Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is from the Gospel of John Chapter 20, verses 1 through 7

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.’ Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went towards the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself.

SECOND LESSON

The first lesson is from the Gospel of John Chapter 20, verses 8 through 13

Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’

THIRD LESSON

The first lesson is from the Gospel of John Chapter 20, verses 8 through 13

When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the God. But go to my brothers and say to them, “I am ascending to my God and your God.”’ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

This Week's Sermon

Date: EASTER SUNDAY, April 12, 2009

Title: Let Me Go

Message Delivered By: Rev. Joe Mc Murray

Being one of the more serious and solemn events of the liturgical year, the Lenten and Easter seasons rarely afford us an opportunity for the lighter side—or for you purists—the pagan side of the holiday. I refer, of course, to the legend of the Easter Bunny.

The Easter Bunny is of German origin, brought to the United States in the 1700s. Along with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny provides a hopeful, joyous celebration as colorful eggs are prepared, candies and treats are given, especially peeps, which are terribly unhealthy for you, and hollow chocolate bunnies which are very, very good for you.

So I thought it would be appropriate, before we turn to more serious things, to give the Easter Bunny her due. In that spirit, on Holy Saturday night, a man who had worked very late was driving along the highway. It was pitch black, as the highway was not lit, and the man was very tired.

Just as he yawned, taking his eyes off the road for just a split second, he saw a rabbit jump out across the middle of the pavement right in front of him. He jammed on his breaks and swerved to avoid hitting the rabbit, but unfortunately the impact was unavoidable.

The driver, a very sensitive, caring and spiritual man, as well as an animal lover, pulled over to see what had become of the rabbit. Much to his dismay, the rabbit had a pink bow under her chin and was wearing a matching satin sash across her chest that read, “Easter Bunny, 2009.” Worse still, the rabbit was not moving. Its limp body showed no sign of life.

Well, the man was devastated! It had happened so fast, and he felt so bad. He didn’t know what to do. In fact, he felt so awful that he began to cry, and his cries soon turned to weeping.

Just then, a young college student driving down the highway saw the man in her headlights. As she passed, he appeared to be kneeling over something on the side of the road, and sobbing uncontrollably. She pulled over to see if she could help. As she stepped out of the car, she asked the man what was wrong.

"I feel terrible!" He explains, "I accidentally hit the Easter Bunny with my car and I think … I think … I may have killed her!”

The young woman expressed sympathy and remorse, and then hugged and consoled the man. Then suddenly, she looked up and said, "Don't worry. I think I have the answer!” She ran back to her car and returned with a spray can. She walked over to the limp Easter Bunny, told the man to stand back, and began to spray the contents over the rabbit’s entire body. She sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until the can ran out of its contents.

Suddenly and unbelievably with no warning, the Easter Bunny jumped up, waved its paw at both of them, and then hopped off down the roadway. The man was dumbstruck. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing!

But before he could utter a sound, after the rabbit had gone about ten feet down the road, she stopped, turned around, and waved at them again. And after ten more feet, the rabbit stopped, turned, and once more, waved at them. And then it happened again. In fact, the behavior kept repeating until the rabbit had hopped out of sight.

Well the man was astonished, perfectly convinced that a grand Easter miracle had taken place right before his eyes. He walked over to the young woman and asked, “How did you do that? What is in that can?”

The young woman turned the can around so the man could read the label. It said: “Never Fail Hair Spray. Restores life to dead hair. Also adds permanent wave.”

I don’t think I can elaborate any more on that story. Will you pray with me, please?
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Loving God, Goddess, we thank you for our ability to laugh, to cry, and to share our joys and our sorrows. The time for turning inward has passed, and now we look for the outward sign of your presence among us. As Holy Week has come to an end, and the joy of Easter and the victory of Resurrection are upon us, we give you thanks for all you are and all you will be for us, for our church and for our community. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.
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Sometimes it doesn’t matter what the scholars say. It doesn’t matter what the learned ones tell us is truth about Christian history. It really doesn’t matter if we have differences about what we think about the Bible: whether we believe it was “divinely inspired” as a text, or that it’s authors were divinely inspired when they sat down to write the books, or that those who put the individual books in the order they appear were divinely inspired; it doesn’t matter whether all of the Bible is true, or only some of it is true. This much is true.

Over any other story, the importance of resurrection in our lives is true—the witness of transformation through the life and death of Jesus Christ is true. It will never cease to be of the utmost importance to our faith.
The meaning of the Resurrection, more than any other event, defines not only the hope of the Christian church, but the hope of all humanity for a better world in which to live. Resurrection makes possible all our hopes and dreams.

Our scripture today offers a sobering view into the lives of Mary Magdalene and the disciples just at the height of their most painful experience. Jesus had just been put to death and laid to rest in a borrowed tomb. Those of you who were here on Good Friday evening witnessed the moving account of the last days, the last hours in the life of Jesus as his body was laid in the tomb.

And this morning, we find Mary Magdalene—heartbroken at the loss of her friend and teacher. She came to the tomb alone—perhaps to say one final goodbye; perhaps to pray from that place of longing and emptiness she no doubt felt within her.

She wished to be as close as she could to what remained of the physical presence of Jesus. For that was the only thing that could bring her any sense of satisfaction or comfort, and what remained of her faith, and what remained of her hope. We have shared in similar grief stories in our lives—we know what it’s like to want to remain close to those we’ve loved so dearly, even after their gone.

The stone had been placed in front of the tomb two days before, so we can assume Mary knew she would not see the physical body of Jesus that day. It was still dark when she arose in the early morning hours and arrived there.

In those days, it was important that the body be untouched, for it was believed that the spirit lingered for three days after burial near the tomb where it was laid. Sabbath restrictions prohibited visitation on that day, so Mary came to the tomb at her earliest opportunity.

Her visitation there was more, however, than to pay her respects. As we can tell by the somber tone, there was a reverence there for her Lord, Jesus. She was devoted to him, she loved him. He taught her so much, and depending on which scholars you believe, many think Mary was a key disciple of Jesus.

Mary’s initial reaction to what she found at the tomb was shock—the image of the stone moved from the entrance of the tomb burned in her eyes in an unimaginable horror. Her grieving, which was an important part of the beginnings of a healing process, was unexpectedly and unceremoniously interrupted.

The possibility was great that Jesus’ body had been stolen. The last thing Mary would have wanted—or the disciples would have wanted—was an irreverent end to this whole traumatic episode. Mistreatment of Jesus’ body—a defiling of the corpus—would have a desecration in their eyes and would have made a mockery of this very solemn and painful time. It was bad enough they had lost their teacher. Now, his body was gone.

Mary fled to tell the disciples, and they ran to the tomb, saw that what she said was true and came to “believe”—not yet in resurrection—it would take time to believe that—but to believe the account that Mary told them was true, that the body of Jesus had been taken away. They returned to their homes, troubled. Only Mary remained. She stayed behind, weeping over the realization that Jesus was gone forever, and now all traces of him—even his body—was gone.

Grief does strange things to us.

As Mary grieved, two angels appeared in the tomb itself. They asked why she wept. But she saw only what she expected to see—her vision likely impaired by tears and a distressed frame of mind.

Finally, Jesus himself appeared to her. Yet she was so consumed with grief, she could not see that the fantastic had become reality. She mistook Jesus for the gardener at the gravesite, and pleaded with him to tell her where Jesus’ body has been laid.

Indeed, grief does strange things to us.

Grief is an emotion like no other; it makes us numb to the world, as if we are floating above it, unable to stop events from speeding ahead. There is no such thing as time relevance. There is no comprehension of reality.

All things normal disappear. Events, meetings or relationships we had previously prioritized mysteriously rearrange themselves, some of them completely disappearing from our view forever, never to be thought of again.

Yes, grief can do strange things to us.

Grief can make us miss things that are right in front of us; grief can make us see things that may not be there. It can enable us to see things that we otherwise would not have seen. Grief causes extreme forgetfulness, even of important events or meaningful encounters.

Grief places the brain in crisis mode in order that it might work to protect the body from further injury. In the state of grief, the mind uses all its resources to insulate, defend and shield the body and the heart from further pain and suffering.

There were times in the grieving periods of my life when, for a full year, I was unaware of the new people I had met or new experiences I had witnessed. I might encounter these people later on—two or three years later—and they would call me by name and I would say, “How do you know me?”
Of course the looks I got could re-freeze the Continental shelf. It provided some awkward moments, to say the least. I would try to explain how I had lost a year of memory, but most people could not understand or forgive that.

For Mary, it was a familiar voice that brought her back. She recognized Jesus only when he called her name. “Mary!” He had probably called her name hundreds of times in that same way. That was the one thing she noticed—the one thing that brought her back to earth, that brought her back to reality, even though she could not even fathom it was real.

Our senses are enhanced in times of grief. While our memories might wane, our sense of touch, hearing and smell are sometimes greatly enhanced. These can be pleasant, and sometimes unpleasant reminders of the loneliness that lies ahead.

And at the same time, the sights, sounds, smells and touches of the familiar things that were once shared are at least something to hold onto. Something tangible, something real, a return—even for a moment—to what once was and will never be again.

Mary called out to Jesus. “Rabbouni” instead of “rabbi.” Rabbouni was considered a less formal word than “Lord,” which is a variation of the word “teacher.” “Rabbouni” could indicate more familiarity or could symbolize a relationship whose roles were less rigidly divided.

And Jesus said, “Do not hold onto me; I have not yet ascended to God.” Jesus conveyed to Mary, in his own way, that he could no longer return to life as it was before—all of that was behind him now. It was time to ascend to God. It was time for her and the disciples to remember him in Spirit, but to let go of his body—to let go of the desire to possess Jesus. How difficult that must have been for Mary to hear.
How have we responded in the face of grief? How have we felt when we’ve been forced to let go? Would we not have done anything to hold on and never let go if the ones we loved so dearly?

This is one of the most difficult tasks in life we have to perform: to let go.

Some of us are never able to “let go” because our entire identity is wrapped up in the shadow of who we were with that other person or way of life or entity that had been so much a part of us. That is what is both so sad and also transformative about death. Everyone who is touched by it is changed—forever.

Because some religious traditions have traditionally assigned Mary Magdalene as a minor character in Jesus’ life and ministry, or because her persona has been intentionally skewed to remove any doubt that Jesus was celibate and could never have been tempted, doesn’t mean that that’s what she was.

We must never minimize the importance of these events or the importance of Mary within the Christian story of transformation. Along with Resurrection, the depth of Mary’s love for Jesus, the importance of her being the first to encounter the risen Christ, and the message Jesus gave her to convey to the disciples—these are the transformational messages of this age-old story. And despite her fears, her longing, her anger, her deep sadness and grief—Mary was able to fulfill Jesus’ last wish. In so doing, she was able to let him go.

Mary did what the others took much longer to do. As desperately as she wanted to cling to him and never let him go, and as much as she loved him, Mary did what Jesus asked of her in the most telling moment of her life. she did the most difficult thing.

Resurrection touched all of the disciples, eventually, in various ways. But for Mary Magdalene, it was a transformative event in her own understanding of the meaning of Jesus’ life and her own life. From the throes of anguish to a heightened sense of love fulfilled—she took away this important truth: Jesus loved her; Jesus was still with her; and her grief had been transformed into hope, not only for herself, but for the disciples and other followers of Christ.

At times, we must be willing to relinquish—to let go of that we hold most dear. As with Mary, we are first compelled to cling, to hold on at all costs to a thought, an idea, a way of life, a relationship. But there is a warmth and satisfaction inside when we dare to let go, as Mary did—and allow our better self—the self that comes by being followers of Jesus, to come to fruition.

At some point we will all be required to find the strength within to let go of that which we hold so dear. This is the truth. That requirement will mean something entirely different to each of us.

But if we are mindful that transformation is possible for us all—and that it is made possible through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus—this good news brings hope and brings us closer to trust that God will see us through even our most difficult days.

The day of Resurrection is here. Transformation happens each and every day. May we recognize it, welcome it, embrace it, and celebrate it. Amen.