Easter (A), 9 April 2023. The Very Rev. Pamela L. Werntz
- Jeremiah 31:1-6. I have loved you with an everlasting love.
- Colossians 3:1-4, 5-15. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.
- Matthew 28:1-10. Go and tell.
O God of new life, grant us the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may and cost what it will.
I wish you could see yourselves, the way you look from this pulpit; you look beautiful! I was hoping that you would be here, and I am so glad that you are. I’m glad for those of you who are with us via live-stream, too, even though I can’t see you! Thank you for celebrating Easter with Emmanuel Church! Welcome to those of you who are here for the first time, those of you who have been here more times than you can count, and all of you who are somewhere in between.
I imagine that some of you have been looking forward to being here and could not wait to get to this lovely service on this sacred morning, to hear the extraordinary lessons, prayers, and music of Easter. Or maybe it was the puppets that drew you in? I imagine that for others of you, this was not your first choice; maybe you are here because it matters to someone you love, or maybe there’s a sadder reason that you’re here. Maybe some of you don’t even quite know the reason you’re here; and I’m grateful for you, too. Whether you skipped or stumbled here, thank you for coming into this sanctuary of time, this sanctuary of space. My Easter hope for all of you is that, however you’re feeling, thrilled or ambivalent, healthy or unwell, light-hearted or heavy-hearted, joyful or downright stressed and cranky, you will leave our worship service feeling better than when you arrived.
I love the Gospel of Matthew’s account of the resurrection of Jesus because of the questions it raises, the answers to which are all matters of opinion, of church lore, which cannot be substantiated with “the facts.” As I said last Sunday, resurrection is not science; it is art. Scripture is art; the practice of religion is an art. Scientific interrogation makes no sense whatsoever when encountering art. Rather, religious examination is about what we notice, what speaks to our hearts and moves us, and what difference the encounter makes in how we live and love. Alyssa Rosenberg, writer for the Washington Post, once wrote, “One of the tasks of art is to help us manage pain, not simply to chronicle temporary euphoria.” [1] Matthew’s Easter story is doing just that: helping his people manage suffering from pain, poverty, persecution, fear, despair, and grief. Matthew’s art is, at the same time tender, fierce, and provocative; it’s about encouraging hope.
The questions I think of when I hear Matthew’s Easter story are: Who was “the other Mary”? Did this Gospel writer not know or not care which Mary? Did everyone just refer to her as “the other Mary?” What were the Marys going to “see” at the tomb? In Matthew’s version there was no work for them to do with the body because the tomb was heavily guarded against Jesus’ family and friends. In Matthew’s version they are not taking myrrh or aloe, they are just going to grieve. What is the significance of the angel’s appearance? Why describe his clothing? We don’t learn what anyone else is wearing. Why was the squadron of soldiers more afraid than the women? What does it mean that the soldiers “became like dead men”? How could an angel rolling away a stone cause an earthquake; and wait a minute, how did Jesus get out before the stone was even rolled away?
In Matthew’s story, the Marys, who drop and grab the feet of the Risen Lord, are not scolded or warned not to touch; instead they are reassured and encouraged. The longer I live with this story, the more fantastic and funny I think it is, the more full of joy in the midst of chaos, grief, and despair it seems to be. It reminds me of the laughter and tears that often mark gatherings of family and friends mourning a death of a beloved one. Given what’s going on in the world right now, I’ve been thinking lately that the expression of joy in the midst of disaster and hope in the midst of so much bad news are subversive acts, which proclaim that Love reigns supreme and that money, power, and military might will never have the last word. That is an essential message of Easter.
Another true Easter story was sent to me the other day from an Emmanuelite in our diaspora. It’s the story about a recent tragic incident in a subway station not far from where she lives in Toronto. A 16-year-old boy was stabbed by another young man, seemingly unprovoked. The Toronto Star published a short article the next day about a woman who, instead of running away, rushed to the dying boy; she held his hand and said something like, “I am a mother. I’m going to stay with you.” [2] Since she knew his mother was not there, she told him that she was a mother and held his hand while he died. When she saw the news story, she reached out to the reporter and asked that her contact information be given to the boy’s grieving mother. She wanted her to know that he wasn’t alone, that she was with him. That is a story about staying at the foot of the cross and a story of resurrecting love.
This past week, Amanda Ripley wrote a column in The Washington Post about three things humans need in order to thrive: agency, dignity, and hope. She quoted Rebecca Solnit, who said, “Hope is not the belief that everything was, is, or will be fine.” [3] Rather, it is a cognitive skill, which can be taught, learned, and practiced. Hope is the conviction that the future can be brighter and better if we focus on our dreams rather than our fears. In their book Hope Rising, Casey Gwinn and Chan Hellman write about how people with strong hope skills can better manage unpleasant incidents and accidents, deep losses and profound grief, and that they score measurably higher on assessments of happiness, purpose, self-esteem, and meaning-making. Hope is a powerful antidote to trauma and loss. The important point is that hope can be practiced; so, even if you’re not starting out with strong hope skills, you can develop them.
Ripley also cited an online newsletter called Progress Network, which curates stories of human cooperation and ingenuity. There’s no subscription fee; so check it out. Progress Network has news stories and research reports in categories of energy and environment, science and technology, politics and policy, the economy, and public health. It has opinion pieces under the heading, “What could go right?” It’s not that things won’t go wrong; it’s just that much of what goes right isn’t widely reported. I got so into reading the articles that I was tempted to offer you a Reader’s Digest version in my sermon. But then I remembered that it’s Easter; the church gives us a Great Fifty Days to celebrate, and I need to keep this particular sermon short!
I wonder if, instead of confessions of faith, we churchy people might consider creeds and catechisms as confessions of hope. We might think of creeds as prayerful expressions of hope rather than some ancient and weird statements of fact. If you’re ever really bored in church, I hope it’s not here; but you know, it might happen. If you’re ever really bored, I encourage you to look at the Book of Common Prayer’s catechism, which starts on page 845. The last section of the catechism begins with the question, “What is the Christian hope?” The answer is: “The Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, and to await the coming of Christ in glory (which means making all things new), and to await the completion of God’s purpose for the world (which is love). The last question in that section on hope is this: “What, then, is our assurance as Christians?” And the answer is: “Our assurance as Christians is that nothing, not even death, shall separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The catechism ends with the word amen, which means that the whole thing is a prayer.
Contemporary philosopher Mark Nepo writes: “We cannot eliminate hunger, but we can feed each other. We cannot eliminate loneliness, but we can hold each other. We cannot eliminate pain, but we can live a life of compassion.” [4] After all that’s what resurrected life is about. Matthew is telling the Easter story so that his hearers might have fullness of love and life before death, as free as possible from fear. “Do not be afraid,” the angels of God and Jesus say again and again, every time. It’s especially clear in the Gospel of Matthew that resurrection is a communal event. For Matthew, it’s not just about Jesus; it’s about resurrection for all of God’s children.
According to Matthew, on that first Easter it was Jesus and people all over the city of Jerusalem who came out of their tombs. Again, remember this is art, not science. The art of resurrection asserts that God will not be held down. God will not be held down or buried by our solemnity, our guilt, our piety, our complacency, not by our regrets or forgetfulness, our denial or betrayal, our fear, cynicism, or despair, or our sorrow. For Matthew, this news hardly matters if the women don’t go and tell; it’s not news that they can keep to themselves. It hardly matters today if we don’t go and tell. What does resurrection mean to you? What does it mean that Jesus lives and that Jesus is Lord (which is another way of saying that Love is disarming and always has the last word, that God is faithful to people and longs for people to be faithful in return)? Whatever it is for you, go and proclaim it. Live as if resurrection is happening and look for it. Live as if it is true; and it will become truer, I guarantee. In these Great Fifty Days of Easter I encourage you to practice hope and look for things that can go right.
- Alyssa Rosenberg, “Remembering Seamus Heaney with ‘The Cure at Troy'”, https://archive.thinkprogress.org/remembering-seamus-heaney-with-the-cure-at-troy-39edab26356/ .
- Dhriti Gupta. Toronto Star, 30 March 2023. https://www.thestar.com/news/gta/2023/03/29/she-held-16-year-old-gabriel-magalhaess-hand-after-he-was-stabbed-angela-shintani-sandrowicz-wants-his-mother-to-know-she-was-there-with-her-dying-son.html .
- Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark (New York: Nation Books, 2004).
- Mark Nepo, ” Accepting This.” https://marknepo.com/poems_accepting.php#:~:text=We%20cannot%20eliminate%20hunger%2C,we%20can%20hold%20each%20other.