Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is from The Promise of Dawn by William Loder

As sure as the sun sets, every morning it rises, sometimes gliding in emergent splendor into the sky, sometimes hidden behind the mists, the clouds enveloping the land. Out of the darkness, light, but can there be forgiveness from the depths of guilt? Out of the night, day, but can there be peace from the hopelessness of war? Out of the deep absence, radiant presence, but can the broken soul be lifted to new beginnings? Out of sunkenness, rising to new day, but can the Christ who gave his life live again?

Every morning beckons us to new beginnings. Every morning invites us to care. Every morning is a promise of hope. We are passengers on a rolling earth, orbiting through outer space, spinning on its axis as it chases night and day. The vast reality of the universe meets us in our darkness, the darkness of the night sky, and hides behind the azure blue of day.

We awake to see only what lies before us. We sleep amid the far visions of the night. Yet night’s transcendence sends its visitor each day, the sun, to light our path to sustain our living, to open new miracles of growth, to encourage our hope, to lead us to the tomb of night.

Death and daring await us in the night; pain and passion lie in wait; awe and suspense open their great chasms, if we will but pass the horizon of light to see the world’s true need, to hear the silent crying of the night, the garden of Gethsemane where anguished souls cry for justice and long for hope.

Then Christ meets us on our journey, calls us to follow across the black face of God and far flung galaxies of the night into new horizons where hope begins anew, stones roll and humanity finds itself again in the morning.

SECOND LESSON

The second lesson is from the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 24, verses 1 through 12

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Child of God must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

This Week's Sermon

Date: April 4, 2010--Easter Sunrise Service

Title: The Promise

Message Delivered By: Rev. Dr. Joe McMurray

At this time of year, quite honestly, Easter can be both a blessing and a curse for a pastor, particularly if they have more than one service over which to preside, and especially if the first service is a sunrise service.

Now please don’t get me wrong—I am very pleased to be here this morning, and honored that the Southernmost Hotel continues to invite us, year after year, to lead this service on their beach. There is no place I would rather be.

But let’s face it, Holy Week is one of the most challenging weeks of the Liturgical year. There are services on Maundy Thursday. Then there’s the traditional presentation of the Passion on Good Friday. And then with two Sunday Services, that amounts to four services in four days, which can be grueling, despite how rewarding it is spiritually.

So as each day comes, my tendency is to give thanks to God for giving me the strength and endurance to be present and engaged for each service. For example, I remember last year on Easter Sunday, when I offered a prayer of thanksgiving similar to this:

“I want to thank you, God, for being close to me so far this day. With your help, I haven’t been impatient, lost my temper, been grumpy, judgmental or envious of anyone. I’ve done my best to be fair, level-headed and tolerant, even when I did not agree. I ask you to be merciful, fill me with grace, and instill in me the continued gift of patience.

“Oh, and God, since I will be getting out of bed in a minute, that’s particularly when I really think I’m going to need your help. Amen.”
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Will you pray with me? God, thank you for this beautiful day—for this place we call “paradise.” Thank you for each and every person you have called to worship on this beach today. May we appreciate the long journey of our Lenten season, and experience the joy of Easter and of Resurrection. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.

Though this phrase was clearly articulated by the two men in dazzling clothes, “Why do you look for the living among the dead,” I could swear I heard one of the drag queens on Duval street say that same thing to one of her friends. Okay, perhaps it’s way too early for that.

Seriously, just think for a moment how we move through our everyday lives. This phrase means more to us than meets the eye. How many moments do we waste in expectation? Why are we so consumed by expectations that things should be—must be—a certain way, only to be let down and cause our spirits to exhaust themselves with false pursuit? How many times have we invested in earthly attachments, only to find those attachments hollow or empty?

“He is not here, but has risen,” the angels said. The women who sought to prepare Jesus’ body were very much attached to his physical presence. Of course, they would be. They were human. They had just begun the process of grieving. When those close to me have died, I found that the first question the human mind seeks to answer is, “Where did they go?” Where did they physically go—or where did their spirit go? It is no longer in this body, so where has it gone?

For many, our faith has given us clues over the years at to where spirit goes. In times of grief, however, we may not be capable of taking in theological beliefs or issues of faith because of the deep sense of physical pain and emotional loss we feel in the present. That depends upon the individual. It is not true that those of greater faith experience less grief. Faith and grief are intangibles that cannot be judged nor measured.

So in their wondering, and in their tears, the angels reminded the women: “Remember what he told you?” The angels reinforced Jesus’ own words by saying: “He told you that he would be handed over, crucified, and would rise again.” And so the women, shaken and trembling to their core, carried this message back to the eleven. And the men among them, being men, ran to the tomb to find out for themselves, confirming what the women had already discovered: Jesus’ body was gone.

Yes, Jesus’ body was gone. What now? What next? There was no contingency plan! There was no Plan B. There was no formula as to how to continue on. But the main question the disciples would have to ask in the coming days was, “What did Jesus leave behind?”
And for those of us two millennia removed from this event, the answer, at times, seems no easier that it was for the disciples, despite all this time we’ve had to contemplate it and sort through it all.

William Loder’s “Promise of Dawn” reminds us that each time the sun sets, it rises again. Every time we experience the shadow side of life—events both in and out of our control that send us into negative space—there are opportunities for us to rebound, to climb back into positive territory, to renew and rejuvenate our lives, and to start again.

“Every morning,” Loder says, “is filled with new beginnings—and a promise of hope”—a hope that through the meaning of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, we might find the answer to what God wants from us—what calling we are meant to discover and employ—what transforming plan we are to become a part of. In this way, we might live in the same manner that Jesus did—attentive, compassionate, engaged—and always aware of the work that still needed to be done.

When we are awake, we are most often aware of what is before us. When we sleep, though we are unconscious and intent on dreaming dreams, the world continues, the world still unfolds and changes. When we wake up, we expect all things to be the same—but they are not the same. The world has changed while we have slumbered. The world does not wait for us, but continues on, just as God continues on.

One of the greatest gifts of Resurrection is “promise”—a promise that God will always be faithful; that in times of pain and suffering, God is present; that even when things fall out of our control, God is in control.

God sent Jesus into our lives to point us in the direction of healing and wholeness; to point us in the direction of salvation, not just some other-worldly salvation, but salvation in the here and now—a salvation that says we, too, can be saviors of people’s lives—saviors of people’s souls that are desperate and starving for God.

The story of Jesus’ life, his ministry, his suffering and death, and his resurrection—are not just a story that we hope may impact our lives. This, too, is a promise of God’s investment in humanity. As part of the living, breathing universe, humankind has received a special promise from God. This promise is ours because we have the means to facilitate God’s grace on earth. We have the ability to intervene for good; we have the gift, when we choose to use it, to include all people and all things in God’s magnificent creation.

We literally celebrate Easter sunrise today by looking at the dawn, a dawn that represents a renewed promise to us from God. It’s an opportunity for us to renew the commitment, the contract, the pledge we make with God—the pledge to live our lives according to God’s will, or in our best understanding of God’s will.

God continues an unending faithfulness to us, whether we are faithful to God or not. Just as the dawn always comes (even when there are clouds on the horizon or storms raining down from the clouds above), the dawn still comes. Despite the clouds and despite the storm, we can still tell the difference between night and day.

In this same way, God’s love continues—regardless of what we have done on our part to interrupt the relationship—regardless of what we can see or cannot see. This is God’s promise to us.

May we continue to follow where God is leading. Amen.