lccktacoma.org/pastor
Throughout Jesus’s life and his ministry in Galilee, he preached a message of healing, of love, of an upside-down kingdom where the poor and the meek are the ones with inheritance.
He told his followers what was to come. The story of the Son of Man, the Son of God, divine and yet human, the God who made Godself flesh to come and dwell among us. The story of a God who misses God’s people, who wants to share in their stories, in their experiences, in their very lives. A God who would be handed over to sinners, to the very people that God made and loved and cared for in all their brokenness. A Son who would be crucified, who would face the worst stories we tell, and who would rise again on that third day. Jesus told this story. Over and over again in his healing, in his sitting down for meals with the outcasts, in his teaching. His story was always pointing to this.And yet when the worst part of the story happens, the trauma of witnessing his death, his followers forgot the ending. As the remaining 11 disciples and other followers gathered to grieve, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and some other women went to conclude the story of Jesus by finally preparing his body. They brought their spices with them. Grieving the ending they didn’t see coming. Until their story changed in front of their eyes. The stone at the tomb was rolled away. They even go as far as to go inside the tomb itself, searching for Jesus’s body, wondering what this new twist in the story would be. Perplexed, confused, I wonder if they asked themselves, “How could this have happened?” And then suddenly there’s two guys in dazzling clothes, like angels, standing in front of these women. The women were terrified, in awe, amazed by what they were seeing. And then they hear, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you…” Remember how he told you. You know this story. You’re living in it now. Sometimes we forget the important stories we’ve been told. Grief, anger, sorrow, the realities and traumas of life can take over, even change what we remember. It did for the disciples and the followers of Jesus. It does for us sometimes too. And then there’s this moment for the women as the maybe-angels say “Remember how….” “Remember how…” That was all it took. “Then they remembered”. Sometimes it takes someone else to help us remember our stories. When faced with grief and sorrow sometimes it’s having someone else say, “Remember how this person made us laugh?” When faced with trauma or a broken-heart, having someone say, “Remember how many people are here for you, you’re not alone.” When faced with all the twists and turns your life story might take, sometimes having someone just say, “Remember how loved you are” can be enough to help you breathe, to help you find your place. Now for Mary and Joanna and Mary and all the women who were with them, this moment of remembering reminded them that this wasn’t just Jesus’s story, but it was their story too. Their story of this Son, this divine person who walked with them, who died in front of them, and whose tomb was empty. And so they returned to the eleven disciples and the rest and they told their story. And like so often happens when people on the margins share their story, their experience, their witness, they were immediately dismissed. These words seemed to them an idle tale. Gossip. Make-believe. Garbage. Really, the Greek word here is basically a curse word for baloney, if you catch my drift. I wonder if one of the disciples said, “Yea, wouldn’t that be nice.” Or “Sure, I’m sure that’s what you saw.” I think we’ve all been there. Either on the women’s side of this experience or the disciples. Trying to share a story or an experience with someone who doesn’t want to hear. Or even hearing a story that you could do without. This can be a pretty common reaction to faith stuff too. To the story of Jesus’s death and resurrection and what it means for us. I mean, I’ve been in the disciples’ shoes. For most of my adult life I thought of Jesus and faith as a really nice story. I found myself attending Easter Sunday worship with my mom out of obligation and sometimes bribery. I would just be waiting for the pastor to stop talking, wondering why the wifi was so bad, or how many doodles I could fit into a single bulletin. If that’s you today, it’s okay, we’re glad you’re here. If that’s you every Sunday, we’re still glad you’re here. Your secret’s safe with me. I’d listen to the sermon, watching the people around me, and I’d think, “Aw, isn’t that nice.” It’s in our nature to dismiss the stories and experiences that don’t perfectly match up with ours. As a whole, in our society and in our churches we fail to listen with believing ears to those who share experiences filled with hard truths. We struggle to hear experiences from people who are different from us, whether that be gender identity, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, background, or age. For the disciples it’s the hard truth that their story isn’t over yet, which should be good news, but it’s news coming from the women first. I wonder if any of them thought, “If Jesus really did rise from the dead, why would these women be the first to know?” I wonder if any of the disciples said, “Why would you have such a big part in this piece of the story?” “Why didn’t the angels come to us first?” But whatever reason they found to dismiss the women’s testimony, still stories have power and purpose and meaning. And at least one of the disciples heard the women, and thought it was at least worth exploring the possibility. Maybe Peter really believed the story the women shared of their experience. Maybe Peter remembered how accurate Jesus’s prediction of Peter’s own betrayal had been, and remembered that Jesus did say some stuff about three days. Maybe Peter was just desperate to change his own story as the failed disciple. Whatever the reason, the truth of the women’s words got Peter up and running. Stooping in and looking inside an empty tomb, terrified, amazed, in awe of what he found. And as Peter goes on to share this story, this experience of life and death and new life with Jesus, we find him in our Acts reading, preaching to gentiles. Because like many stories, Jesus’s story was being made into something it was never meant to be. His upside-down kingdom of the poor and the meek, of the outcast and the marginalized, was being turned into something that was only for some. The early church was drawing a line in the sand and saying that if you weren’t this way, if you didn’t convert to the old laws, if your life story didn’t match up quite the way we wanted it to with ours, then Jesus’s story wasn’t for you. And Peter goes to those who thought maybe Jesus wasn’t for them, and he tells the story of Jesus. “I truly understand that God shows no partiality.” This God who made us, who made all people, is for all people. Every nation, every person who finds awe in God, who does what is right, has a valuable story to God. God through Jesus is a story of peace, a story of one God of all…for all. And that message wasn’t just for one group, one area, or one people, but it traveled. Jesus’s story traveled. The story of his anointing and baptism, the story of his care and healing, of God’s presence with Jesus through all of it. His death and his resurrection were not just for a few people. It was for all. And God chose the followers of Jesus who would be least likely to be believed to be the first to witness the empty tomb. The first to tell the story. We are all made up of stories, of experiences, of memories. And those women, Mary, Joanna, Mary, and all the rest, are part of our story too. Sometimes we forget the stories and experiences that shape us or matter to us. Like an amnesia that comes over us. Sometimes we need to be reminded, to remember how we’re not alone, to remember how loved we are. Sometimes we ignore the important stories that are shared with us by others, we dismiss them as garbage, as idle tales because we can’t understand them yet. We see it as not for us, not representing us, not part of our faith story and so therefor not acceptable to us. Sometimes we take the stories of faith, of our own lives or the lives of others and let them twist into something they were never meant to be. Sometimes we fail to listen and welcome those in our lives who most need our care. Sometimes We don’t even realize how harmful our words or actions of dismissal can be. But today, on Easter Sunday, as we celebrate Jesus’s resurrection, as we are reminded of the importance of stories and experiences, of grace and love and promise. We are also reminded that this isn’t just Jesus’s story, it isn’t just the story of the women who discover the empty tomb, it isn’t just the story of Peter or the early church. It’s my story….your story…our story. The story of a God who misses us, who wants to share in our stories, in our experiences, in our very lives. A God who was handed over to sinners, to people just like us, by sinners, by people just like us, people who God made and loves and cares for in all our brokenness. This Son of God was crucified, faced the worst stories we could tell, and still rose again on that third day. For us. For you and for me. For all of our stories, all of our experiences, all of our lives. Jesus took our failures, our selective amnesia, our dismissiveness, our tendencies to twist and turn stories. Jesus took all of our idle tales, all of our garbage to the cross. And Jesus left behind an empty tomb. A story, an experience, a hope that something new has come, and we all have a part to play. We celebrate today because this is our story to share too, and we share Jesus’s story in all kinds of ways. Maybe for you that’s in sharing in Jesus’s ministry doing good and providing healing for others. Maybe it’s in just sharing your own story, your own experiences, even if you might get dismissed or ignored, knowing that God is present there with you in the sharing. Maybe it’s in telling Jesus’s story and why it matters to you. And maybe today, the part you play is simply one of celebration and gratitude for the power, for the purpose, for the gift of an empty tomb. Christ is risen. He is risen indeed, alleluia.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
FROM THE PASTOR
Sundays: Categories
All
Archives
February 2024
|