there can be little
doubt that the earliest Christian preaching was grounded in
the testimony of those claiming to have seen him for themselves,
more than it was grounded in a story about some women who
went to a tomb, looking for a body that wasn't there.
Could
all of these witnesses have conspired for the sake of a good
story? I suppose so. But from my armchair sleuthing, I have
discovered that most conspiracies are usually hatched for
the purpose of making the conspirators richer or safer for
their efforts. But what did the first century preachers of
the Resurrection get for their efforts? Well, a goodly number
of them got martyrdom and death. Certainly, none of them got
rich. For the friends of Jesus, things got worse (once they
started preaching the Resurrection), not better.
But the
most compelling reason that such appearances were on the up-and-up
grows out of the initial reactions of those who claimed to
have seen him. Far from overjoyed, most of them were scared
to death. And with good reason. For when Jesus died, a whole
lot of other things died with him. The ways in which they
failed him died. As you will remember, some fell asleep ...
some fell away ... some sold him out ... some stood him up.
But when he died, all of that went to the grave along with
his body. Assuming, that is, that Jesus stayed dead. But with
Jesus alive ... if he was alive ... all of the secrets that
were buried in the dark would now be exposed in the light.
I am sure
you heard of the burglar who entered a darkened house in the
middle of the night. With bag in hand, he was going around
picking up priceless articles that belonged to the occupants.
In the midst of that activity, he heard a voice, saying: "Jesus
is watching you." The burglar stopped dead in his tracks.
He didn't breathe for a full minute. Instead, he found his
flashlight and played it around the room. But he couldn't
see anybody. Thinking it was his imagination, he turned it
off and went back to work.
Just as
he was unhooking the stereo, he heard it again: "Jesus
is watching you." This time he nearly jumped out of his
skin. Beads of sweat popped out on his face. When he finally
found his flashlight, he spotted a birdcage in the far corner.
Upon closer inspection, he discovered that it held a parrot.
Walking over the parrot, he said: "Are you the one that
just spoke to me?" The parrot answered: "Yes, I
am." The burglar said: "Why did you say to me that
Jesus was watching me?" To which the parrot said: "I
just thought you needed to be warned."
By now
the burglar was over his fear and more than a little upset.
He said to the bird: "What is your name?" The bird
answered: "Moses." To which the man said: "And
what kind of people name their parrot Moses?" To which
the parrot responded: "The same kind of people who would
name their Rottweiler Jesus."
From Easter
morning forward, the appearance (or reappearance) of Jesus
has frightened people. Because if he is really around, not
only is the past reopened for evaluation, but the future is,
too. Go back to the disciples. If Jesus stays dead and buried,
all past failures are forgotten. And if Jesus stays dead and
buried, all future promises are null and void. They are free
to go wherever ... back to wives, girlfriends, old jobs, new
jobs, the Army, the Navy, or in search of more promising messiahs.
But if Jesus is really back, suddenly they have to own up
to everything they did ... everything they didn't do ... and
everything they promised to do. Given the fact that the crucifixion
was not exactly their shining hour, I imagine that word of
Jesus' return produced (in them) a few uneasy moments. Which
is how the Gospels wrote it up. If he's back, they have some
painful things to remember. And if he's back, they have some
demanding things to do.
But let
me pull you out of the first century to look at a more recent
public figure, whose rumored return from death never materialized,
but (as rumors go) has never quite been laid to rest in the
25 years since his passing. I am talking, of course, about
Elvis Presley. It is amazing to consider the religious aura
that continues to surface around Elvis, strange as that may
seem to those of us who cared little for him then (and less
about him now).
There
are still those who call him "The King" and remember
him in reverential tones. They portray him as the victim of
those who used him and then sold him out for greed. He is
recalled as a man who could move the masses, yet died pretty
much alone. He is credited with giving birth to a new rhythm,
a new musical idiom, and a new generation. For all of his
idiotic lyrics about "hound dogs" and "blue
suede shoes," he is venerated as a balladeer of love.
Moreover, the only "Grammies" he ever received were
for his recordings of gospel music and spirituals. Today,
thousands still make visits to his home in Memphis, describing
their treks in language commonly associated with pilgrimages.
And the name of that home in Memphis ... "Graceland."
None of
this would be worth talking about, had not otherwise-sane
people made periodic efforts to convince the rest of us that
Elvis was not really dead. Elvis "sightings" turned
up with regularity. Several years back, there were people
who claimed they saw him eating at a Burger King in Kalamazoo.
Others claimed to have seen images of Elvis outlined in the
condensation on their refrigerator door, traceable in a patch
of lawn clover, or framed in the sweat stain on a male undershirt.
All of
which is absurd. Elvis is dead. Elvis isn't coming back. And
the whole thing is ridiculous. So why did people keep looking
for him? You know the answer as well as I do. When Elvis was
alive, many of his fans were more alive than they are now.
Those days were wonderful. These days are less so. But were
he to come back, maybe these days could be wonderful again.
Nostalgia is always strongest among those who believe that
when time marches on, it does not march up. Looking back,
therefore, looks better.
Let me
pause for a minute to tell you about a man driving along a
country road. All of a sudden, he sees a farmer holding a
pig in the air under a tree. So he stops to take a closer
look. Which is when he notices that the farmer is holding
the pig up to eat an apple. As the pig finishes one apple,
the farmer moves him over and holds him under another. This
is repeated from branch to branch and from apple to apple.
The problem is, this is no small pig. The farmer is straining
away, sweating buckets. Finally the traveler gets out of his
car and says to the farmer: "That's a strange way to
feed a pig. Doesn't it take a lot of time?" "Sure
does," replies the farmer. "But what's time to a
pig?"
Well,
time may not be anything to a pig. But it's everything to
me. And whatever else time is, it's passing. How does the
hymn writer express it? "Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
bears all its sons away (and most of its daughters, too)."
And that stream seems to be getting faster and faster as I
get older and older. Early in my life, I could wade in that
stream with little regard for its current. But the day has
arrived when I find myself wanting to tie my body to the dock
for fear of getting swept up, unwillingly, in its flow.
I can
see why people might have wanted Elvis back ... not to rock
around the clock, but to roll back the clock. Except it won't
work. Were Elvis to return tomorrow, he'd be 66 years old
... and memory lane would have lost most of its luster and
magic. The past is not resurrectable.
Which
brings us, full circle, to Jesus. Jesus came back. But not
for the sake of the past. Had that been the case, he would
have stuck around longer ... seeing the old friends ... singing
the old songs ... in all of the old haunts ("I'll be
seeing you in all the old familiar places"). No ... not
quite.
So why
did he come back? You know that as well as I do. Jesus came
back, not for the sake of the past, but to take the sting
from the future.
Not long
ago, I read that (in all of life) there are only two operative
questions. The first is: "Wazzup?" (as in "What's
happening?"). When a baby first opens its eyes, it looks
around in such a way so that the words are literally written
on its face: "What's happening?" And from that day
forward, life's most elemental task consists in figuring out
what's going on around you.
The second
operative question is also learned in infancy: "Am I
going to be okay?" If the answer is yes, all other questions
become easier to deal with. If the answer is no, even the
simplest question becomes difficult to deal with.
The Resurrection
comes (to all who experience it) as the ultimate endorsement
that we are going to be okay. It is a word that says: "The
worst thing that can happen is small potatoes compared to
the best thing that has already happened." The Resurrection
is God's "yes" to life, and God's "yes"
to us. You cannot be held down forever. You cannot be held
back forever. You cannot be held against your will forever.
Which means that Jesus doesn't have to stick around, once
he certifies the promise. He's got other trails to blaze.
Which leaves you wanting more of him. But which also leads
you to want (and ask) more of yourself.
That's
why the ultimate argument for the Resurrection has always
consisted in the change that the Resurrection produced in
the lives of those who believed it. Not because life suddenly
brought more to them, but that they suddenly brought more
to life.
It's important
to remember that. For tomorrow morning, the post-Easter world
will still look pretty much like the pre-Easter world. The
poor will still be poor. The homeless will still be homeless.
The jobless will still be looking for work. Victims will still
lay, half naked, under sheets in every emergency room in the
county. Assault rifles will still be available for purchase
in the underground economy. People will still shove funny
stuff up their noses. Some kid will break his parent's heart.
Some parent will break his kid's skull. And Jerry Springer
will still interview a bunch of people who would rather make
love with zebras than humans. But the Resurrection says: "No
matter how much is piled on top of us ... or in front of us
... its totality shall not be sufficient to defeat us."
Every
five years, Reader's Digest reruns a new version of
an old, old story. Car turns over. Child is pinned beneath
its weight. And some 105-pound woman, who can't ordinarily
bench press a rolling pin, lifts 3600 pounds of metal off
the legs of the little kid. Later on, even under hypnosis,
she can't duplicate the feat. Was it fear? Hardly! Fear paralyzes
... immobilizes ... stops you in your tracks. No, it wasn't
fear that enabled her to lift the car. Rather, it was the
incredible focusing of energy, blocking out everything that
would drain or divert it, zeroed in upon an objective that
was deemed (at that very moment) to be the single most important
thing in the world.
My friends,
let me tell you this. At the height of disillusionment ...
and in the depth of despair ... Jesus greeted a small cadre
of friends who had every reason to believe him dead, and provided
a focus that enabled them to lift the world and turn it upside
down. Which he is still doing today ... with those not otherwise
grave sitting at Graceland or whiling away their afternoons
at the Burger King in Kalamazoo.
Long live
the King!
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