From Fear to Faith

a sermon by Rev. Rebecca Segers
Jeremiah 6:1-10
John 20:1-18 

We’ve made it!  Easter is here again and we can leave behind Lent and the events of the past week leading into the horrific death of Jesus of Nazareth and we can celebrate the risen Christ!  Hallelujah!

The resurrection story that we read today is from the gospel of John.  John is the most unique gospel of the four; it is the one with the fewest stories that match up with the others, the one with the strongest theology of Jesus as God – in other words, he seems less human and more God-like in John’s stories – and it is the gospel with the most detail about the resurrection.  In John’s version, there are six characters – Mary Magdalene, Peter and the one whom Jesus loved – we’ll call him John as tradition dictates – plus two angels and the resurrected Jesus.  For the purposes of discussion today, I’m going to focus on the human characters, three followers of Jesus: Mary Magdalene, Peter and John.

All three of these people have an arc to their story in the scripture lesson.  All three of them move from an opening space that is anxious and fearful to a place of belief and joy.  All three of them have their own faith journey develop during the course of this story just as we today move from fear to faith in our own lives.

Early on the first day of the week, that is a Sunday, Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb alone.  At least, she is portrayed as coming to the tomb alone – when she runs to tell the disciples that it has been opened, she cries, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb and we don’t know where they have laid him.”  So perhaps she is among a group of women as the other gospel traditions say, but is the first to arrive at the site.

At any rate, she sees the stone rolled away and she is frightened.  The stone that would have covered the gravesite is extremely heavy – in the gospel of Mark, the women are discussing the problem of rolling the stone away themselves as they travel to the tomb.  You see, they are coming to rub Jesus’ body with oils and spices to preserve it, so they’ve got to get into the tomb in order to do this.  But as Mary arrives, she realizes that her problem is not that she cannot get into the tomb, but that somebody else already has!  She’s frightened and confused.  No one has told her that Jesus’ body won’t remain where it has been laid.  Indeed, her first thought might even be that grave robbers have taken Jesus – perhaps they are even still in the vicinity and could be dangerous.  Terrified and wanting help, she immediately turns and runs to the disciples Simon Peter and John, telling them that Jesus’ body is missing and they don’t know where it has been taken.  This is interesting given the fact that she hasn’t looked in the tomb.  She got there; it’s open and she assumes the worst.  Her fears overwhelm her and she reacts instantly, running for help.

The two disciples that she has alerted respond immediately to her distress.  We don’t know what they were doing when she arrives.  Perhaps they were still sleeping or performing early morning ablutions or sitting down to breakfast or taking care of morning chores.  Whatever they were up to when Mary arrives, they stop immediately and run to the tomb.

Both run with all their might; they too are anxious and concerned.  John outruns Peter and arrives first.  Some scholars make a big deal about this fact, claiming that John must be younger and able to speed along quickly while Peter is older and incapable of matching the younger man’s stride.  Others turn this into a theological point, saying that Peter is representative of the Jewish tradition and John the Gentiles – even though Peter arrives second, he enters the tomb first just as the first Christian community comes from Jewish believers, while the Gentile Christians in the person of John come later.  No matter the reason for the gospel author’s tale – perhaps John is simply the faster runner – when he gets to the tomb, he stops.

He sees something lying on the ground outside the tomb, so he bends down and proceeds to investigate.  The items are the strips of linen and the burial cloth that had been wrapped around Jesus.  John thinks about what he sees and he realizes that the fact that these cloths remain are proof that the body was not stolen, for robbers would not have unwrapped the body and carefully folded the garments, laying them neatly aside.  No one has taken Jesus away, John thinks.  Clearly, he has left of his own volition.

Then Peter arrives, and being the impetuous person that he always is, he is the first one to enter the tomb.  Peter never stops to think of the consequences, but even in the midst of fear and uncertainty, doubt and alarm, he still races in without forethought of what might be awaiting him.  So once again, although Peter is the last of the three in our story to arrive at the tomb, he is the first to barge into the grave.  But once inside he sees – nothing, simply an empty tomb.  He stands there, puzzled, not knowing what to think, when, the Bible tells us, John finishes his investigation at the door and comes inside.  John, who sees the same nothing that Peter sees and yet believes.

But believes what?  The next verse says that they still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.  So does he believe Mary’s claim that Jesus’ body has been stolen?  Or does he simply believe the witness of his own eyes – that Jesus is gone?  Or does he believe the evidence of the empty tomb: not merely that the tomb is empty, but that its emptiness bears witness that Jesus has conquered death and become ruler of this world?  Does this statement of his belief show his faith to be as complete as the evidence of an empty tomb and strips of burial cloth can be?

Whatever it means, the two disciples leave and return to their own homes; the truth is, we know not what they think or what they believe at this point.  Then Mary Magdalene is abruptly reintroduced into the scene.  Apparently, she followed the disciples back to the tomb, although we have not been explicitly told this.  The disciples leave and go back to their respective homes, and Mary remains outside the tomb, alone, unaided, unappeased, and crying.  She went to the disciples for help, but she is no more knowledgeable now than she had been before.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of her – after all, while the disciples were no help in that they didn’t tell her anything, they did show her that no one else was inside the tomb waiting her to do her harm.  So finally, Mary bends over and looks inside the tomb.  And what does she see?  Two angels in white sitting where Jesus’ body had been lying.  They do not explain their presence, but only ask her why she is weeping.  She shows no fear at seeing them; she is too overwrought about the loss of her Lord.  Yet she expresses herself clearly and cogently in the midst of her pain, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”

We then come to the dramatic and theological heart of the story – the verses where Jesus recognizes her, but she does not recognize him.  Like the angels, he says to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

Not only does Mary not recognize Jesus, she thinks he is the gardener – the Greek word used here is κηπουρός and might be considered like a groundskeeper in our current cemeteries.  Distraught, she says to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”  Jesus then says her name, “Mary!” and she recognizes him.  Like us today, we hear God calling when it gets personal.

She turns to him and reaches for him, crying out “Rabbouni!” the familiar Aramaic version of rabbi or teacher or master.  But before she can throw her arms around him, Jesus sanctions her, “Do not hold onto me, because I have not yet ascended to the father.  But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

While he doesn’t let Mary physically touch him, he gives her a message to pass on that is ultimately more personal than touch.  He tells her that God belongs to him and to her and to us.  That God is his father and her father and our father.  That we are all, every single one of us on this planet earth, God’s children.

All three of these characters come to the tomb in anxiety and fear.  All three of these characters bring to the tomb their own particular ways of dealing with that same anxiety and fear.  John is the Sherlock Holmes of the group.  He examines the evidence and draws conclusions that make him feel better, stronger in his faith in Jesus.  Peter is, as always, the impetuous one – the one who runs in where others fear to tread, who doesn’t even notice the evidence, but instead races to the fore, the bull in the china shop who nonetheless, acts out of overwhelming love.  And then there’s Mary: Mary is the one who comes from an emotional center.  Her fear takes her to others to support her in her fear and grief, but when they don’t prove to be helpful in the way that she needs, she steps out of her own comfort zone and begins to ask questions.  She does her best to find out what’s really happened and in the end, she is rewarded for her persistence.

What do you do when you are afraid?  When you are in the midst of a personal trial and don’t know what to do?  Are you a Peter?  Do you take action and blunder ahead with best intentions but perhaps not always the information you need?  Or are you a John?  An investigator.  Someone who looks at the evidence surrounding him or her and then tries to draw the best conclusion as to what to do next?  Or are you a Mary?  Someone whose emotions carry him or her away, but who ultimately asks the questions that you need to ask to get you what you want?  Or do you respond in another way?

Because the fact of the matter is that all of us live lives that include fear and anxiety.  All of us have days where we worry about where Jesus is and whether or not resurrection is possible.  All of us have family members that have physical ailments.  Or perhaps it is we ourselves that are suffering – from cancer, from depression, from Alheimer’s disease, from alcoholism or another addiction.  Or perhaps we suffer from something less debilitating, but nonetheless troubling – pink eye or shingles or achy joints or sore spots.  Or maybe the ailment isn’t physical but mental or emotional.  Maybe we are not bothered so much by our own bodies, but by our minds.  Perhaps we are having difficulty living in the world as we know and see it today.

Scott Russell Sanders tells of hiking in the Rocky Mountains with his 17-year-old son, Jesse.  The two of them had not been having the bonding experience he had hoped for, but instead found themselves quarreling and squabbling every possible moment.  There might have been times of truce, but even these were often spent in silence, with the sense of a deeper grievance than the typical teenager vs. adult power struggle lying underneath.

At one point, Jesse wanted to push on up to Thunder Lake, near 11,000 feet, and pitch the tent on snow.  Scott wanted to stop a thousand feet lower and sleep on dry dirt.

“We’re not equipped for snow,” Scott explained.

“Sure we are,” Jesse countered, “Why do you think I bought a new sleeping bag.  Why did I call ahead to reserve snow shoes?”

The conversation went round and round until finally Jesse burst out, “You’re spoiling the trip.  You and your hang-ups.  You always ruin everything!”

That comment leached the beauty out of the day for Scott.  What had previously seemed glorious and vibrant to him now seemed bleak and bare.  As they took to the car and drove the depths of Big Thompson Canyon, he could bear it no longer and demanded, “So what are my hang-ups?  How do I ruin everything?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jesse replied.

“Yes, I do.  What is it about me that so grates on you?” Scott pressed.  He says he doesn’t remember the exact words of the discussion that followed, but he remembers the tone and the thrust and it went something like this:

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You’re just so out of touch,” Jesse shrugged.

“With what?”

“With my whole world.  You hate everything that’s fun.  You hate television and movies and video games.  You hate my music.”

“I like some of your music.  I just don’t like it loud.”

“You hate advertising,” Jesse continued quickly, now on a roll.  “You hate billboards, lotteries, developers, logging companies, and big corporations.  You hate snowmobiles and jet-skis.  You hate malls and fashions and cars.  You say fast food’s poisoning our bodies and TV’s poisoning our minds.  You think the Internet is just another scam for selling stuff.  You think business is a conspiracy to rape the Earth.”

“And none of that bothers you?” Scott answered.

“Of course it does.  But that’s the world.  That’s where we’ve got to live.  It’s not going to go away just because you don’t approve.  What’s the good of spitting on it?”

“I don’t spit on it.  I grieve over it.”

Jesse was still for a moment, then went on quietly.  “What’s the good of grieving if you can’t change anything?”

“Who says you can’t change anything?”

“You do.” Jesse went on.  “Maybe not with your mouth, but with your eyes.  Your view of things is totally dark.  It bums me out.  You make me feel like the planet’s dying, and people are to blame, and nothing can be done about it.  There’s no room for hope.  Maybe you can get along without hope, but I can’t.  I’ve got a lot of living still to do.  I have to believe there’s a way we can get out of this mess.  Otherwise, what’s the point?  Why study, why work, why do anything if it’s all going down?”

Scott was stunned.  He didn’t want to believe that he had deprived his son of hope, for hope truly does give meaning to our lives.  Yet the intensity of Jesse’s sharing left him with the conviction that he must work harder on the solutions and spend less time in the problems of life.

This is the amazing news of Easter Sunday: that the solution lies before us.  That Christ died for our sins and was raised that we might have new and abundant life.  That we live in the world, but do not have to be of the world.  That hope is all around us every single day, every single hour, every single moment – because we have resurrection power in our lives.  Not just today.  Not just on Easter Sunday.  But we who are Christian believers have resurrection power at our fingertips, in our grasp, all the time.

It doesn’t matter how we start out – in fear, in anxiety, in nervous anticipation, in quiet despair: the loving God of the Universe has proved to us once and for all that He/She/It is with us and will always be with us.  No matter how bad we are, no matter what terrible mistakes we make, no matter what awful things we do, even to trying to kill God – we cannot do it.  And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have been with the citizens shouting, “Crucify him!  Crucify him!” on Good Friday, or the Roman soldiers who hung Jesus on the cross, or Pilate who did what the masses told him to do instead of what his heart told him what was right, or Peter who said three times that he did not know Jesus when he had spent the last three years eating and talking and loving him.

Each and every one of us makes mistakes that lead to the metaphorical death of Christ in our lives.  Each of us raises our voices to those we love.  Each of us gets angry at other drivers on the road when they cut us off or move too slowly.  Each of us vents our frustration at PTA meetings or board meetings, in the workplace, at school or at home.  Each of us feels anger and confusion upon occasion and lashes out at others or inward at ourselves.  We all deny Christ when we choose to go with the crowd rather than do what is right.  When we allow our emotions to rule us rather than God’s love.  When we destroy our bodies that Paul tells us to treat as temples of God by drinking too much alcohol or over-eating or not exercising enough – are you kidding?  We’ll be inclined to do that this afternoon with large meals and egg hunts with lots of candy as the reward afterward!

But hear the good news!  No matter how hard we try to kill God – just as the religious authorities and citizens and the Roman authorities and soldiers did 2000 years ago, we can’t do it!  We have resurrection power in Jesus the Christ who died and was raised from the dead then and is raised in us all the time.  Every time we get it right, Jesus lives in us today.  Every time those of us who tend to overeat, don’t grab that last piece of cake or bite of donut, Christ rises again.  Every time an alcoholic doesn’t pick up a drink, Christ rises again.  Every time we choose to use our anger in productive ways rather than lashing out, Christ rises again.  Every time we knit a prayer shawl instead of lolling in despair, Christ rises again.  Every time we spend time in service here in our community or for justice across the globe, Christ rises again.  Every time we sing a new song of praise to the Lord, Christ rises again.  Every time we stay involved in our children’s – or in our parents’ lives – Christ rises again.  Every time we treat people – all people, of every skin tone and every level of ability and every language and every religious tradition – every time we treat people with respect, Christ rises again.  Every time we choose light over darkness, Christ rises again.  Every time we step out of fear and into faith, claiming our heritage as believers, Christ rises again.  Christ is risen in our beliefs and in our actions and in our lives.

So let us say it.  Let us shout it for joy!  Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed!  I’ll say it and you respond:  Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed!  Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed!  Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed.  May it be ever so.  Amen.