What a pleasure and delight it is to share this bright (if
rather brisk) Easter morning with you. It is a pleasure to see the church
looking so Eastery (thanks to our hard-working altar guild), to hear us
sounding so Eastery (thanks to our talented and also hard-working choir). Most
especially, it is a pleasure and delight to see this place so full and to see
you, some parishioners I know well, some families visiting from a distance, and
also to see those of you who may be here at Emmanuel for the very first time,
or at least for your first Easter. Easter really is when we are at our
best—though we’re pretty good the rest of the time, too.
I think maybe we have such a particular fondness for Easter
here at Emmanuel because our very first service as a parish was on an Easter
morning, all the way back in 1870—some 144 years ago. So, every Easter is our
birthday or anniversary in a way. Now, I don’t think any of you here this
morning have been coming to us quite that long, since 1870, but whether this is
your 90th Easter at Emmanuel or your very first, I want you to know
that you are very welcome here, and that we would be more than delighted to
have you consider this parish your church home. I’m quite positive that those who
are familiar with our community, whether longer term members or newer, would
attest that this is a warm, welcoming and inclusive congregation. We are made
of up people of every background and perspective, all united in our love of God
and in our desire to share that love, that Easter, resurrection love, with each
other and with the wider community.
You know, something I often find myself reflecting on,
especially on days like Easter, days when we remember back to long ago stories
and sacred traditions, is how much we, today, in the year 2014, are just like
the people we read about in the Bible. Here we are, separated by thousands of
years in different contexts, and yet our desires, inclinations, and thoughts
are almost exactly the same. Sure, we have cars and the Internet and smart
phones, but who we are deep down, who we are as human beings is exactly the
same. Like Peter and Paul, like John and James, and Mary Magdalene and Mary
Jesus’ mother, we have families and many of us have jobs (or have had, or will
have). We worry about our future and our kids’ futures and we care for aging
parents, some of us have wonderfully fulfilling personal relationships, while
others of us too often feel alone and have what seem to be more than our fair
share of struggles. Like people in ages past we also get sick and desire
healing. We long for understanding, we long for hope, we long for a sign, some
sign, that things will turn out right for us and for those dearest to us.
Whether we use the words or not, we long for God.
I suspect that more than anything else, it was this longing,
this deep inward longing for healing, and understanding, for hope and for God,
that first drew people to Jesus, so long ago. Whatever Jesus looked like,
whatever he sounded like, whatever his personality was like—there was something
about him, some great spark or fire in his soul, perhaps—that had the power to
draw people in. Just being with him, or being touched by him, made people, of
any background, feel whole, accepted, alive, and real even. It must have been
so extraordinary. And probably, it was not really like anything that we can
even begin imagine now, so many years later.
And then, suddenly, in a flash, on that Friday, he was gone.
Although we know that it happened (all
four gospels tell us so), that too is really beyond our imagining and our
understanding. We know that most of those who had followed Jesus, those who had
been touched and healed by him, those who had been taught and fed, fled and
went into hiding during and after the crucifixion. Some, like Peter, even
denied that they had known Jesus. Whatever healing, whether physical or
spiritual, whatever new and abundant life he had given them was suddenly gone,
overtaken by grief, and also by fear. Perhaps fear that they might be next. Or
maybe even fear that everything they had come to believe so powerfully was
really all just a big lie. Maybe Jesus wasn’t so close to God after all. Maybe
it was all just wrong. So, what did they do? They locked themselves away. They
wouldn’t even answer a knock on the door, they were so afraid.
Fear really is hard to overcome, isn’t it? It is so
immobilizing. Whether the object of our fear is real or imaginary, whether it’s
concern about a medical diagnosis, or a sudden 2:00 a.m. panic about work or
bills, or even if it’s a monster under the bed or a ghost in the closet that we
are afraid of, fear can often become so consuming that it is impossible to even
move. Like Jesus’ disciples on Good Friday and the days following, at times
like that, when we are afraid, locking ourselves away in a secret room may seem
like the only reasonable and safe solution. But, of course, it doesn’t really
help. Not really. In fact, it probably just makes it worse. Because then, we
let our fear direct our lives. We allow it to have power over us, which is just
what it wants.
I remember having an inkling of that kind of fear back on
September 11, 2001. I had just started working for Episcopal City Mission at
the diocesan offices in Boston. After the first plane hit the World Trade
Center, most of the staff went up to Bishop Shaw’s office to watch the news, as
he had the only TV. After the horror of it all became clear, there was a
Eucharist and prayer service in the cathedral, led by Bishop Barbara Harris,
and then the bishops closed the offices at about noon. I lived in Jamaica Plain
and the only to get home was on the subway. I remember thinking that we
probably were safer at the cathedral than on public transportation, but of
course I had to go. That ride home was the quietest, eeriest and most surreal I
ever remember. Once I got to my apartment, I felt a lot like Jesus’ disciples
on Good Friday. I just wanted to lock the door and never go outside again.
Similar feelings were rekindled the week of the Marathon
bombing a year ago, especially, for me, on that surreal Friday, when Boston,
Cambridge, and Watertown were all in lockdown. Do you remember how every TV
station was endlessly just showing live shots of tanks and SWAT teams going
from door to door to door, knocking and searching, knocking and searching. I
live in Quincy, not in the lockdown area, but close to it, and I, too, was
hesitant, apprehensive, about being outside. I did go out some, for lunch and a
walk. It was actually a beautiful spring day, as I recall, but the only sounds
outside I remember hearing were birds chirping and police sirens echoing
through the air.
Fear—whether justified or imaginary—can be, and often is
immobilizing. It is so consuming, and limiting, and un-empowering. Fear
prevents us from believing, from seeing, from hoping and working and striving
for something better. In fact, fear is contrary to everything that Jesus taught
and did and lived, each and every day of his life and ministry. It is contrary
to the life—the abundant life—he so desires for us.
Which, as it happens, is exactly why we have Easter and the
resurrection. More than anything, what the resurrection does, what Easter does,
is cast out fear. Or maybe, it’s better to say that the resurrection gives us
the courage we need so that we can cast out our own fear, so that we can
overcome it. The resurrection is God’s reminder to us, God’s promise really,
that no matter what may happen in life, no matter what broken or messed up
situation we may find ourselves in, whether of our own making, or something
beyond our control, it is not so broken and it is not so messed up that God
can’t somehow find a way to redeem it and bring new possibilities into being.
Sometimes it may take a while—it won’t always be just three short days, and it
won’t always be the way we first envision—but eventually, somehow, new life
will spring up: new life, new hope, and a new way. The stories we’ve been
hearing lately about the Marathon bombing victims, a year later, are testament
to that fact—some who lost legs are dancing, others are getting married or
expecting children. Easter promises us that God can take any broken, messed up,
rotten situation, and make it new. Not unaffected by the past, not as if it
didn’t happen, but renewed and filled with fresh possibilities.
As it happens, that’s what Mary Magdalene and the other Mary
discovered on the first Easter morning, along with the empty tomb. Undoubtedly,
when they set out early that day their grief was overwhelming, and probably
their fear, too. They likely wondered and worried about what was coming next;
probably they were fearful about what would become of them without Jesus; they
may even have wondered if they could have or should have done or said something
differently along the way. Who knows, maybe if they had, Jesus would still be
alive, still with them, still teaching and healing, still loving and still
being loved.
Of course, as it turns out, as we know, Jesus was still
alive, or least, he was alive again, however it happened, beyond their and our
explanation and imagining. And do you remember what were his very first words
to women when he met them on the road, after greeting them? He said: “Do not be
afraid.” Do not be afraid. Just like the angels at the empty tomb, just like
the angels announcing Jesus’ birth to the shepherds in their fields, and just
like the Gabriel visiting Mary and telling her she would bear God’s Son. These
words, God’s words, spoken to them, spoken to us, spoken for 2000 years, are
always the same: “Do not be afraid.”
The resurrection is God’s way, God’s miraculous,
mind-boggling, rule-twisting, world upside-down-turning way, of giving us the
strength and courage that we need to overcome our fears, to unlock our doors,
and to roll away the stones, so that we can step out of our tombs and away from
our fears, so that we can walk confidently into the bright sunlight of Easter
morning, able once again to live, fully, and freely, and abundantly.
That’s what this resurrection Easter feast is about. Easter,
the resurrection, isn’t only something nice that God did for Jesus, long ago.
It is for you, and for us all: whoever we are, whatever our backgrounds,
whatever our mistakes, whatever our hopes and whatever our fears. Easter
promises us all a new day. And it promises us a new chance for a new kind of
life, a resurrected kind of life. That life, that resurrected, fear-free life,
is God’s Easter gift to you, on this beautiful spring morning, and always.
Just as he greeted the women long ago with these words, so
also does the resurrected Jesus greet each of us with the same words and with
the same Easter message: “Do not be afraid.”
Alleluia. Christ is Risen. Happy Easter.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell, Ph.D.
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