resurrection

Sunday’s Sermon – We Are Witnesses – Acts 10:34-43, Luke 24:1-12 – Easter

April 21, 2019 Leave a Comment

“Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” This question, or one like it, marks the beginning of virtually every courtroom scene as a witness takes the stand. The answer implies a commitment to truth beyond just casual conversation. It is meant to spark the conscience, bringing an intentionality and gravity to the circumstances of the testimony. The stories shared by witnesses matter, and they are among the most powerful of all testimony, with each sharing their truth.

The story of Easter is one of witnesses. As Luke tells it, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and other women are amazed at the sight of the empty tomb and the news that Jesus is risen from the dead. It was unimaginable, and likely unbelievable to their eyes. As they try to wrap their heads around such a concept, they are helped by a jogged memory; Jesus had hinted at this before. They connect the dots, and the story, the whole story of Jesus of Nazareth, comes together. And together they bear witness to the most amazing revelation of all time.

But what happens when they share the news? The disciples brush it off. The word in the Greek is leros. It is translated by the NRSV as “idle tale,” with the dictionary offering “nonsense” or “empty talk” as additional options. The root is connected to our word for “delirious,” and Greek it is usually reserved to describe the ranting of a person suffering from delirium. This is not a word to be taken lightly. Karoline Lewis even suggests it may have been intended akin to how we would utter an expletive when someone tells us something that is so inconceivable that we’re sure that they are just making it up. It is a word used in the New Testament exactly one time – here in Luke 24. The eleven disciples, despite all that Jesus had said, and despite the compelling testimony from these women, did. not. believe. them.

Skepticism about such highly unlikely news as a man coming back from the dead is certainly a reasonable doubt. Eyewitness testimony is tricky. Studies show that it is heavily relied upon, but is highly unreliable[i]. It seems the more we learn about science and how the brain works, the less we can take into account how someone remembers any given event as factual truth. From the disciples to modern ears, our first response to news this radical also may be to write it off as nonsense. But, seeing as you’re here this morning, there must be something that draws you in a bit more. Maybe you too are poking your head into the empty tomb, you know, just in case there might be something to this report.

The power of the testimony of the women at the tomb was more than just an absence of a body. They were testifying to the fullness of the story of God’s incarnation and promise. They had remembered (verse 8) all that Jesus had taught them about who God was, is, and will be. Just as the tomb was broken open, so was the silence they had kept since standing at the foot of the cross. The story of a Savior could no longer be kept quiet. It had to be told, proclaimed, preached. This is the gospel. Good news that is worth repeating.

Our text from Acts is a continuation of their witness, with the author of the gospel of Luke describing how belief in Jesus Christ as Savior spread. Peter’s sermon, given here after his lifechanging, eye-opening dream and exchange with Cornelius, is his Easter testimony. In it, he recounts not just the empty tomb, but a complete and concise summary of Christ’s life and teachings. As Nancy Clare Pittman offers:

The boundless gift of the empty tomb cannot be separated from the words and actions of Jesus. Resurrection, after all, is not some buoyant ideal, unconnected to the real world. It is an invitation to live as Jesus lived, a doorway to a life in which meals are shared with enemies, healing is offered to the hopeless, prophetic challenges are issued to the powerful. Only now it is not Jesus who does these things – it is we ourselves who see at last the subversive power of the resurrection in order to live it now[ii].

The witnesses of Easter are not just recounting facts to us almost two thousand years later in these passages; they are inviting us to take our place in the story, in God’s story, so that perhaps we, too, might become witnesses to the resurrection. You may think about witnesses as just being in the courtroom but the truth is, we encounter testimony and witnesses almost every day. Have you ever looked up reviews for a product you are thinking about buying, or asked friends where the best place to go for brunch is? You are looking for witnesses. Have you shared a recipe, talked about a show you just discovered on Netflix, or passed along the name of a plumber or electrician? You have given testimony.

So, what would you say if asked about your faith, or what you believe about God or Jesus? Would you have a story spilling out of you like Mary Magdalene and Peter? Or, would you be more like a child who climbs in the car after school and answers the question “so, what did you learn/do at school today?” with a shrug and a “don’t know.” Articulating our own faith and experience of the risen Christ can feel overwhelming. And that’s normal. Amazement was the reaction of the women at the tomb at first, too. But the call of Easter is to move from our amazement into becoming witnesses. All of our “alleluias” should lead us into proclamation that Christ is indeed alive. The Resurrection isn’t just reporting on an event from the past; it’s a celebration of an active and present God in the world even today.

All around us are signs of resurrection and new life. The soggy ground has been nourished and softened, with fresh sprigs of green pushing through the soil. This week the world gasped and grieved at the sight of a fire in the cathedral in Notre Dame, France. As stories circulated about the immediate efforts to restore this iconic site, a movement began to raise awareness about some lesser-known houses of worship in Louisiana. About a month ago, fires consumed St. Mary Baptist Church, Greater Union Baptist Church, and Mount Pleasant Baptist Church within 10 days in St. Landry Parish, fires set in hatred by an arsonist to these African-American churches. As of last Sunday, a GoFundMe fundraiser had raised just below $50,000. After some politicians, activists, celebrities and journalists heard of the story in the wake of Notre Dame, the idea of helping out a bit closer to home caught on. By Wednesday morning, the total raised topped $1 million[iii].

A tragic story that could have been a blip on the radar, is now a story of hope as these communities rise up from the ashes. What made the difference? People willing to serve as witnesses and share the story.

Today, we gather to hear news once again of the empty tomb, and to remind ourselves of the greatness of this story. As those who have experienced the risen Christ, even here, even now, we too are witnesses to the transforming power of God. The question Easter asks of us is are we ready to take the stand and give testimony to that good news. May we find the words that speak truth to our experience of God in the world, and may our promise be sealed and affirmed in the words with which we greet each other this day. Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed. Amen.

~Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, Heritage Presbyterian Church, April 21, 2019 (Easter Sunday)

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[i] For additional insights, see articles such as https://www.simplypsychology.org/eyewitness-testimony.html, https://theconversation.com/new-research-reveals-how-little-we-can-trust-eyewitnesses-67663, or https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/do-the-eyes-have-it/. Accessed 4/16/20.

[ii] Nancy Claire Pittman, “Homiletical Perspective: Luke 24:1-12,” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

[iii] https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2019/04/17/after-notre-dame-fire-gofundme-ensured-black-churches-burned-louisiana-got-million-too/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.929af710b4f3

Sunday’s Sermon – Ghost Stories – Luke 24:36-48

April 15, 2018 Leave a Comment

Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed!) Even though all of the Peeps and chocolate bunnies are now in the 75% off carts, we are still in the liturgical season of Easter, which spans 50 days from the Resurrection to Pentecost. It’s important that we think about Easter as more than just one day of celebration; a whole season of Eastertide prompts us to maintain the energy of those who first ran from the empty tomb. That’s why last week we participated in some “Holy Humor,” to keep the joy and energy of Easter alive. Even two weeks later, we should be brimming with excitement over the news of Christ’s resurrection. In fact, most theologians remind us that every Sunday is truly a celebration of the Resurrection, although practically speaking it can be hard to sustain that level year-round. Once the initial joy of the announcement fades, what happens next? That is what we explore in these 50 days.

For the disciples, the days after Christ’s crucifixion were a mixture of emotions. Many of them had fled the scene at the garden of Gethsemane and foot of the cross. We might imagine they huddled together in the shadows, trying to stay under the radar and out of sight lest they meet a similar fate. John’s gospel reveals them shutting out the rest of the world in a locked upper room, presumably from fear. But we know the gospel message continued to spread. Do you remember the refrain from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar? The apostles sing “what’s the buzz? Tell me what’s a happen’” over and over again. Post-resurrection we might imagine it being a bit more hushed, but with even more anxiety as they try to put the pieces of it all together. In Luke’s account of these days, just before this morning’s text, two disciples travel to Emmaus, and a stranger joins them to talk about it all. That stranger, of course, turns out to be the risen Christ, revealed in the breaking of bread. Almost immediately, Cleopas and the other disciple race back to Jerusalem, a 7 mile trip, to proclaim that “The Lord has risen indeed” (verse 34). This is the buzz where our text begins.

And, as if a stranger turning out to be Jesus isn’t exciting enough – in the appearance in today’s lesson, Jesus almost appears out of nowhere. “Surprise! Here I am!” aren’t quite his words, but rather words of peace, a reassurance for their anxiety and fear. Can you imagine? You know how when you’re talking about someone, even something good, and then they walk into the room unexpectedly? You are probably left a little speechless and lose your train of thought. Multiply that and you have a tiny sense of this moment. The disciples probably froze, and turned sheet white, as if they had seen a ghost. Because, despite the news they had been talking about, that is exactly what they perceived as happening; the development of yet another overwhelming ghost story.

Admittedly, I’m not too keen on the idea of ghost stories. I still get chills when I think about the many paranormal activity tv shows that used some semblance of science to examine abandoned haunted places, complete with shadowy images and ominous music in the background. There was even a show on Nickelodeon when I was a kid called Are You Afraid of the Dark? which involved a group of teenagers who formed “The Midnight Society” and each week told a different scary story to the group around a campfire, with nods to the classic Twilight Zone. Yeah, I couldn’t even watch that in the light of the afternoon. That said, I do love a good mystery or plot with twists and turns, and have enjoyed more than one historical ghost tour, as history and rumor intertwine. There are numerous kinds of “ghost stories,” almost to suit every taste, from classics like The Haunting to suspense like The Sixth Sense. Some people live for this kind of uneasiness and apprehension as the lines between fiction and reality are blurred. In fact, that’s what makes the most effective ghost story; when it is so close to being possible that it just might be true.

But there’s a flip side. In many cases, the stories unravel. Like at the end of Scooby Doo when a mask is pulled off and the monster is really a shopowner, or you go to investigate the scratching sound only to realize it’s a tree brushing against the window. Skepticism and closer examination often expose wild imaginations and outright fiction. I think, in part, this is why a story like we have in Luke 24 matters to us. For although the disciples think Jesus is a ghost, their assertion is proven wrong; not once, but twice. First, Jesus invites them to touch him and see that he is flesh and bone. This is not some apparition. They aren’t going to wave their arms through him. He is fully present with them. Here, Jesus affirms the incarnation. God isn’t just with the disciples in a spiritual sense; God dwells among them, and this includes the risen Lord too. In the flesh.

There is a bit of debate among theologians about what to make of the gospel claims of bodily resurrection. Some, like Marcus Borg, argue that the physical presence of Christ isn’t what is at stake with the resurrection, but rather the importance of the experienced reality of the post-Easter Jesus as the inspiration for the claim “Jesus is Lord.” In this perspective, a ghost story would have just as much significance for the disciples, and still leads to the same kind of new existence for those who believe in Christ. If the bones of Jesus were discovered somewhere, it would not shake the foundations of this faith, because it’s not the literal bones that matter. For others, though, this tangible nature of the risen Christ is essential. N.T. Wright notes that it matters because:

Resurrection implies at the very least a coming back to something that had been forfeited, that is, bodily life. . . [and] The deepest meanings of the resurrection have to do with new creation. If the stories are metaphors for anything, they are metaphors for the belief that God’s new world had been brought to birth[i].

He goes on to note that the return of the physical Jesus matters in the context of debate among first century Judaism about the notion of Resurrection, for the first Christians, certainly the disciples, would have framed their understanding of this even in light of their Jewish faith. Wright notes:

There was a spectrum of belief about life after death in first-century Judaism. The Sadducees, the ruling elite, denied a future life of any sort . . . Many Jews believed in a continuing life after death, but in a disembodied state that neither needed nor expected a future reembodiment. . . [while] Resurrection, for Pharisees, was thus part of their belief both in the goodness of the created, physical world and in the ultimate triumph of the justice of God.

As such, the understanding of Jesus’ bodily resurrection would have made a clear separation between this a simply a renewal movement within the Jewish faith, and a distinctly new way of understanding God’s fulfillment of the promises of the prophets. For this, among other reasons, Wright and others stand firmly behind the bodily resurrection as central to an understanding of the meaning of not just the Resurrection, but faith in Jesus Christ. It’s a spectrum of belief, really, and know that wherever you are you are in good Reformed theological company. And, if you’ve never really thought much about it one way or the other, or are content for it to simply be one of those things left to the great mystery of faith, you’re in good company as well. But texts like this open us to think about it a bit more. And while we don’t have to land on a definitive answer, in fact I’d argue that’s impossible, it can be helpful for us to identify where we are and how that may impact the framework of our experience of Easter and of living as one who professes Jesus Christ as our risen Lord.

In all conversations, the importance of the resurrection is affirmed. And, as Stephen Cooper notes:

To insist on the reality of the resurrected body is to demand that we accept our present reality as the place where transformations of ultimate significance take place[ii].

I think that’s what Jesus was trying to prove in his offering of his body to the disciples. That this wasn’t just some figment of their imaginations or hopes in the midst of despair. It was true and real. This matters to us, today, too. Our faith should not be something lost in fantasy or fiction. It should be grounded in the real and tangible experience of Christ among us. Our faith isn’t some theoretical idea. It is something we can touch.

So the disciples touch him and their joy begins to grow. But they still aren’t sure. You can imagine a glistening in their eyes, a turn of the head as they look at him again. Could this really be true? Jesus offers a second offer of proof, asking for something to eat. And he eats some broiled fish. Clearly this is something a ghost could not do. Now the disciples get it. Jesus puts the ghost story to rest, because there are other things he needs the disciples to hear. His offers of proof remove the distractions that otherwise would keep this as simply a fantastic ghost story of inspiration and wonder.

Just as Jesus is present with them, he calls them to embody this good news of resurrection and build upon what they know from scripture and his teachings and become witnesses to all that has been proclaimed, including the resurrection. Barbara Brown Taylor offers that this is how Jesus ushers in their new way of being. She writes:

After he was gone, they would still have God’s Word, but that Word was going to need some new flesh. The disciples were going to need something warm and near that they could bump into on a regular basis, something so real that they would not be able to intellectualize it and so essentially untidy that there was no way they could ever gain control over it. So Jesus gave them things they could get their hands on, things that would require them to get close enough to touch one another[iii].

He calls them to take on these teachings as a way of life together. Just as he has been transformed, resurrected, they too are to be changed in ways that impact their way of being in the world. That is the point of the gospel after all. That is the aim of Easter. To give those who would follow Christ, even the church, new life. One that is marked by tangible engagement with the Word, not just read and studied, but lived and breathed. And when we do that, we fully reflect the image of the risen Christ. As Barbara Brown Taylor notes:

In our embodied life together, the words of our doctrines take on flesh[iv].

For me, this is why it matters that our story in Luke isn’t just another ghost story or idle tale. Because if it is, we let it gloss over us like another fairy tale or fantasy. But doing so misses the impact of the resurrection. It trivializes it and makes it just some other moralistic tale. Instead, the risen Christ comes among us and calls us to reach out, touch and see that this is no ghost. Because if we can allow for a God who puts on flesh himself, even after death, we might just have a faith that we can touch, too. May it be so.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 15, 2018

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[i] Marcus J. Borg and N.T. Wright, The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions, (San Francisco, CA: HarperCollins, 1999).
[ii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Theological Perspective: Luke 24:36b-48,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008).
[iii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Practice of Wearing Skin: Incarnation,” in An Altar in the Word: A Geography of Faith, (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2009).
[iv] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Practice of Wearing Skin: Incarnation,” in An Altar in the Word: A Geography of Faith, (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2009).

Sunday’s Sermon – God Still Laughs – Genesis 18:1-15, Psalm 126 Holy Humor Sunday

April 8, 2018 Leave a Comment

There are a lot of words we use to describe God: Creator, Omnipotent (All-Powerful), Lord, Loving, Present, All-Knowing (Omnipresent), All-Seeing (Omniscient), Ruler, Amazing, Victorious, Wonderful, and the list goes on. Many of them come from our understanding of God revealed in the stories of Scripture, and of course our own experiences of the divine. And yet, with an immense vocabulary and wealth of resources, there is one word I think we don’t often include in our list of acclamations for who God is: funny. If such an adjective strikes you as odd, you’re probably asking “does God have a sense of humor?” If so, what does that even mean? Our image of God tends to be more serious, more stoic, more dignified that a God who rolls around giggling. And yet, over and over again, scripture tells us about a God who sends God’s people out with shouts of joy and jubilation. To be filled with such joy must mean that there is also a brightness and lightheartedness to God. And given the immense playfulness of the works of God’s hand, I would argue God has got a funny bone or two. Take a look at creation. From the aardvark to a colorful array of flowers, God has a creative touch that crosses over into whimsy or even ridiculousness. Given God’s interaction with people throughout the biblical narrative, I would also argue that God has to have a good sense of humor in order to put up with the ridiculousness that humankind has created.

Our text from Genesis is a perfect example. Following a beautiful display of hospitality, three strange visitors in the night announce that Sarah, well beyond child-bearing years, will have a son. It is a laughable proposition, impossible you might even say. The only thing to do when hearing such an outlandish assertion is to laugh, which, of course, is what Sarah does. God enters the scene to confirm this news from the messengers, and calls attention to this response. After all, is anything too wonderful for God? God reminds Abraham and Sarah that with God, even the impossible is possible. Sarah resists a bit more, denying her laughter in fear. But God has heard it and won’t let it slide. “Oh yes, you did laugh.” I don’t think God was so much reprimanding her for laughter, but rather recognizing that sometimes the mysterious works of God are so beyond our comprehension that we have nothing left to do but laugh. And with that, in the holy presence of accompaniment, I imagine that God laughs with us. Perhaps it’s more of a knowing chuckle, a pat on the head, an “oh, if you only knew what I know” kind of laughter, but it reflects the gentleness with which God holds us that can guide us into a future where dreams indeed can become reality.

Laughter has the power to move our lives forward even in the midst of difficult times. In the story of Sarah, it is laughter that paves the way . . . to a son she names Isaac, which means “he laughs.” I wonder if the same can be said about the Easter story. Last week, we explored the curious and abrupt original ending of Mark’s gospel, which leaves us hanging in verse 8 as the women leave the tomb, not telling anyone anything because they are afraid. I wonder what broke their silence? What helped them overcome their fear?

Could it have been something like laughter? Comedian Stephen Colbert is quite open about his Catholic faith and the role it plays in his life, and in an interview in 2015, he connects the role of joy and laughter to our lives of faith in a compelling way. Take a look:

[VIDEO CLIP:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3XE6EK7MV8

Salt and Light TV’s full interview with Stephen Colbert can be seen at www.saltandlighttv.org/witness/colbert Premieres Sunday, September 13, 2015 at 8pm ET #ColbertWitness]

Laughter, then, is a holy act that connects us to one another and to God. Have you ever stood with family and friends, mourning the loss of a loved one? My experience is that, almost without fail, stories will start to be shared that erupt into laughter, which breaks through the tension of grief and opens the way to remembrance. Just a few years ago, I remember going through my grandfather’s house with my family, particularly a box of things he had saved as mementos from my life. There were pictures, of course, birthday cards and school projects I had sent him, and then, tucked into the corner next to my wedding program was a little organza bag that held our wedding favors from a candy bar for our guests, which may have been my grandfather’s favorite part of our wedding. As I pulled it out, smiling that he’d kept the little bag, I quickly did a double-take, noting that it was still filled with candy, and took it to show the rest of my family. Suddenly, in the midst of grief, laughter erupted mingled with tears that we are once both sad and joyful.

It had to have been the joy of the good news of the resurrection, that spilled out and gave the women and disciples the courage to speak the unfathomable truth that the one who was crucified now lived, even as they struggled with their own intense grief. Such moments reminded them that they were not alone, and the appearances of the risen Christ recorded in other gospels provide additional help to move their story, our story, forward. This Sunday is marked with Holy Humor because we need to remember that on Easter morning, God was laughing. Laughing at those who thought death could contain Jesus Christ. Laughing at sin and evil in the world’s attempts to control it. On Easter morning, God declares that God will always have the last laugh. The greatest reversal ever – resurrection – has been accomplished. It’s worth some laughter, because it borders on the ridiculous and absurd. And yet, at the same time, it’s true. It is the bedrock of our faith, the hope to which we cling.

We, like the women at the tomb, like the disciples, like Thomas, whose story in John’s gospel is typically read on this Sunday after Easter, are caught between the tension of a story that is unbelievable and yet the one in which we ground our belief. It is good and right that we should laugh at the very idea of it. Not because we think it’s stupid, but because our laughter is the only way we can overcome our fear of what if it is true after all. Just like Sarah, laughter allows us to breathe into the possibility for just a moment and experience the raw joy it presents. And in our laughter, God shows up, with that chuckle and nod that reminds us that with God, all things are possible. And we laugh again, because it all seems too good to be true. The news of resurrection – the promise of eternal life and unmerited grace – it overwhelms us with joy and laughter, a deep, resounding laughter that ripples throughout our whole body. That joy is what leads us to praise and rejoicing, to worship, to a deeper love of God who created us and spun this whole crazy world into being.

So this morning, we laugh, a little or a lot, in hopes of catching on to some of that divine joy that fills the empty tomb. And to remind ourselves, even when things get difficult or seem impossible, that God is with us, and God is still laughing at the face of that which would otherwise bind us. What good news of great joy, indeed! Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 8, 2018

What is “Holy Humor Sunday”? On this day we celebrate the unbridled joy of the good news of Christ’s resurrection! It is “Holy Humor” Sunday, a tradition extending to some of the earliest Christian theologians who noted that God played a practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. Easter was “God’s supreme joke played on death.” So the Sunday after Easter became a “bright Sunday” filled with joy and laughter as people played jokes on each other, sang, danced, told jokes and had fun. Our service this week features a lighthearted feel with a sprinkling of jokes, all geared to help us experience joy more fully as we worship God together!

Sunday’s Sermon – The Open-Ended Tomb – Mark 16:1-8

April 1, 2018 Leave a Comment

You may be wondering, where is the rest of the story? If you were following along in the Bible, you might note that there are 12 more verses to go in Mark’s gospel; rich and wonderful stories about Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene, then two other disciples, and finally the 11 disciples as a group before returning to heaven. These are the stories we read in Matthew, Luke, and John, who add in additional proof-of-resurrection stories, like Jesus inviting Thomas to place his hands in the wounds, or even eating fish grilled over an open fire. This is the ending of the Easter story we have come to expect, the risen Christ walking around, making appearances to those who loved him. It is from here that we can say we, too, have seen the risen Christ, and sing our Alleluias at the good news. But Mark’s gospel gives us a different ending to consider. The verses that are believed to be the original ending of the earliest gospel account, concluding with verse 8, reveal the perplexing discovery of the empty tomb and indication that Jesus “has been raised,” but the story ends in fear and wonder and silence. In Mark’s gospel, we don’t so much get a dramatic conclusion, but an open-ended tomb that leaves us in a cliffhanger.

Such an ending should put us on the edge of our seats. It brings an element of anticipation for what might happen next. It is what prompts us to let the next episode start playing if we’re watching a captivating series of our favorite show on Netflix. Of course we are going to continue watching – we want to find out what happens next. Some of the best series writing, whether it’s novels or television or a movie franchise, leave the ending open-ended. The Merriam Webster Dictionary gives us a good definition for what this means, defining “open-ended” as:

not rigorously fixed: such as adaptable to the developing needs of a situation, or permitting or designed to permit spontaneous and unguided responses[i].

Perhaps this is what Mark was trying to do – to evoke a response, for readers to join with the women at the tomb and experience the overwhelming emotions of what such a jarring revelation might mean for their lives. Some commentators argue that Mark leaves us in a moment of suspense on purpose, challenging us to consider how we might complete the story ourselves. That is, of course, our tendency when things are left without conclusion.

One of my favorite shows is The Big Bang Theory which airs on CBS. One of the main characters, Sheldon, has ongoing issues with things having the proper closure. In one episode, his girlfriend Amy tries to help him overcome it. Take a look:

[clips from “The Closure Alternative,” Big Bang Theory, Season 6, Episode 21, originally aired April 25, 2013.]

He just can’t help it. And neither can we. Want to drive a musician crazy? Put an unresolved chord at the end of a song. [Denise to play song]. Our text for today is abrupt and startling, not smooth and comforting. It may even be frustrating, driving us to avoid the awkwardness and challenge it presents by adding to it. That’s what later authorities copying Mark’s manuscript did, even, picking up after verse 8 to “fill in the gaps” and end everything neatly. In literary terms, it is called denouement, from the French root which means “to untie.” It’s the final conclusion of a story, when all the plot pieces find resolution. A classic example? Fairy tales that end “and they all lived happily ever after.” Or fables that drive home the point, “and the moral of the story is.” We even do it informally in conversation, “to make a long story short.” We like things to be neat and tidy, complete and resolved. This is true about our lives, and especially true about our faith.

In fact, I think that’s why so many of us struggle with belief and faith in general – it simply leaves too much unresolved; too many questions; too many openings and different ways of understanding, none of which ever seem to fully satisfy our need to know. Like children, our faith can prompt us to exist in an ongoing cycle of “yes, but why?” with each new revelation. In Mark’s gospel, this seems to be part of the design. His version of Easter morning doesn’t come so much with a “the end,” but rather a “to be continued.” On one hand, this is incredible news. It is the point of the gospel and gives meaning to the devastation we experience in the drama of Holy Week. The story lacks its meaning if the ending is simply, “and then Jesus died.” The power of Easter morning lies in our ability to proclaim that death is never the final answer. That darkness never wins, for joy indeed comes in the morning. God did not let the violence and hatred and sin of the world have the final say[ii].

But in the gospel of Mark, the resurrection isn’t the last word either. That means there is still more to come. The open-ended nature of the tomb is that there is still more God is doing and will do in the world. Easter morning is about God’s future breaking into our reality. This is a future that breaks apart every understanding we have of how things are supposed to end. You know the saying “few things in life are certain: death and taxes.” Christ’s resurrection takes death off the table. This should be unnerving. It should be a little bit scary. It’s what professor Rolf Jacobson calls a, existential “holy crap” kind of moment, when we realize we might have to re-evaluate everything we know in order to wrap our minds around the meaning of life once again[iii].

It’s exhilarating to say “the story isn’t over.” But then that means, “oh, the story isn’t over.” Perhaps this is why the women were so scared at the tomb. If the story isn’t over with Jesus’ death, then all of those challenging instructions he gave to them about living in God’s kingdom here and now were still true. They are not “off the hook” from the demanding call of discipleship. In fact, the empty tomb thrusts them into an even more challenging way of being in the world: sharing news that seems impossible and too good to be true to a world consumed with death and easy conclusions. The resurrection gives them a new reality, not just hypothetical, but real and gritty.

Maybe that’s exactly what the gospel writer in Mark intends. For the resurrection to usher us into a new way of being. The mysterious young man at the tomb prompts this journey, telling the women to return to Galilee and find Christ there. In Galilee, they will be drawn again into this incredible story, and maybe this time have a sense of what it means. Jesus has gone ahead of them. God’s work is continuing, with or without them. The ending of Mark’s gospel is so jarring, so moving, that it compels us to dive back into the story itself and see what we might have missed the first time we heard it. Because suddenly, we hear the story of this man named Jesus walking around the hillsides and teaching and healing people in a new light – because we know that this truly is the son of God. The open tomb brings an open-ended invitation to be a part of what is happening next. The story of God raising Jesus from the dead is amazing. But it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning. It’s a cliffhanger. If God can overcome even death, there is endless possibility for what God can and will do next.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
April 1, 2018

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[i] “open-ended,” Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary- https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/open-ended, accessed 3/28/18.
[ii] Diana Butler Bass frames an understanding of the crucifixion in this way, “God did not send the “gift” of a dead child for salvation. God gave the gift of a child to the world to embody the way of shalom and to upend the empire of death. The Empire killed that child. But God wouldn’t let that execution be the last word. That’s the Easter story” Twitter Post 3/27/18, 7:58 pm, https://twitter.com/dianabutlerbass/status/978783309357559808, accessed 3/29/18.
[iii] Sermon Brainwave #412 Working Preacher, originally posted April 5, 2015, http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1003, accessed 3/28/2018.

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of Breath – Exekiel 37:1-14, John 11:1-45

April 2, 2017 Leave a Comment

“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” One by one, worshippers lined up on Ash Wednesday, here in our Sanctuary and in churches around the world, to hear these words and receive the sign of ashes pressed into a cross on their foreheads. These words, which come from Genesis, served as a reminder of our sinfulness and mortality, and ushered in the season of Lent. These 40 days for us are meant to be a time when we carry that cross of ashes into our daily lives, and examine ourselves more closely. As Jesus spent 40 days in the desert facing trial and temptation, we embark on a dry, dusty journey ourselves. And just when our bulletin insert hints of the promise of the celebration that is to come at the end of the season, our lectionary texts firmly place us back into stories marked by the frailty of life. We still have work to do before we can be Easter people.

Ezekiel beckons us to look at the valley. More than just swirling dust and dryness, here we are again confronted with the reminder of our mortality, gazing over a valley of dry bones. Death itself looks us in the face. The entire book of Ezekiel is both dramatic and disturbing. Barbara Essex describes it as:

a motion picture director’s dream. Not only does the book lend itself to all kinds of psychological analyses, it also is perfect for computer-generated graphics and animation. Ezekiel is filled with vivid descriptions and impossible feats of power complete with sound effects. Ezekiel is victim to hallucinations and weird behaviors. With the opening lines (see Ezek. 1:1-3), we know we are in for quite a ride. Ezekiel sees visions, hears voices, and acts out his prophecies to the point where we wonder if he suffers some kind of mental illness[i].

These cinematic images, of course, are meant to speak to the real situation of God’s people, Israel. It is believed that Ezekiel was written during the time of exile, and it is likely that he was a priest taken into captivity to Babylon towards the beginning of the 6^th century, BCE. His role as priest continues, turning into prophet as he speaks to a people devastated and trapped.

Ezekiel’s vision is given for a people who have lost heart, who are suffering a death of the spirit, a living death in exile in a foreign land. Their temple has been destroyed, their holy city plundered, their leaders maimed and put in chains, their soldiers put to the sword, their young men and women either killed or dragged off into a foreign land. Ezekiel witnesses the soul of his people gradually wither and die, becoming as lifeless as a valley of dry bones[ii].

This text prompts us to stand in the valleys of our own lives, our own worlds, and examine those dry, desolate, and even dead places. Those places that have lost all life-giving energy and are run to the ground. Perhaps this is a description of areas of your life, or even the entirety of your life right now, where you are just completely worn, burned out, drained, and depleted. Maybe it’s a relationship that has lost its spark or become dusty from neglect. The idea of a “dark night of the soul” is familiar to us, and Ezekiel puts the spotlight on those areas of our lives. The places where we are struggling the most, and where life seems to be sucked right out of us. Beyond our own personal lives, there are many valleys of dry bones that exist in our world, too. Places that have been torn apart by violence and war quite literally become graveyards. We know countless people struggle with mental illnesses and other psychological battles that isolate and threaten what is life-giving. This is particularly true and especially sad for many veterans who have served our country as they return from service. So many issues swirl in our country and world that seem to have no hope for a future. The political divides seem too wide to allow anything to have life. And although we live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, we have children who are hungry and people without shelter. Dry bones are everywhere. The valleys are full.

Our gospel text reveals a similar finality. John 11 tells the story of the death of Jesus’ friend, Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha. We read of how the news that Lazarus is sick is conveyed to Jesus, who remains out on the mission field for several more days. By the time he gets to the house in Bethany, Lazarus is dead. Grief invades this story. Here is where the shortest verse in all of scripture is found, “Jesus wept.” In this, the form for the verb used is one of the strongest possible. It indicates a fierceness beyond parallel, the kind of overwhelming, gut wrenching, violent crying that comes in our darkest moments. Some commentators suggest that this moment is about more than Lazarus. Jesus is experiencing the very human grief of losing a friend, and at the same time lamenting the state of the world and all of its darkness; the reality that death still has its hold on the earth[iii]. This would be fitting particularly in the fourth gospel, and also suits the placement of this story within John, as the hinge point between stories of Jesus’ signs and wonders and the passion narrative. And Martha’s words of guilt hang heavily around Jesus in this moment by a closed tomb, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

A closed tomb. A valley of dry bones. Such images are finite. The literal end of the road. It is hard, almost impossible, to have hope in these moments. In the many instances that lead us to these places, we are left with a sense that anything we do is futile; we are helpless, subject to the gloominess that surrounds and even engulfs us. The closing line for the sermon Ezekiel is preaching could come with “and then everyone dies.” It is as bleak as it can get. The question comes to Ezekiel, “Can these bones live?” For us, “can anything be done to change this reality of lifelessness and hopelessness?” The cynical answer, as well as the realistic one when looking over a valley of dry bones, is no. What is done is done. It is what it is. Dry bones cannot live again. Why would God ask such a fruitless question?

The wise prophet replies with the only answer possible – only God knows. The story of Ezekiel reminds us that life itself is utterly and totally reliant on God. And it offers a glimmer of hope that the work of God is to bring new life, even when things seem to be completely dead. Here, in this ancient text from our Hebrew Scriptures, we read some of the first hints of resurrection. God instructs Ezekiel to prophesy, to preach, to these dry, brittle, dusty, well beyond life bones. This is not the end of their story. And we see it come to life, as sinews and muscles and skin again cover the bones assembling together. As the old spiritual goes, “Dem bones, dem bones gonna rise again. Now hear the word of the Lord[iv].”

So the bones are assembled. But they aren’t complete. God has more work to do. The final step, and the most important one, is the gift that God gives to these bones. From the four winds, God breathes new life, new spirits, new breath, into these bones. Ruach in the Hebrew. The same wind that was breathed into the first humans is again breathed into these dry bones. And they stand up, fully assembled and now, full of life. We might even imagine them dancing in what once was a graveyard. Hope is restored. Life has returned. And the only way any of this is remotely possible is through the gift that God gives – the gift of breath.

The vision Ezekiel conveniently comes with an interpretation – that dry valley of bones was Israel, dried up and cut off, sinful and punished in exile, taken to the point of death. But God is a God who can even open the graves, and breathe new life into what seems lost. God gives the people Israel another chance at life, with the promise that they will return to their homeland.

Just as God breathed new life into the valley, putting the lives of God’s people back together, God’s promise to us today is new life. As preacher and speaker Nadia Bolz-Weber says:

God simply keeps reaching down into the dirt of humanity and resurrecting us from the graves we dig for ourselves through violence, our lies, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our addictions, and God keeps loving us back to life over and over again[v].

It comes to us from the gift of breath. And it comes to us in the darkest, driest, most dead places in our lives. That is what resurrection is all about.

You know how you hear the emergency instructions before you take-off on a flight? The flight attendants will always reference, that in the case of the loss of cabin pressure, air masks will come down from the ceiling for you to quite literally be able to breathe. You know the instructions. Put on your own mask, and then help others. God’s gift of breath can be our oxygen masks, particularly in times of distress or trouble. God’s gift of breath can rescue us from even the hardest places in our lives, the places we thought were lost causes, and breathe new life back into us. One more thing about those oxygen masks to keep in mind – the flight attendant will remind you that the bag may not fully inflate, but to trust that oxygen is still flowing. This is much like our work of faith sometimes, especially trying ones. We may not be able to see God’s work in our lives, but in faith we trust that God’s breath is flowing.

Jesus looks to Martha and declares, “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25). In this pivotal statement, the air mask falls, and Jesus invites Martha to take a breath. But although she does, and agrees to the assertions he makes, she isn’t ready yet to fully embrace all that breath implies. She still clings to those dry bones, mindful of the realities of death. She laments that her brother is dead and stays in the valley. Then, after Jesus instructs those present to “take away the stone,” (v. 39) she protests again, with the practical reality that a sealed tomb with a several days old body will absolutely stink. She holds back from the possibilities that Christ provides for change, even though it is change that she wants. In many ways, Martha is in a tomb of her own. And I think the words Jesus speaks to Lazarus and to her, and to anyone trapped and confined by death in any of its forms, are meant to be a freeing breath, “COME OUT!” (v. 43).

We worship a God of resurrection, even though we ourselves may be in valleys of dry bones or tombs of darkness. The good news is, to these difficult places where hope seems lost and all seems to be at an end, God gives us breath. Life-giving breath. As we enter these final days of Lent, my hope and prayer for you is that you will take that breath, and ask God to renew your spirits. That you will remember that God breathes even into the most difficult places in your life, and offers hope. Breathing the breath of God is the first step to experiencing the powerful, life-changing, transforming resurrection that we will celebrate in just two weeks. And doing so can be as simple as taking a breath. Your breath can become your prayer, heightening your awareness of God’s presence in your life. So take deep breaths. Lots of them. And as you do, may God’s breath be a gift to you, and may you have life. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Barbara J. Essex, Bold and Brazen: Exploring Biblical Prophets, (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2010).

[ii] James A. Wallace, “Homiletical Perspective: Ezekiel 37:1-14,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iii] “Fifth Sunday in Lent,” Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year A, Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, James D. Newsome, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995).

[iv] “Dem Bones,” Written by James Weldon Johnson. First recorded by Bascomb Lunsford in February 1928. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dem_Bones

[v] Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber, as quoted by the Clergy Coaching Network Facebook Page, April 1, 2017 (https://www.facebook.com/clergycoachingnetwork/photos/a.553233241362454.130264.546972935321818/1496180503734385/?type=3&theater).

Sunday’s Sermon – We Are Witnesses – Acts 10:34-43, Luke 24:1-12 – Easter

Sunday’s Sermon – Ghost Stories – Luke 24:36-48

Sunday’s Sermon – God Still Laughs – Genesis 18:1-15, Psalm 126 Holy Humor Sunday

Sunday’s Sermon – The Open-Ended Tomb – Mark 16:1-8

Sunday’s Sermon – The Gift of Breath – Exekiel 37:1-14, John 11:1-45

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