As a progressive, I believe there are many names for God and many ways to God – this article reflects one of those ways. Take from here what works for you. Celebrate life with joy and peace!
Recently coming back from a trip-of-a-lifetime to Australia, the conversation came up, “What do you do for a living?” I’m a pastor of a progressive Christian church that’s vibrant and inclusive and engages in social justice around the world. “Oh, that’s interesting” was the typical response.
You see, not many people go to church in Australia. When I asked more about that, the answer was consistently, “We are generally skeptical of church; our religion is sports and exercise.” Now that can be nice and there sure were a lot of beautiful people there to prove that!
Maybe you can identify with the Aussies. So, I ask you, why would you go to a house of worship and not a skeptics club?
Each of us has our own answer to this question, and I don’t want to try to answer it for you, but maybe there’s a thread connecting many of our answers; that we are at church because we are looking for something, something that is missing.
I’ve been in homes with families who are missing something; missing someone – a mother, a child, a father. When a loved one is taken from us, their absence is so acutely felt it almost takes on a presence in and of itself.
When grieving families invite me into their space, I sense the empty space left behind even in the middle of the hustle and bustle of grief – the visitors, ringing phones, deliveries of food and flowers.
I’ve also known that emptiness in my own life in the loss of my dear mother. And that grief can take us to a place where we have an irrational anticipation that “this isn’t real” and they’ll call us announcing their return from a fabulous vacation, all the while knowing this won’t happen.
It’s painful to think about these things, and this morning I wonder if experiences of terrible heartbreak, and we all have them, help us to make a connection back in time; way, way back, long before the beloved Easter hymns were written, long before Easter baskets and our Sunday best. Maybe our experience of loss takes us all the way back to the very first Easter.
The very first Easter. To be honest, we don’t know that much about what happened, and the skeptic in us is right to question the historical accuracy of the Gospels. But let’s just imagine the narrative.
It was the first Easter. Jesus’ followers were still learning, still figuring out who he was and what they were supposed to do about it. Their faith was fragile and in process, and there were no rules about how to behave or feel on Easter; everyone just reacted to the unfolding event.
This morning, I invite you to join me in focusing on Mary Magdalene. For her, Easter begins with the fright of her life. The tomb is empty and the body of her Lord, her friend, has disappeared. All she has is a desecrated grave. Horrible! Tragic! And when the other disciples who were with her returned home, Mary stayed in the garden, alone, distraught, weeping outside the tomb.
Up until this point, the story is very true to life. This scene we just replayed is repeated over and over again, in hospital rooms and homes, in war zones and streets. And at this very moment, countless women and men are weeping in the face of unimaginable loss and cruelty; and for many of them, their cries go unheard and unacknowledged.
So, here is where the resurrection narrative veers from life as we know it. Here is where it moves into the miraculous and the supernatural, with angels and the risen Christ appearing to Mary.
Here is where the story cannot be defended from a scientific or historical point of view. Maybe that’s part of the problem that we progressive-minded, postmodern churchgoers have; we assume the story needs defending in order to be true.
Rev. Abigail, a UCC minister in Minneapolis was once asked, point blank in front of a group of people, whether she believed in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. She said, “I don’t know; I don’t think it’s my job to know.”
Of course, there were a lot of people who weren’t satisfied with her answer; they figured it was in her job description, as a minister, to have a definitive answer to these things. She goes on to say, “Sorry to disappoint, but I wouldn’t want anyone to predicate his or her belief in the risen Christ on mine. Indeed, in my experiences of deepest faith, I identify less as some religious authority and more like Mary Magdalene in that garden, grief-stricken and confused. For it is at such times, when the world is disordered and expectations confounded, that I am most open to radical leaps of faith.”
How many can relate to her? I can. As the United Methodist theologian and pastor William Willimon observes, “The very first believer in the resurrection, the first to believe in the triumph of God, came there by the same path that you and I take – by not seeing the risen Christ.”
And just to be clear, we’re talking about more than the disappearance of Jesus’ body from the tomb. Mary fails to see Jesus moments later when he’s standing right in front of her. She mistakes the one she has lost, the one whom she so deeply grieves, for the gardener!
So you might ask, “How in the world does she not recognize Jesus?” But look at the truth here. Mary lives in a world where the worst possible thing has happened. How could she see anything but the cruel reality of death?
Now, Jesus doesn’t say to her, “Mary, don’t grieve. It’s me, Jesus! I’m alive!” If this was just a simple story, that’s probably what would’ve happened. But it doesn’t. Instead he asks, “Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?”
To us, the answer is painfully obvious, but remember, this is the first Easter. With his question, Jesus goes straight to the heart, that Mary is suffering and hurt and lost and alone. This is her truth. This is her reality.
He sees it. He acknowledges it, and this is the painful truth of human life; that we will lose those we love, and we will grieve. The story of the resurrection never claims it will be another way.
Now comes, for me, a beautiful miracle of the resurrection. Mary doesn’t see Jesus because he tells her his name. Instead, she finally recognizes him because he calls out hers. He calls her by name, and suddenly she gets it.
This, my friends, is beautiful. It’s not that we see, but that we are seen. We receive the great blessing of being seen. In the words of Colossians, “When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.”
Think about it. You are seen and recognized and loved and glorified. For all that you are, all that you were, and all that you will be! On this Easter, we celebrate what happened on the cross, and in the tomb and I invite you to also celebrate Mary’s encounter with Jesus.
Let’s recap. In this life, we are going to be hurt and grieve; there is a thin line between life and death, and, intimacy with God is possible, no matter how distant and mysterious that God may seem. God sees you and loves you and calls you by name.
Even if you’re a skeptic, let’s celebrate our holy skepticism. Let us be people who sing, even when we aren’t quite sure.
Christ the Lord is risen today! Alleluia!
Amen.
