Taking Easter Personally

Scripture: "But the angel said to women, 'Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised ..." Matthew 28:5

From the beginning, the world tried to corner Him. To trap Him. To destroy Him.

When He was still an infant, Herod sent spies looking for Him to murder Him. When that didn't work, the tyrant tried to co-opt the three wise men in their search for Him. When that failed, too, Herod slaughtered all of the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and younger.

Not long after He entered his ministry, the religious and political authorities went after Him. They tried to trap Him with tricky questions about doctrine. They tried to corner Him with words of scripture. They tried to provoke Him into denying the power of Rome.

The truth He spoke inspired his followers. But it also made people angry. So sometimes hostile crowds tried to corner Him, to trap Him, to confront Him. But, somehow, He always slipped away.

And then a ridiculous cornering: a betrayal in the night, taking Him as though He had been hiding from the world. We can almost imagine a wry smile on Jesus's face when He points out to them that it is not as though they have trapped Him. He was just there--standing, waiting, knowing.

Then a terrible time of reckoning. Mocked. Tortured. Crucified. Killed. And everyone thought: well, there is no escaping this time. It seemed finally finished, even to some of the disciples.

But when that stone was rolled away, an unthinkable and unimaginable Truth was made known. Even in death He was not cornered, trapped, destroyed. Even death itself failed to capture Him.

Easter brings with it many lessons. I would never presume to tell you how you should experience it. That is something to be worked out in a quiet conversation between you and God.

But I will offer this, for what it is worth. It may be that for you the most important lesson of Easter is that, if you will have faith, then you are never cornered, never trapped, never destroyed.

Perhaps this is hard for you to believe. Maybe some part of your life has you feeling as if there is no exit. An illness. Economic struggles. Bad choices. An abusive relationship. A deep sadness from loss. Loneliness. Depression.

But when the sun came up today, Easter morning had this to say to you:

You are not cornered.

You are not trapped.

You are not destroyed.

The most powerful force in the universe knows your name, knows where you are, knows what you need, and knows your way forward.

Open yourself to it. Listen for it. Experience it. Embrace it. It is the Truth that He promised would set you free.

Good morning, you blessed Easter people.

He is risen.

He is risen, indeed.

And so, by the power and grace of God,

are you.

Amen.

In Witness Shouting and Silent

Scripture: Luke 19:29-40

        In Chelsea, Michigan, we know a thing or two about parades.  Take, for example, our Christmas electric light parade.  It gives you a little bit of everything.  There are rows of school marching band members playing festive tunes; floats featuring carolers, preschoolers dressed like elves, and a nativity scene; and busloads of merry senior citizens wearing Santa hats and belting out “Jingle Bells.”  The first year I attended the parade, the Common Grill restaurant sent someone to participate who was adorned in a lobster costume, covered with a strand of tiny twinkling Italian light bulbs.  I was new to town, but I couldn’t help spontaneously calling out “Christmas Lobster, thank God you’re here!”  Without missing a beat, the woman standing next to me responded “Now do you believe?!”

        Or take our beloved Chelsea Fair Parade.  How could this parade possibly be better?  It starts with the proud veterans who served our country.  Then you get the marching bands; the twirlers and the gymnasts; the equestrian team; the local political leaders and the aspiring candidates; men in helmets in giant fire trucks—and men in fezzes on tiny motorcycles; a vast array of antique cars and tractors; floats proudly bearing the wreckage of the demolition derby and the figure eight; our citizens of the year; the fair queen; Frisbees tossed from the window of an old hearse; bag loads of incoming candy that rain on you like hailstones; and a semi rig full of Jiffy products that helpers cheerfully distribute to the crowd.  Indeed, as you look up and down Main Street you can see our entire community united in a single, common goal: to bring home a few free boxes of corn muffin mix.

        In the passage we read this morning, the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem has some of the festive craziness we associate with all great parades.  The disciples stacked the colt high with their cloaks and seated Jesus atop them.  As he rode along, people rushed before him to spread their cloaks in his path.  People were shouting joyfully and celebrating and enjoying themselves.  Luke makes a point of expressly telling us that this was all very loud—although I think we could have guessed as much.

Luke also tells us that the Pharisees—who never failed to protest when something good was happening—complained to Jesus about the racket.  Jesus responded by saying: “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”  This apparently left the Pharisees dumbstruck, because we hear nothing more from them for the time being.  And we can understand why.  The response that Jesus makes is rich in meaning—or, more accurately, meanings.

To begin, it is interesting to note that Jesus phrased his response conditionally: “if these were silent.”  I take this to be a less confrontational way of saying: “You want to silence them?  Go ahead and give it a try!  Knock yourself out!  It’s not going to happen!”  But Jesus artfully glides right past this point, because the time for confrontation has not yet arrived.  That moment will come when Jesus enters the Temple—His Father’s House—and drives out those who are selling things there.    

So Jesus continues: “the stones would shout out.”  Now, this is a remarkable statement for several reasons.  First, the statement underscores that the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem has a divine inevitability to it; the unfolding events are under the power of God, not of mankind, and their course will not be altered by human beings—whether crowds of rooting disciples or clusters of skeptical Pharisees.  Second, the statement makes clear that the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem will be celebrated with shouts of joy—whether they come from women and children and men or from the very earth itself.  And, finally, the statement reinforces the idea that the Pharisees should stop whining and get accustomed to the noise.  Indeed, as Easter teaches us, the greatest cries of triumph and amazement are yet to come.

This is, of course, one of the ways in which we are sometimes called to bear witness: loudly; extravagantly; in our grand and proudest voices; maybe even a little crazily.  “Enthusiasm” has its root in Greek words that literally mean “God inside”—and that is how the spirit occasionally moves us: vigorously, demonstratively, dancingly, with arms and voices raised.   Abraham Lincoln once declared that when he heard a man preach “he liked to see him act as if he were fighting bees,” and from time to time that is how we must go about this business of living our faith, showing our faith, celebrating our faith.      

But there are other ways as well, and to highlight them we need look no further than to this story as it is told by Luke.  But, first, permit me a brief digression to talk about how the other gospel writers report the story.  All of them tell it; each of them tells it differently; and, in my view, this story serves as a sort of theological Rorschach test that reveals the principal interest of the individual gospel writers.

When Matthew tells the story, he exhibits his characteristic preoccupation with the fact that Jesus was fulfilling a Hebrew prophecy.  This probably helps explain why Matthew says that Jesus rode into Jerusalem on both a donkey and a colt—that is what the prophecy described—though he pays little attention to how these animals were obtained or, for that matter, how one person can ride on two of them at the same time.  Mark, with characteristic efficiency, omits the donkey from the story altogether and explains that a group of bystanders allowed the colt to be taken.  John, for whom Jesus is always the sole focus of attention, has Jesus go find the donkey himself!

But look at what Luke, our master storyteller, does here.  He introduces us to some of the great unsung heroes of the gospels.  He does not tell us their names, their gender, their ages, their social status, or their vocations.  He gives us only a brief and indirect glimpse of them, almost flirtatious in its subtlety: “As the disciples were untying the colt, its owners asked them, ‘Why are you untying the colt?’  And the disciples said, ‘The Lord needs it.’”  And then from those people—the owners who readily surrendered their colt on the strength of nothing more than a suggestion that the Lord was in need of it—we hear absolutely nothing more.  

This, too, is how we are sometimes called to bear witness: softly, quietly, cooperatively, sacrificially, instantly, unhesitatingly.  We hear the voice of the Lord say “this is what I need” and we simply give it up.  In all candor, I think that this is some of the toughest witnessing we do.  We can all throw ourselves into some good-old-fashioned palm-waving when the spirit moves us.  But hearing God’s call and untying our prized colt—whatever that means in our lives—is something else altogether.  Through this short and apparently insignificant reference to the owners of the colt, Luke brilliantly reminds us of one of the questions Jesus invites us to ponder over and over again:

Where is our treasure? 

Where is our treasure?

Brothers and sisters in Christ, we are fond of saying that we are an Easter people—and so we are.  We believe in an empty tomb.  We believe in the resurrection.  We believe in life beyond this life, life beyond suffering, life beyond time, life beyond imagining.

But there is no getting to Easter without walking the hard and sometimes discomforting pathways of Lent.  It is a season of tough questions.  And, today, in the midst of our joyful celebration and our waving of palms, it asks this one: What will you say when the Lord says that He has need of something that you have, something that you can contribute, something that you can do, or, perhaps most importantly, something that you are?

Amen.