Listen, I will tell you a
mystery!
We will not all die, but we will
all be changed,
in a moment, in the twinkling of
an eye, at the last trumpet.
For the trumpet will sound, and
the dead will be raised imperishable,
and we will be changed.
For this perishable body must put
on imperishability,
and this mortal body must put on
immortality.
When this perishable body puts on
imperishability,
and this mortal body puts on
immortality,
then the saying that is written
will be fulfilled:
“Death has been swallowed up in
victory.”
“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”
The sting of death is sin, and
the power of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God, who gives
us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Therefore, my beloved, be
steadfast, immovable,
always excelling in the work of
the Lord,
because you know that in the Lord
your labor is not in vain.
***
Did you know every Sunday is
considered a little Easter; that a week’s time mirrors the church year? Did you
know that we are called An Easter People, not just one day of the year, where
we celebrate Christ’s rising and the forgiveness of our sins, but everyday we
are an Easter people. That there isn’t a moment, not even as small as the
twinkling of an eye, or as big as the rattle of our last breath, that God is
not victorious and we are not changed.
Last week church felt like Good Friday, as if Jesus was already walking to the cross to hang
there with our every burden. Our jitney of prayer requests included, Kim Berry,
a stalwart congregant who had died late the night before, Yvonne Pouget relayed
about her cancer, Sharon Defrees lifted prayers for her daughter in law’s dying
father, June Gallaway asked prayers for her close friend with cancer, and for
the first time during prayer requests, I, your pastor literally choked back
tears, a visiting friend remarked, “Is it like this every Sunday? I should have
brought tissues.” I assured her it wasn’t, because I knew there was Easter too,
that even in those pews were stories of births to come. This week I made a very
unKaty decision, the family put together the funeral bulletin and added a poem
entitled, “Butt Prints in the Sand,” which riffed off the equally theologically
problematic, “Footprints in the Sand,” one cheesy poem where the moments where
there is only one set of footprints Jesus is carrying you, and the other, where
Jesus says, “So I got tired, I got fed up, and there I dropped you on your
butt.” It was the anthesis of everything I was trying to preach that day, and
today too, and perhaps every Sunday, but the sentiment of humor was spot on.
The humor of it, was that we are an Easter people, and that we can have this
very serious thing called a funeral, and remember the promise that God is with
us in life and in death, and on the back of the bulletin, we can laugh. There
is the victory, that as an Easter people, death does not have the final say,
instead we have the last laugh. There was a quitter victory too, of Fran Burgess,
able to attend her first funeral since her husband’s death. Her small frame
almost disguising the courage of her steps. Steps that move forward from
death’s sting, and remember we are an Easter people. After both the Sunday
Service and the funeral June Galloway was embracing and sharing her joy of the
outdoors. She had found and gotten bunnies to run in front of preschool Sydney on the church snow
day up at Anthony. When I had entered the Sydney’s
Sunday School class she came up to my knees and as I bet down she told me in
her little slow quiet voice how she had seen a bunny the day before. Her eyes
twinkling, more magical than had the creature been pulled out a magician’s hat.
Then after the funeral June was making plans with Roxanna to go owl searching.
They had a palpable excitement which surprised me. Here was June, whose friend
was suffering with cancer, and yet she too was remembering that we are an
Easter people, that in the midst of life and death there is a trumpet sound
even in the quietness of a snow-white hare, or hoot of an owl.
I saw Yvonne in Safeway, and
stopped to give a hug. And there I was teary again, as she told me with arms
clasped in joy, that she was cancer free. We are an Easter people. Then in the
Christian Education meeting, Sharon, who keeps her daughter in law’s father and
family in deepest prayer, said she needed to scoot out early, Dallas, her
daughter had received her wedding dress in the mail, and wanted to try it on.
We are an Easter people despite the presence of Good Friday.
Perhaps we live in the balance of
Good Friday and Easter. When I was a hospital chaplain I
would hold the hands of a family and circle around the bed of the their
deceased beloved and we would pray for the newly departed. After the time was
done, I would walk down the corridor and down a few floors to where the babies
were born. Again I would circle around a little isolate with new parents and we
would pray blessings upon the newest addition. I think as Christians we live in
that corridor time, where there is both Good Friday and
there is also Easter, where there is death and there is life. To be an Easter
people means that we don't just sit forever beside the deceased, it means with
courage we walk along that corridor knowing that death is not the only or final
answer, we go to a funeral after the death of our husband, we find bunnies in
the snow and watch our daughters try on wedding dresses, and we clasp our hands
in the grocery store knowing that Jesus does not remain on the cross. To be an
Easter people means that the Lord is victorious and that God is giving us new
life in this moment and in the next. To be an Easter people means it cannot be
Good Friday forever, it is only Easter forever. In this
we shall walk forth. Thanks be to God.
