"Witnesses to the Resurrection" Easter April 16, 2017

John 20: 1-18 Every week, every summer, until I was 8, my brothers and I played in Mt Edna Cemetery. At the time, this was not at all strange. For each summer we spent on the farm with our Grandparents in Fulton, and Grandma insisted that before the Sun rose on the first day of the week, our family went to the Cemetery to lay fresh flowers. Grandpa would carry a bucket up the hill to fetch water for the flower urns at each headstone, Grandma would remove the decayed ones, separate and arrange fresh flowers that smelled nicer. All the while my brothers and I played tag or hide and seek behind the headstones. When Grandma was finished, she would call us together and we would have a prayer sitting on the ground amidst all the stones of our ancestors. We never thought this was creepy, it was not something we did because we were preacher’s kids. We were told this was an honor we could pay to those we were supposed to love, before the new week started. We had grown up with death as a reality. We had been blessed to know our Grandparents and Great Aunts and Uncles, who each were older than Grandma and well past 90, so visiting their graves was pretty much like visiting them at their homes. Both in their homes and at the Cemetery, we were encouraged to run around outside, then come inside and quietly sit still as the grand-folks talked, on the way home Grandpa always stopped at Foster’s for Ice Cream. The only difference that I could see was that Great Aunt Ethel had a Parrot, Aunt May had Cats, Uncle Zeek gave us Silver Dollars, both of our Aunts smelled of perfumes, Uncle Zeek’s house smelled like Uncle Zeek, while at the Cemetery there were no pets and no smelly stuff. We were encouraged to go to the Cemetery regularly, even though Grandma always cried. We knew the headstone in the shape of a lamb for our Cousin Bert who died as a child. The only things we did not understand, were why there were already headstones and graves for our grandparents though they were alive, and the purpose of that little stone house without windows. Grandpa said it was the Mausoleum? My brother said it was the Tomb where Jesus had been buried. Amongst ourselves, we decided that it looked like the stone house in the Sunday School Pictures where Jesus stood outside and knocked, so as Church was God’s House, each of our Great Aunts and Uncle had their houses, that the Mausoleum had to be Jesus’ House, except it seemed strange the doors were always locked and there were no windows. The winter after I turned 7 Grandpa died, so we went to Fulton the next summer, but Grandma no longer lived on the Farm, and my brothers claimed to be too grown up to play Tag or Hide and Seek among the Headstones, so we stopped going until as a minister I was called upon for the burial of my Grandmother. We live in a death defying culture. A World where we try to live forever, believing in Carpe Diem taking vitamins, having face-lifts and tummy tucks and exercising at Y to try to beat death at its own game. But as much as we focus on celebrating the person’s life, instead of dwelling on grieving, there is a mortal imperative in appreciating we are creaturely, and the whole point of Easter is celebrating the reality that we die, but also we believe in more. We, the church, the family and friends who survive are gifted with responsibility to serve as witnesses to their resurrection. Sooner or later we all die. Confronted with the dark realities of death, cemeteries seemed more like prisons than playgrounds, holding our hopes and loved ones captive, burying our dreams and secrets, locking shut the future inside that Mausoleum without windows. In Israel, the Tour Guide insisted we go to the Holocaust Museum. 90 Minutes surrounded by those images was overwhelming. But part of the Holocaust Museum was the Children’s Memorial - Yad Vashem. Truthfully, I wanted no part of this. But entering we were reminded of Abraham called out in the night to look up at the heavens, counting the stars as future generations and families who would believe in God. Then there were a dozen candles burning, and these were reflected in mirror upon mirror, until you were lost in a maze of darkness surrounded by over a million points of light. These symbolized the 1,200,000 stars who died never reaching the Confirmation of their Bar’Mitzvah. After surviving the agony of Friday, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb before the sun rose on the new week. When she was hit with the most painful reality of all. The headstone that sealed the tomb was rolled away, the tomb was opened, the body gone. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running, running back to the Upper Room, running to find Peter. Mary was helpless, hopeless… Not only had Jesus been arrested, beaten, judged and crucified, because of the Sabbath they had not been able to anoint the dead with oils or perfumes, death sealed in a tomb without windows, the door locked with a stone; and yet now, even worse, she had no idea where they had taken him, who had taken him, he was gone for ever. Jesus had encouraged them to play at imagining a different world, where everyone could be forgiven, where Masters wash servants’ feet, where Lepers can be cleaned, where the Blind can see and those possessing Sight are the ones truly blind. In a world of scarcity, he had fed 5000 starving people from a little boy’s lunchbox, with enough leftover that no Tupperware party could contain. He had led them in playing Hide and Seek at the Cemetery, when he got caught, when their team lost and the game was over. Jesus’ piece was not only knocked over, removed from the board. But what she did not seem to know, what all of us forget, is God is still in the game. One of the things I love about Easter, is that there are curious details, “the other disciple outran Peter” which one of the early interpreters described as Peter was weighed down by so many burdens, doubts, fears, even his being married, so the other disciple was able to outrun Peter. Peter who ALWAYS jumped at conclusions, who saw connections no one else could see, was weighed down by guilt and could not see it. One disciple sees what could not be possessed and believes; another goes away uncertain yet later becomes the leader of the disciples, of the church; and one who could understand and accept heard nothing until her name was spoken and recognized him. Easter came to each differently, not on their terms, but as each needed. Where Peter and John had seen the cloth that covered him and the cloth that shrouded his face, there were angels. Mary seemed un-surprised there were angels. The only thing surprising was that asked “Why she was weeping?” What else should she do, what else could she do? When all hope is lost, when you are captive to tyranny, to technology you cannot understand, to consumerism, to terrorism, when unknown others win and you are forced to lose at life, all you can do is weep. Only days before, she and the disciple brothers had been playing follow the leader with Jesus, they had been running around on the Sabbath, they had thumbed their nose at death… Lazarus’ sister had described a stench, but Jesus conquered death calling “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free” and as if unfrozen from Tag, Lazarus came out. Not long ago we celebrated a wedding, and the Bride’s sister was the Maid of Honor. The Maid of Honor was tough as nails, she had just graduated from the Marine Academy, but this was her sister, the sister she had always struggled to get along with, the sister who smothered her with love, tried to put makeup on her and make this marine girly. At the reception, the Maid of Honor provided a heart-felt speech, fighting back her tears. At one point the Bride tried to hug her and her sister insisted “Don’t hug me, because if you hug me I cannot get through this.”