April 12, 2015 John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After Jesus said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When Jesus had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then Jesus said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

******************************************************************************

There is a photograph from last summer of my closest friend Lisa and me in the first minutes of seeing each other. We are sitting on her hammock, but the excitement reads like a track stadium before the starting gun. Every muscle in our bodies, from our smiles to our fingers, is taunt with the unbelief that the moment has come and anticipation for the moments to come. My head is bowed in giggles, my shoulders toward my ears, a shyness of the overwhelming joy. Lisa is looking at me with a face that articulates our dialogue, “I cant believe you are here.” “I cant believe I am here.”

Conversely, yet relatedly, our drives to the airport are never our best moments. There are a million things to talk about but none seem worthy enough, nor short enough, for the thirty minutes before parting. Passenger and driver, we miss what one another is trying to say, trying to focus on the present, as the life without one another comes closer and closer, that it cant be ignored. Until, like yesterday pulling up to the gate, Lisa asked, “Its Southwest right?” and instead of answering, “Yes,” I started repeating, “I hate Southwest, I hate Southwest,” until tears bubbled up surprising me, the same type of swelling innate emotion as that first giggle.

I imagine for Thomas seeing Jesus, is kind of like two best friends on a hammock, to sit side by side is to see the marks that death and heartbreak have left, and the way the nails healed and the scars became lessons and learnings. I can see that Thomas wants the reassurance, not only of their friendship, but also of the health of his friend, Jesus. Moreover, Jesus had shown up to Mary and the disciples, but Thomas missed out, and perhaps his feelings are hurt, perhaps that's why his response sounds as it does. Perhaps this scripture isn't doubting Thomas, but hurting Thomas. “I hate Southwest, I hate Southwest.” On that airport drive yesterday, I thought about what it will be like when I am too old or frail to travel, to no longer be able to sit side by side. I told myself, in denial, that it will never happen or technology will figure something out. At that moment, I said to Lisa, “Tentative fourth of July in LA?” It helped to know or at least to have an idea.

But the difference between Thomas and Jesus, and Lisa and I, is Thomas has to try to remain in relationship with someone he will never again see, at least side by side. Blessed are those that carry on without future plans but rest in the hope and belief that relationship still remains. This is what Jesus is asking Thomas. To still be connected even though they won't be for so, so long. Thomas is not that different from we in this sanctuary. We do not get to see Jesus in the flesh, but we believe in him because we have heard the stories and see him in the flesh of our lives. We wait and we have to look for him in special, smaller ways. We see him walking him in the church as the kids are running in the church and talking about Manna. We see him in Fran walking in this morning with flowers to decorate the sanctuary and the family both church and biological who will not let a spot feel empty. We see them in little kids smiling and when we look up the entire congregation is doing likewise, and silly faces. We see them in announcements about Vacation Bible School and an Inquirers Class. We see them in Sharon, Tanya and Gundula’s preschool class with science project bunnies and kids all following in a line. We have to find Jesus alive before us in these ways, because he is not showing up in the way we perhaps want him to.

Examples from community…
Examples from the world…

And I think part of why Lisa and I are so close is because of the ways we sustain our friendship when we are apart. She sends me pictures of butterflies, which are my thing, and I send her ones of rainbows - which are hers. I send snail mail and she sends videos. Our text chain would tell the stories of our lives, and like Mark Twain’s autobiography, should only be published a hundred years after our passing for all the incriminating evidence that any two best friends share. We have dinner together over Skype and occasional dance parties. Sometimes we get busy with our own lives in our own places, but if the other leaves and I need to talk to you text, we will make time. I think Jesus is the same in those little moments where Jesus is making time, showing up in those little moments in the midst of our lives. Jesus is the same it just takes looking in a different way. We have the promise of tentative plans, that some day we will sit on hammocks side by side and see each other's stories of death and heartbreak and healing and lessons learned, but until that day, it takes sustaining the relationship moment by moment in the place where we are. It takes silly faces, it takes a gift of flowers, it takes youth reading us the dialogue of our text, it takes us here now. In those moments we are blessed. Blessed are we that do not see but still believe. Blessed are you in this sanctuary with the hope of seeing Easter again and again each day.

April 5, 2015 Mark 16: 1 – 8

When the sabbath was over, 

Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome 

bought spices, so that they might go and anoint Jesus. 

And very early on the first day of the week, 

when the sun had risen, 

they went to the tomb. 

They had been saying to one another, 

“Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” 

When they looked up, 

they saw that the stone, which was very large, 

had already been rolled back. 

As they entered the tomb, 

they saw a young man, 

dressed in a white robe, 

sitting on the right side; 

and they were alarmed.

But he said to them, 

“Do not be alarmed; 

you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, 

who was crucified. 

He has been raised; he is not here. 

Look, there is the place they laid him. 

But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; 

there you will see him, just as he told you.” 

So they went out and fled from the tomb, 

for terror and amazement had seized them; 

and they said nothing to anyone, 

for they were afraid.

***

Each Easter season we start our worship by reciting the words, “He is risen,” and responding, “He is risen indeed,” but maybe our liturgy should instead echo silence. Maybe Easter isn't about fact, but about miracles and the unknown, about wonder and amazement. Maybe Easter isn't as sure as an answer, but instead as sacred as a promise. 

The scripture doesn't read like a science book, it reads like C.S. Lewis’, Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe, it reads like Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. It reads like a story written to point to a greater story, the story of humanity and its intersection with the divine. The scripture begins, very early, when the sun had risen, the women came. They came in the morning when their eyes were adjusting from sleep’s haze. They came in morning when the fields were shedding their covers of dew, as shadowed beams light streaked patches of ground - dry. They came in the time of mourning, where tears blotched their view, and their steps were taken but by ritual, the gait of processing onward, without outward purpose, but with inward resolve, pacing to anoint, pacing toward the tomb. Their minds were muddled by grief, walking toward a locked door without a key, a tomb covered by a very large stone, and they looked up.

They saw the boulder rolled away. Still too early ask details, too insignificant yet for explanation, a tomb too unfamiliar to recognize the unfamiliar, they entered in, past the light of daybreak, and into the cave’s sleeping shadow, where darkness surrounds. Into that deep dark formless and void, they moved forward, hoping their eyes would adjust to a world before the dawn. But instead, like a match to a candle, a man’s white robe shown before them. 

Of course they were alarmed, an unexpected waking. His reassurance like a steading, grounding hand touching their shoulder, “Do not be alarmed.” Reminding them where they had awoken, “You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.” And in the promises of pillow talk, “He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.” And then perhaps too many directions for so early on the first day of the week. “But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”

“So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” 

This is not the people shouting and responding, “He is risen,” and “He is risen, indeed.” It is the pause, stillness and held breath, after an aria, when the busy world is hushed, before the clapping begins. It is the quiet of waking before the alarm and hearing the solo of one songbird out the window, before it is joined by the chorus. It is the crocus that sprouted a month ago despite this morning’s snow. It is this morning’s fat whimsy flakes and the paradoxical predicament of Easter Dresses worn with boots. It is a generous scholarship matched by gracious humility. It is a funeral’s standing room only overflowing into the adjacent room. It is loves and fishes that multiply so that there is enough food to feed the multitude. It is a bow perfectly tied around a glass vase of purple tulips. It is the surprise of a dozen friends all showing up by happen stance to the same dinner spot and the pulling over of more chairs. It is pulling over to push a stranded women’s car out of an intersection and who else shows up but another friend and her new crush you hadn’t met. It is having met someone once, a year before, and their gave feedback on this sermon. It is me actually liking the Easter text. It is the youth frantically folding, and two congregants early this morning, hanging butterflies before anyone arrived. It is awe, it is wonder, it is quiet, and unexplained. 

Jesus didn’t come in the flesh for which the women had brought spices. Instead, all that is tangible is an empty tomb and the place where they laid him. In coming for closure they received an open-ended promise of an eternal being. Told to go and tell his disciples, the women left in silence and said nothing to anyone. Yet, today, we begin our worship, “He is risen,” “He is risen, indeed.” Perhaps what we know, is as much fact is to story, as silence is sound. Perhaps it is more than knowing, more than believing, more than faith. Perhaps Easter is about hope, and promise, and the joy of wonder unexplained.