John 10:11-18 "Move Over and Make Room"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         Every year, the fourth Sunday of the Easter season (which is today) is designated as Good Shepherd Sunday.  It is a turning point in our seeking to understand the resurrection.  Today we shift from an historical recounting of the Easter events– the empty tomb and the appearance stories – and reflect on its Christology, that is, on the meaning of it all.

         And so, on this Good Shepherd Sunday, we began worship by reading the 23^rd Psalm, and the hymns we sing today will all have a shepherd theme.  And we read, as we do most every year, this passage from the Gospel of John which focuses us on one of the best-loved sayings of Jesus:  “I am the Good Shepherd.”

         Of course, when we hear that label that Jesus gave himself, we tend to conjure up all sort of bucolic images of our rabbi flitting happily through green meadows, tending the frolicking springtime lambs.  Often, in our mind’s eye, Jesus is holding one of the darling little pets on his shoulders. 

         One blogger I read this week even went so far as to research images of Jesus as the Good Shepherd.  Here is what he found: “Painting after painting after painting after painting, all in a sort of soft focus, with Jesus in the long robe, immaculate beard standing in the middle of a beautiful field or stunning valley, shepherd’s crook in one hand, little lamb in the other, being looked on by adoring and loving sheep and just the hint of a loving smile on the lips of the Savior. You know the type of image as well as I do. There must be thousands – if not millions – of pictures like that; what we might call the ‘Sunday School image’ of Jesus.”

         And the poetry is enough to make you gag:

Tender Shepherd, Tender Shepherd,

Let me help you count your sheep.

One in the meadow, one in the garden,

One in the nursery fast asleep.

`        Or there is this one:

The Good Shepherd always walks in front

Gently leading the way,

Never behind driving or pushing,

But lovingly guiding each day;

        

         They are both certainly lovely thoughts, but hardly in keeping with the context of the Gospel narrative.  I mean, do you have any idea of the circumstances during which the Gospel writer said that Jesus spoke these timeless words– and how his listeners were reacting?  Well, first off, he had just healed a blind man by slapping a couple of mud pies over his eyes – on the Sabbath, no less.  Needless to say, the Pharisees were jumping all over him. 

         And Jesus’ response was to call himself a shepherd, a good one at that.  Can you believe it?  When that word “shepherd” was a common term for rulers/kings across the Middle East?  When Yahweh/God was commonly referred to as the Shepherd of Israel and the Jewish people as God’s sheep?  When even the most simple-minded Jew and certainly every Pharisee knew that the great King David had started out as a shepherd boy?  What was Jesus thinking?  No wonder the Pharisees thought he was demon-possessed or just raving mad.  No wonder they thought he might be dangerous some day.

         Of course, everything Jesus said about good shepherds was true.  They would put their sheep first above all else, and even sacrifice themselves, if necessary –

not like a hired hand who would run off at the first sight of a wolf, a hired hand who was in it only for the money.  A good shepherd would know his sheep, and the sheep would know the sound of his voice calling them home. 

         And there would be no weighing of the alternatives in good shepherding.  That is, as Reformed Church pastor Scott Hoezee writes, “A cost-benefit analysis would never cause the shepherd to leave the 99 sheep on their own for a few minutes in favor of finding the one lost lamb. If the shepherd had a risk-management committee, they would never advise him to let the wolf kill the shepherd but would say you could better survive to fight another day even if for the time being the wolf nabbed a sheep or two.” 

         Good shepherds had all those attributes.  Everyone knew that.  But - to apply that term to himself?  Why, healing that blind man on the Sabbath should have been the least of Jesus’ worries.

         It was not rocket science to surmise that all he had spouted about shepherds was a critique of the Pharisees.  After all, they were the ones whom everyone recognized as the shepherds of the Jewish people.  And, as Jesus expanded his metaphor, they were also the ones who had let down the flock.  They were the ones who were in the pocket of the Roman Empire, like hired hands, in it for the money.

         But what must have really infuriated the Pharisees and Temple leaders was Jesus’ claim about bringing those other sheep – the outsiders – into the fold.  Imagine – God’s work not done yet!? That was unfathomable.  

         Here is how Lutheran pastor, Ben Squires, pictured the scene:  “Who was this Jesus guy? How could Jesus say that God’s kingdom would include the Gentiles, the pagans, the unclean, the uncircumcised? God’s kingdom had been given to the Jews. The Jews were God’s chosen people. Certainly God wouldn’t defile Himself by letting the Gentiles come into the kingdom, into the flock. How dare Jesus imply that God would stoop that low!

         (Today we may have a hard time remembering that such a perspective would be) scandalous, blasphemous, devilish to the Pharisees – (but it was!). Jesus was busting their idea of God’s kingdom, and the Pharisees were furious with Him.”

         It is this idea of other sheep (outsiders, if you will) coming into the fold that I want to focus on for just a few minutes – but not to give you a quick course on the need for evangelism.  I want to look at it from a different perspective, one that reminds me of a story I read this past week.  It took place in Washington State where, each day, the writer, a clergy person, passed a field near a river with a flock of sheep. 

         He writes: “if you have visited northwest Washington, you know that there is something that happens there a lot. It sort of drizzles for about six months, rains real raindrops for a few more, threatens to rain for about a month-and-a-half, and is absolutely gorgeous the rest of the time….

         Well, as I say (he goes on), the sheep lived in a pasture next to a river, and in December there was an event that happened in that area every year or two: the river would flood. Warm heavy rains would melt the snow that had accumulated in the Cascade Mountains, and the rivers would rise. At my church, people would call in and tell me that one or the other bridges was closed until there was only one bridge left getting out of town.

         One such time, as I packed up and as I made my way out of the flooding area, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were several sheep from the flock that were stranded on a small hill, the highest point of the pasture. They were surrounded by water that was quickly rising.

         It was then I saw an even stranger sight. One of the members of my congregation, Jerry, one of my favorite bachelor farmers, was riding down Main Street. But what was unusual was that he was not driving his car or tractor, or even his usual bicycle; he was driving his boat. And inside the boat with him was a sopping wet sheep.

         Jerry was always up for anything, and so it should have been no surprise to me that he would go out in his little fishing boat picking up stranded animals. I watched with fascination as he picked up the stranded sheep a couple at a time and delivered them to the safety of a nearby pasture on high ground. As I made my way over to that pasture, I saw a scene that looked like it came out of Noah’s ark.

         Getting out of the car I was greeted by the vision of some cows that must have made their way up to the high ground, a couple goats, and now, with Jerry’s addition of a few more sheep—a flock of sheep. This newly formed flock appeared to be from several farms. Yet they huddled together as one, keeping warm and supporting each other with noisy “baaaaaas.’” And I would add moooo’s and whatever noise goats make – “Mahhh,” I guess.  From different farms, different habits, different species – all jostling and moving about to make room on the high ground for whatever might show up next. 

         The text in the Gospel about other sheep coming into the fold is not about evangelism.  It is about acceptance and inclusion and common ground.

         All the different animals together on that hill, safe from the rising water, is a marvelous image, and it raises an important question for me.  How good are we at making room for others – in this church, but also in our own lives?  How good are we at welcoming others who look at life differently, who experience life in ways we do not?  How good are we at trusting that the high ground is big enough for all of us, that God’s love is abundant enough to enfold all of us – Christians right, left, and center, Jews, Muslims?  How good are we at affirming that what has the potential to hold us all together is far greater than that which seems to drive us apart?

        And what could possibly have that potential to hold us together is our fractured and divided world, you might ask?  Compassion:  That compassion which is the foundation of the greatest commandment that Jesus gave us – and is fundamental to every major religion:  Be compassionate as God is compassionate. 

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  We know it as Christianity’s Golden Rule.

“What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole Torah; all the rest is commentary. Go and learn it.”  Judaism

“Not one of you truly believes until you wish for others 
what you wish for yourself.”  Islam

“Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain and your neighbor's loss as your own loss.”  Taoism

“This is the sum of duty: do not do to others what would cause pain if done to you.”  Hinduism

“Treat not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.”  Buddhism

And so on and so on.

        During our Lenten Study this year, one evening we looked at “The Charter of Compassion.”  Karen Armstrong, a renowned writer and former British nun, penned it, drawing on her extensive research and experience with world religions. 

         It begins:  “The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves.”  It continues, “Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the center of our world and put another there, and to honor the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.”  Could our “good shepherd” at its most basic be the “compassionate” shepherd?

“I am the compassionate shepherd….I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock and one shepherd.”

       Andrew Bowen is a man who studied and practiced a different religion for each month of a year.  Here is what he wrote in his blog:  “Our religions are complicated. Our politics are complicated. Our relationships are complicated. We are complicated. But it doesn’t have to be. We can show love and compassion. We can reconcile with one another. We are capable of removing the walls between us.”

         Now I am not advocating a “one size fits all” global religion.  However, I am calling for a recognition that our survival depends on an interfaith perspective. I am saying that, if we are truly followers of Jesus, we cannot be exclusive. We cannot be fearful of and hate Muslims.  We can be prejudiced against Jews. If we are faithful Christians, then we need to take Jesus at his word.  One flock.  One shepherd.  Linked by compassion.  Enough of God’s love to enfold everyone.  All embracing, ecumenical, and inter-faithful.  One flock.  One shepherd:  So move over – and make room.  

By Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C.                

Luke 24:37-48 "Next Step: Living the Resurrection"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         One day a teacher was asking her young students to name the person whom they considered the greatest human being alive in the world today.  The responses were rapidly forthcoming - and quite varied too.

         A little boy spoke up and said, "Tiger Woods: He is the greatest golfer in the world ever!" Clearly he had not heard the results of the recent Masters tournament. 

         A little girl said, "I think it is the Pope because he cares for people and does not get paid for it at all."  Clearly she had never heard of the Vatican treasury.

         Another child piped up, "I think it is my mom because she takes care of me and my brother – and definitely does not get paid for it." Over and over again, the children cited one celebrity or family member after another.

         Through it all, one small boy remained strangely silent.  When the teacher turned to him and asked the question, he replied, "Well, I think it is Jesus Christ because he loves everybody and is always ready to help anyone."

         The teacher smiled benevolently and said, "I certainly like your answer, and I also admire Jesus. But I said the greatest living person, and, of course, Jesus lived and died almost two thousand years ago.”

         Without missing a beat, the small boy responded, "Oh no, that is not right at all. Jesus Christ is alive!” 

         “He lives right here,” the child continued, pointing to his heart.  Clearly the teacher had not heard of Easter.

         Perhaps that is why the gospels of Matthew, Luke, and John end their narratives with so-called appearance stories, tales of Jesus materializing to his followers after his death, proof positive of the resurrection, for these writers at least, and embedded in their respective gospels just to make sure everyone had heard the story and understood its impact. 

         One time Jesus appeared in a fear-filled upper room in Jerusalem and invited Thomas to poke around in the spear wound on his side.  One time it was to Cleopas and his traveling companion on the road to the tiny village of Emmaus, seven miles from the Holy City. 

One time it was to Peter and some of the others when they set out in a small fishing boat in a vain attempt to rediscover life as it had been and recapture who they once were before they had met Jesus.

         And once, as our story for today tells us, though certainly with not the same degree of drama as some of the others:  Once Jesus popped out of thin air to a group of his followers as their mouths were watering over a particularly aromatic fish broiling on the BBQ. 

         At the time, they were listening intently as Cleopas and his friend regaled them with the story of meeting Jesus on the road to Emmaus, how he had taken the loaf of bread they were saving for supper and had blessed it and broken it, and how their eyes were opened and they recognized him just before he vanished from their sight. 

         And now Jesus stood among all of them, offering them that peace which passes all our understanding, offering them that peace – and offering them himself.  However, instead of being overjoyed – or even overwhelmed – the disciples were terrified, sure that, right there in their midst, was the ghost of all their dashed dreams of freedom. 

         As Episcopal priest Kirk Kubicek relates the story, “So there is Jesus standing among his closest friends…He says, “Shalom!” Loosely translated, that comes across as, “Peace be with you.” (But)  shalom means much more than “peace.”

         Since shalom means to convey that all is well with the world, all is just, all is fair, all is the way God means it to be, (shalom) ultimately means something more like, “What are you doing to make the world look more like God’s world than Caesar’s world?” With “Caesar” standing in (as Kubichek notes) for whatever the principalities and powers look like in a given era – empires, rulers, governments, multi-national corporations, markets, organized religion and the like.

         Appropriately, the disciples are startled – the dead one is on the loose. And terrified – because, holy moly, here he is!

         Jesus then asks the disciples, “Why are you frightened?”

         Could it be because the last time we saw you, you were dead, hanging on a Roman cross, soldiers all around, angry people everywhere, and, well, as far as we knew, dead is dead?

         “Well,” Jesus seems to say, “good point.  That is true enough. Here, look at the wounds – see my hands, see my feet.”“And so they did. 

         They still may have thought that here was a ghost before them, but at least now, we are told, they are filled with joy and wonder.  And in a detail that is so human, so ordinary, so endearing, the author of the gospel tells us that Jesus – perhaps looking longingly at the BBQ’ed fish, cooked to a turn, crispy with just a bit of char around the edges, mouth watering really– or perhaps just smelling it – Jesus steps forward and innocently asks, “Got anything to eat?”

         And over fish tacos with chipotle sauce or maybe it was a fish sandwich on a sesame seed bun, Jesus opens their minds to the Scripture, and suddenly it all makes sense to them – 20/20 hindsight and all – and Jesus tells them, “It will be you, you know, you who will be witnesses, you who have known me in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup and the tasting of the fish – you will be the ones to preach my message, to live my life of compassion and forgiveness, to be my hands and feet in the world.  Go now to Jerusalem, go now in peace to that place which is special to you, and wait for the power – the power of the resurrection - to hunt you down.”

         Oh, resurrection life is not about some future afterlife.  It is not about floating around in heaven – wherever and whatever that is.  Resurrection life is embodied. It is as real as someone noshing on a piece of BBQ’ed fish. Resurrection life is here.  It is now.

         Most assuredly, it is not something we can wrap our minds around or completely understand, but, at its best, it draws a wonder out of us and an enthusiasm that wells up from somewhere way inside of us to learn more, to dig deeper, to probe those Scriptures so that maybe, maybe our minds will be opened as well.  In the end, resurrection - and the life it births - is nourishing – and oh, it tastes and smells so good. 

         Can you believe that Easter was only two weeks ago?  And yet, even continuing to sing the great Easter hymns seems somewhat out-of-place now.  After all, life goes on.  Since Jesus was raised from the dead, a friend has been diagnosed with colon cancer, a child has walked ten whole miles with his Scout troop, someone has visited the emergency room – yet again - and someone else continues to be unemployed. 

         Life goes on after Easter and returns to normal – good, bad, or indifferent as normal might be.   Without our even knowing it, Easter and resurrection become relegated to an affirmation of a past event or the promise of a future one, but Easter and resurrection hardly seem to be a present reality.

         Yet, at the very least, to those of us who are church-goers, Easter is more than a single day of colored eggs, rabbits, baskets, candy wrapped in colorful foil, and a new spring outfit.  Easter is a season, extending for 50 days on the church calendar, all the way until Pentecost. 

         However, at its best, Easter is a lifestyle.  Easter is living with the sure and steadying knowledge that just as something happened on that first Easter dawn, something is happening even now, even today, and more is coming.  Easter is a lifestyle, whose power, as Presbyterian pastor Nancy Blakely writes, is “the power to plant seeds of transformation”:  Personal transformation and transformation of the world.

         You see, it is not enough that the tomb was empty.  It is not enough to enthusiastically proclaim once or even twice a year in church: “Christ is risen!”  It is not enough to intellectually – or even emotionally – believe in the resurrection. 

         As Episcopal priest Michael Marsh reminds us, “At some point we have to move from the event of the resurrection to experiencing the resurrection.  Experiencing resurrected life begins with recognizing the risen Christ among us. That is the gift of Easter, and it is also the difficulty and challenge described in today’s gospel.”

         Resurrection and the resurrected life challenge us to embrace a new reality.  In their fullness, they are so beyond our rationality and our understanding of the way things ought to be.  Today, at best, we catch only the occasional glimmer of them, but even that is a beginning.  I have to believe that much. 

         I have to believe that experiencing the resurrection begins in an upper room; it begins on a dusty road heading out of the Holy City; it begins in a fishing boat; it begins at a campfire with a piece of perch cooked over a bed of coals.

         In short, resurrection and the resurrected life begin in the ordinary places.  This mysterious, astounding, inexplicable, amazing, profound event begins and gains traction where even we might feel comfortable. 

         It is not like Christmas, not by a long shot.  There are no angels shouting at their loudest to the glory of God.  There are no magi traveling from distant places, bearing impressive and highly symbolic gifts.  Mary does not break out in a song that will be the subject of too many musical compositions to count, and there is no innkeeper to make us feel a tad guilty when he shuts the door in the face of a near laboring woman and points to the barn.  There is no brilliant star lighting up the heavens like a beacon.

         No – resurrection begins in grittiness.  It begins with flesh and bones.  It begins with appendages.  “Look at my hands and my feet,” Jesus gently urges.  “See that it is I, myself. Touch me and see.”

         And what did Jesus want his followers to see?  I do not think he was showing off the nail holes in his hands that were just beginning to heal.  I do not think he expected them to stare rapturously at the wounds on his feet that were starting to morph into scars. 

         I think he wanted them to see everything that he had been to them, everything that they would one day be for others – if they were truly his followers.  I think he wanted them to see the hands that had broken bread and held it out to them over and over again, the hands that had fed a crowd with the meager pickings of a little boy’s lunch, the hands that had pressed pads of mud against a blind man’s eyes and reached out to a dead girl so that she rose and walked, the hands that had danced through the air when he taught, the hands that had reached out to touch the leper without hesitation.

       And the feet:  I think he wanted them to see the feet that had carried him throughout Galilee and into Samaria and up to Jerusalem, taking the Good News to those who were starving for it - into the homes of criminals and corrupt bureaucrats, whom he treated as long-lost kin; into the graveyard where the man possessed of a legion of demons lived like a wild dog among the dead, and where Jesus set him free.  I think he wanted them to see the feet that the woman of questionable repute had moistened with her tears and dried with her hair.  (Stan Gockel)

       Jesus did not appear to his disciples all cleaned up and antiseptic – though perhaps for us it would be easier if he did.  He appeared to them with dirt under his fingernails, and tan marks from his sandals on his feet. 

       And of all the things he could have left behind to recognize him, he did not leave his face etched in pain or the echo of his voice crying out his forsakenness.  He left his well-used hands and well-worn feet – ten fingers, ten toes, just like ours. And he left the same hunger he felt too – a hunger for compassion, for justice, for reconciliation and forgiveness.  And he left a mission:  “You are witnesses,” he told them – and so he tells us.  “You are witnesses to resurrection.  You are witnesses to what I am all about.  You are witnesses to God’s dream embodied in me.  Tell it.  Live it.  Become it.”

By Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Mark 16:1-8 "What If.....?

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         A taxi passenger tapped the driver on the shoulder to ask him a question.  The driver screamed, lost control of the car, nearly hit a bus, went up on the sidewalk, and stopped inches from a shop window.

         For a second, everything went quiet in the cab.  Then the driver turned around and said, "Look, don't ever do that again. You scared the living daylights out of me!"

         The passenger apologized profusely and said he did not realize that a little tap could scare him so much.

         The driver replied, "Sorry, it is not really your fault. Today is my first day as a cab driver.  I have been driving a hearse for the past 25 years."

         Death:  We can joke about.  We can cry about it.  We can fear it.  We can deny it.  But on Easter….well, on Easter, we really do not know what to do about it anymore.  It seems that, because of the emptiness of that tomb in the garden outside of the Holy City of Jerusalem over 2000 years ago, all bets are off.

        Even though it competes with Christmas as the biggest annual church celebration (at least in terms of worship attendance), Easter is not at all like its December counterpart.  As theologian and Presbyterian pastor Frederick Buechner wrote:  “Christmas has a large and colorful cast of characters, including not only the three principals themselves, but the angel Gabriel, the innkeeper, the shepherds, the heavenly host, the three Wise Men, Herod, the star of Bethlehem, and even the animals kneeling in the straw…..We have made a major production of it, and as minor attractions we have added the carols, the tree, the presents, the cards. Santa Claus, Ebenezer Scrooge, and so on. With Easter it is entirely different.”

         Maybe because the Gospels are not at all clear about exactly what happened that first Easter morning, especially the account in the Gospel of Mark, which we just read.  All we really know is that Easter begins in the dark.  It begins in silence – and emptiness.  It begins in a Good Friday world with memories of a death considered brutal even by the standards of the Roman Empire, itself the most brutal and oppressive domination system in the ancient world.

        Easter begins with three women knowing exactly what to expect as they tiptoed through the dewy grass of the garden on their way to the tomb early in the morning. They knew the drill by heart – pay your respects, mumble a prayer or two. 

         The corpse would stink.  They knew that also, so they bought sweet spices for anointing it and clearing the air while they worked. 

         They expected to be sad and weep for the dear brave man and for the horrific way that he had died. They expected to be deeply disappointed too - and for a good long time: Disappointed that Jesus was just another failed Messianic hope. They expected to be angry – angry with his male friends for abandoning him, angry at the oppression they endured every day under Roman rule that they had hoped would be lifted – because of him, now lying in state in a cold rock tomb. 

         They expected to find the tomb sealed shut with a boulder and were not at all sure how they would move the rock, but they figured they would cross that bridge when they came to it.  And most of all, they expected, as Lutheran pastor Richard Luckey wrote, to “walk away, knowing what they’d always known: You’re born; you die. You try to do the right thing like this man did, and look what it gets you.”  The story was over – painfully and obviously over.

         What the three women did not expect, of course, was that the boulder would have been shoved out of the way somehow and that the cavernous mouth of the grave would be open, inviting them to enter with all their nascent curiosity.  What they did not expect either was that the tomb would be empty – save for the young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, another surprise.

         What they also did not expect was that they would be the very first to hear the great proclamation of Easter:  “Don’t be alarmed  (Don’t be afraid.  Fear not, for behold…). You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. (Here it comes!)  He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples - and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.’”

         However, so bewildered, so alarmed, so fearful were the women at beholding the unexpected that they fled from the tomb and (according to our Gospel writer) said nothing to anyone.  And no small wonder! 

        Sometimes we, operating out of a 21^st century arrogance, think that, for those ancient and simple-minded first century folk, resurrection was an easy concept to grasp and believe – right up there with leprechauns and mermaids.  Of course, because you and I are so much more intellectually sophisticated, we find resurrection illogical and suspect and highly unlikely.  However, it was just as illogical, just as suspect, and just as highly unlikely for the three women to believe that Jesus would be raised from the dead. 

         You see, in their theological framework, resurrection happened only at the end of time.  No wonder our Gospel writer tells us that they ran off and told no one after the news they received!  Bam!  That is the end of the story in Mark – no appearances by Jesus on the road to Emmaus, on the beach, or even in that upper room in Jerusalem that smelled of fear and of men being cooped up for too long.

         Oh, I know, if you get out your Bible, you will see a few more verses tacked on to the end of Mark’s Gospel.  However, virtually all Biblical scholars agree that they were attached a couple of centuries later by some unknown monk transcribing the narrative who thought the original ending did not do the story justice and so took the liberty of creating a “better” finale.

         However, obviously the women told someone – who told someone – who told someone - because here we are over 2000 years later sitting in a church on Easter morning, remembering the story of the empty tomb, still as bewildered as the three women who did not believe in resurrection before the end of time, who did not know what resurrection really meant, but who in the deepest recesses of their hearts, hoped against hope that because of what the young man in white said, their lives would be transformed forever.

         And so we too – here, today – are left wondering how we are to believe that what is dead can be alive once more, wondering what this resurrection business is anyway – and maybe even hoping against hope that because of what the young man in white said to those three bewildered and trembling women long ago (“He is risen! You’ll find him in Galilee where it all began.”), our lives will be transformed forever as well.

         However, if you came here today to see if some presumably learned preacher could, at best, convince you of the literal historical facts of that first Easter morning or, at the least, enter into a good debate with you over exactly what happened there in the cemetery garden sometime before the women showed up, then you will be deeply disappointed.  That is not what resurrection is all about.  The way I figure it: speculating on the science of what occurred behind the rock wall is a waste of intellectual energy.

         If you came here today to hear me reassure you that you will live forever - albeit in a dimension of time and space that you can not comprehend, then you will be deeply disappointed as well because that is not what resurrection is all about either.  The way I figure it:  What happens to us, after death, is pointless to speculate about and is best left up to God.

         And if you came here today to hear me ask in a preachy sort of way – don’t you believe in the resurrection? – and then rope you into listening half-heartedly to me (after all, you are a captive audience), listening to me telling you that, if you are a good religious Christian, you need to believe in resurrection because, well, because the Bible tells us so, then you will also be deeply disappointed – or perhaps deeply relieved.

         However, if you came here today to ponder with me what resurrection might be about if it is not about the literalness and historical accuracy of the Gospel narrative and if it is not about you and me living forever, if you came here today to ponder what it means for us to answer Jesus’ call to meet him as the disciples were directed to meet him in Galilee, if you came here today thinking that something happened in that tomb but you are not sure what except that it has something, something to do with us, with humankind, then you and I have common ground.

         A very zealous soul-winning young preacher recently came upon a farmer working in his field. Being concerned about the farmer’s soul, the preacher asked the man, “Are you laboring in the vineyard of the Lord, my good man?”

         Not even looking at the preacher and continuing his work the farmer replied, “Naw, these are soybeans.”

         “You don’t understand,” said the preacher. “Are you a Christian?”

         With the same amount of interest as his previous answer the farmer said, “Nope, my name is Jones. You must be looking for Jim Christian. He lives a mile south of here.”

         The young determined preacher tried again asking the farmer, “Are you lost?”

         “Naw! I’ve lived here all my life,” answered the farmer.

         “Are you prepared for the resurrection?” the frustrated preacher asked.

         This caught the farmer’s attention and he asked, “When’s it gonna be?”

         Thinking he had accomplished something, the young preacher replied, “It could be today, tomorrow, or the next day.”

         Taking a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiping his brow, the farmer remarked, “Well, don’t mention it to my wife. She don’t get out much and she’ll wanna go all three days.”

         Even 2000 years ago, there was speculation about exactly what resurrection was and exactly what happened on that first Easter morning  - and that is problematic.  I mean, how can you believe in something when you do not really know what it is except that so much of the conjecture is tied to some future hope?  Why, oh why couldn’t our Gospel writer be a bit more forthcoming – and not leave us dangling the way he did?

         But what if resurrection has to do with realizing that the gospel writer of Mark intentionally left the story dangling, with no apparent ending, because he knew that the story was not over, that people like us would be adding to it, beginning to finish it? What if resurrection has to do then, not with the future of our mortal souls, but with this life instead, with now?  Could you begin to believe that?

         What if resurrection has to do with trusting that there is such a power in love that it can be strong enough to overcome even death, that resurrection’s purpose was “to put (such) love in our hearts, decent thoughts in our heads, and a little more iron up our spines,” as Presbyterian pastor William Sloane Coffin speculated, that is, to bear witness to a different kind of life, the kind of life Christ brings?  Could you begin to believe in that?

         What if resurrection has to do with our understanding that the assumptions we make about our Good Friday world with all its shortcomings and abject failures may not be valid, but rather that our still speaking God, through us, is always doing the unexpected in the name of love, powerful love, love that can conquer even death?  Could you begin to believe in that?

         What if resurrection has to do with our own personal transformation, that is, dying to the old identity of a species that is greedy and fearful and instead has to do with our taking on a new identity,

one that is compassionate as God is compassionate and that shares in God’s dream for a just and peaceful world grounded in a love so powerful that it even conquers death.  Could you begin to believe in that?

         What if resurrection has to do with trusting that we do not put on this new identity of love alone, but that Jesus – alive and well – meets us in Galilee, in the food pantry, in the homeless shelter and shows us the Way – his Way – to a transformed world?  Just when we thought he was safe and sound inside the tomb, just when we were accommodating ourselves to the reality of death, there he is pointing out to us the reality of love, the kind of love so powerful that it even conquers death.  Could you begin in believe in that?

         Do you believe in the resurrection? OK – I asked the question, even though I said I would refrain.  However, here is an answer for you to ponder.

         If you believe in love, in the kind of love Jesus embodied, if you believe in the power of love that not only conquers death but also can transform you and me and has the potential to transform the world, then you believe in the resurrection. 

        If you believe in love, in the kind of love Jesus embodied, if you believe in the power of love that not only conquers death but also can transform you and me and has the potential to transform the world, then, when you leave this place, you will find the Resurrected One walking ahead of you wherever the path of compassion leads you – and you will find yourselves – sometimes loudly and sometimes just in the faintest whisper saying over and over - sometimes in bewilderment but, at other times, in wonder and amazement – “He is risen!  He is risen indeed!”  Alleluia – and amen.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine