He Is Risen

Sermon manuscript for Sabbath, April 4, 2015

at Green Lake Church, Seattle.

Texts:  Isaiah 11:1-9, Luke 23:50-24:11

Thursday morning, before dawn, I was at my usual spot on the west side of Green Lake watching for the dawn. The sky dark because the sun was still below the horizon. Further darkening the gloom were thick clouds and a pouring rain. Not the standard Seattle mist and drizzle. This was real rain. Great drops dimpling the surface of the lake in front of me. I could feel water running down my rain pants into my shoes. I was tempted to bail, get back on my bicycle and finish my morning prayers in the warm comfort of my office. But I knew I was going to preach today about waiting and hope, so I had to stick it out.

One of the many privileges I enjoy as a pastor is being paid to watch for the dawn. Every morning you pay me to take my seat in the darkness and watch the sunrise. Some mornings, all that happens is the black-gray sky becomes a little less dark. Night time becomes day time, sort of. Thursday, sitting there in the rain under a lead-gray sky, I wondered, will the sun really rise? Will it break through?

I rehearsed the words of blessing: Grace and peace. I prayed grace and peace for the people who came to my mind, friends dealing with cancer, job loss, loneliness, unfulfilled desires for their children, grief. I recalled people I met at Aurora Commons facing homelessness because their Taco Bell wages don't equal rent. People dealing with various forms of mental illness.

I sat in the darkness with my friends and God, praying grace and peace.

Then it happened. The sun pierced the clouds. Spangles of light rippled across the lake. Blue sky spread. The darkness was gone.

I pulled out my phone and took a few pictures, climbed on my bike and headed into my day.

It's my job to watch for the dawn.

Yes, darkness happens. Sometimes, here in the Northwest, the gloom is so oppressive that there is a clinical term for its effect: Seasonal affective disorder. But the light is coming.

Most people are too cumbered with obligations to give their full attention to the sunrise. Getting the kids ready for school, getting yourself to the office on time, those are inescapable duties. Perhaps by the time the sun wakes up, you're already behind the pharmacy counter at the back of Safeway or deep in a Boeing plant miles from the nearest window. And even if there were a window nearby, you are not paid to gaze out the window. So, every morning, I watch and bear witness to the light.

In a larger sense, this is the calling of the church. We watch for the dawning of the light. We are called to be celebrants of the light. Our annual celebrations of Christmas and Easter are celebrations of the light.

Yes, darkness happens. There is drought in California and ISIS in the Middle East. Our friends are dealing with cancer and we are mourning the loss of loved ones. So, we come to church and remind ourselves and the world: He is risen. The last word is not death but resurrection. Not defeat but the triumph of goodness.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

The heart of our religion is not a tomb. It is not a crucifix or the crucifixion. Those things are reminders that good life, even the best life, includes heart break and disappointment, injustice and failure. Darkness happens. Evil happens. Murders and mayhem, war and disaster wreak havoc. But the final word of our faith, the ultimate word, is resurrection. New life.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

In the Gospel of Luke we read that late Friday after Jesus had died, a rich man named Joseph went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.

Ordinarily, the bodies of people who were condemned to crucifixion were discarded in the garbage dump. But Joseph requested the Roman governor to allow him to provide a proper burial for Jesus. If we were watching the movie, we would feel the tension accompanying the request. We would be hoping with Joseph that Pilate would grant the request. We would have already watched Pilate cave in to the demands of the mob and condemn Jesus to death even though he knew Jesus' accusers were lying through their teeth.

Knowing that Pilate is a weak man and maybe an evil man, we expect him to say no. But we also see Joseph's obvious status. Joseph is used to hearing yes.

So how is it going to play out? Yes or no? Is Pilate going to bend to the blood thirst of the high priest or the goodness and political clout of Joseph. Will Pilate grant Joseph Jesus' body?

Joseph wins. Pilate says yes.

A large group of women was present at the cross. They watched men wrap Jesus in a burial shroud provided by Joseph. They followed the men as they carried Jesus to the tomb. They saw Jesus placed in the new tomb, a room carved into a limestone outcrop. Then, since it was about sundown, they headed home.

The darkness was complete. Goodness had been smashed. Evil had triumphed.

Early Sunday morning the women headed back to the tomb. One way we cope with death is to say a proper farewell. Grief is the inescapable cost of love, and expressing our grief is part of continuing to love the one who is gone. The women were heartbroken at Jesus' death. Unlike the men who were still hiding in their upper room worried about whether they would be next in line to be arrested, the woman cared only about saying a proper farewell.

Part of Jewish custom was to pack the body with spices. There had been no time to accomplish this on Friday, so at first light on Sunday, the women headed out with their spices to show final honor to the man who had been their hero.

When they arrived at the tomb, to their astonishment, the tomb was open. The great stone which had closed the entry was rolled to the side.

Cautiously, they peeked inside. Nothing. They stepped inside for a closer look. No, Jesus was not there. They clustered together, jabbering, questioning each other, wondering, when suddenly two men in dazzling garments were standing there with them. Angels or gods? Magicians?

Startled, terrified, the women fell on their faces to pay obeisance to these supernatural beings.

Then the men spoke. “Why are you looking for Jesus here?” they asked. “This is a cemetery.”

Which reveals a certain divine sense of humor. Why were the women looking for Jesus HERE? Because this is where they last saw him. They had watched Joseph and the other men place Jesus in this very tomb late Friday afternoon. So, of course, they looked for him here.

“Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” the angels asked. Again, a bit of divine humor until we realize it's a rhetorical question. Then just in case the women did not understand, the angel said, “He is not here. He is risen.

“Don't you remember?” the angel continued. “Remember what he told you while he was still up north in Galilee? Remember how he said he was going to be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise again. Don't you remember?”

As the reality of the empty tomb and the angel's words sank in, the women did remember. They jumped to their feet jabbering, laughing, hugging each other. “He's not dead. He's alive! Let's go tell the guys.”

They ran back to the city, to the room where Peter and John and the other guys were hanging out.

“Jesus is alive!” the women shouted. “We were at the tomb. It's open and empty. We saw angels. They told us Jesus is alive. Don't you remember what he said when we were still in Galilee? That he was going to be arrested and crucified and would rise again on the third day? Don't you remember?”

The men did not remember. They did not believe. Though I will give them this: Peter and John did not dismiss what the women said. It was unbelievable, of course. Who ever heard of the dead rising from the grave? Still, Peter and John raced off for the tomb to check it out. That's something.

It turned out the women were correct. The tomb was empty. Jesus was gone. And not just gone. Jesus was risen. The last word was not crucifixion. The last word was not burial. The final word was not grief but celebration. He's alive.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

This is heart of our religion. God's last word is resurrection. God's loudest word is resurrection.

It's easy to obsess over the darkness. When you're sitting in the dark and the rain is pouring down, dawn seems impossible or at least improbably remote.

Our calling as devotees of Jesus is to keep watching for the dawn. Don't study the darkness. Let's not become experts in human failure. Let's make sure our greatest expertise is the cultivation of hope. Let's master the skills of healing and creating, making and building, soothing and feeding. That's the call of the resurrection.

One of the deepest truths that flow from the resurrection, maybe the most challenging of all the teachings of Jesus, is this: God's final word is not death, but resurrection, restoration, reconciliation, mending the world, making things new.

When we become aware of human evil, human brokenness, human failure, where does our imagination take us? Do we imagine that the remedy is death.

When we hear of a murder, we want someone killed. We hear about the chaos, heart-break, injustice, cruelty in Syria, we are tempted to imagine the wise response is bombs and drones and missiles and Special Forces. Some of us are tempted to imagine the remedy for deadly ideologies is more death—death administered by the United States instead of by President Assad or ISIS or one of the dozens of local militias? It's tempting to imagine that killing is the path to peace.

What is God's imagination in response to the deadly chaos of the Middle East? Resurrection. New life. People healed and made righteous. God does not dream of obliterating the people in the Middle East. God dreams of healing.

As devotees of Jesus we are called back again and again to the resurrection. We are invited to meditate on God's response to deadliness and death—resurrection.

Let me apply this closer home. Have you ever hurt someone else? Have you blundered in ways that left you crippled with guilt and shame? Do you find yourself wondering if God wishes you would go away? Do think God's response to your failure is eradication? Annihilation? Do you imagine God is as scornful of your failure as you are or your ex-wife is or you children are or your parents are?

Please hear the message of the resurrection: God's response to human failure—your failure, your parents' failure, your spouse's failure—God's response to failure, no matter how grievous, is resurrection.

To echo the words of our OT reading, when God looks at the problem of lions eating lambs, his remedy is the transformation of lions, not a program of eradication. When God sees the problem of cobras biting children, God does not get rid of the snakes, he transforms them into friends of children. When God sees your capacity for doing harm, when God reviews your actual track record of doing harm, God does not imagine a future without you. God imagines a future where you are restored to the full glory God intended in creation. God dreams of resurrection for you.

This is the message of the Gospel of Luke: He is risen. And with him, we are risen.

He is risen.

He is risen, indeed.