Belief Becoming
Sermon
Living Vertically
Gospel Sermons For Lent/Easter Cycle C
It is the universal witness of the Gospels that it was women who came and discovered the fulfilled promise of the resurrection early on that first day of the week. The stories vary, but it was always women. This is a good thing, because the women in the Gospels strike closer to where most of my friends and I are in our Christian walk than some of the more highly visible gospel figures. In the Bible story we read of a variety of circles of followers of our Lord. Most obvious, perhaps, were the twelve, chosen by Jesus. Not only did they live most intimately with him but, with a replacement for Judas, the twelve played a key role in the development of the early Church. Even within the twelve, however, there was the inner circle of Peter, James, and John who shared particular and spectacular experiences with the Master. Then came the seventy who were set out by Jesus on their work of proclaiming the Kingdom throughout the region of Galilee.
I am positive that I would not have qualified as one of the "inner circle of three" or even one of the twelve intimates. Some argue for a correspondence between the seventy and persons in full-time Christian work, but I wouldn't press that issue. I think if we are honest with ourselves most of us fit in with the "multitude" or "large crowd" of disciples, those who responded to the general challenges given by our Lord to "take up your cross and follow me."
While there were clearly no women among the twelve Apostles, and none that we know of among the seventy, there were many women in that larger crowd of disciples, some of them very close to Jesus. And while the Twelve scattered when things began to fall apart, the synoptic Gospels all attest to the fact that a group of women who had been faithful followers of Jesus kept vigil during the crucifixion. And John, in his touching scene, states that while the only male follower at the foot of the cross was the "beloved disciple," he was joined by the Virgin Mary, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene. They were some of those very faithful women who, according to the Scriptures, were not only ministered to by Jesus, but also "ministered to him" by supporting him out of their own goods. So while the women were not on the top rung of the ladder, they were there, faithfully following.
And now it is one of these three who stood by the cross, the unlikely Mary Magdalene, who finds her way to the tomb in the dark of pre-dawn. Why was she there? In the other Gospels the women came to prepare Jesus' body for burial, but no mention is made of that here. Of course, if we accept the traditional association of the Magdalene with the Mary who had anointed Jesus' feet (John 12), she had already prepared him symbolically for the tomb. But she is surprised and runs to Peter and (evidently) John with distress in her voice: "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him."
It is easy to pull these words out of context and use them as an indication of Mary's lack of faith. After all, had she not heard Jesus' predictions that on the third day he would rise? In fact, why was she at the tomb at all, we might press. She should have known that the Lord wouldn't be there! I hope you feel as I do that this line of reasoning is unfair and misses the point. Mary was not unfaithful but she was burdened down by the crushing events of the previous days. The shock of the betrayal, the apparent catastrophe of the kangaroo court, the agonizing way of the cross, and the crucifixion weighed so heavily on her mind that she could think of little else. So I can picture her confused, almost panic-stricken. This mental picture brings two things to mind. First, as much as we like to talk about God's providential care, it is always amazing, always taking us by surprise, so we have trouble accepting it. It is one thing to tell others that their suffering is a part of God's plan for them but quite another thing to believe it when we are the ones having the doubts. The Scriptures talk a good bit about a God who cares about us and provides for us even when we are unaware of God's presence. The traditional term for this is God's "prevenient grace," a subject John Wesley used to speak about frequently. When we face unexpected hard times, the shock of loss or unfortunate reversals, can we believe that the God who created the lilies of the field and who raised Jesus from death is at work even in our misery, even when we do not see God somehow creating an opportunity for good? It is hard to let go of our anxieties and allow God to break through. We are no less confused and burdened than Mary.
This image of the frenzied Magdalene also stands as a strong warning against being too hard on ourselves and others. We Christians are often far too quick to pronounce a temporary discouragement or a momentary setback "a serious loss of faith." The term "backslider" comes to our lips all too quickly. There is an aspect of childhood that none of us ever totally outgrows: a child often acts out the understandings of self that others provide. Tell a little boy he's a dunce, and he will often act like one. Treat a little girl like a holy terror, and you're likely to have one on your hands. Handle an adult like a terrible sinner, one who is unworthy of love -- God's or ours -- one who has fallen irrevocably from grace, and we have someone who begins to feel and act that way. This is not to say, of course, that times of discouragement or setback in faith cannot lead to more serious consequences if unattended. But it is to say that we have to be cautious about jumping in with both feet with self-righteous condemnations of others, or self-destructive introspection every time things seem a little discouraging. A few years ago a little book came out titled Sinners in the Hands of an Angry Church (Merrill, Dean, Zondervan, 1997). I don't want to be part of that church! Mary was puzzled. She seemed to have forgotten God's prevenient grace. But that discouragement was soon replaced by utter amazement.
Peter and John arrive in their often-portrayed foot race to the tomb. Here again the Gospel stories differ, but there are common elements: linen grave clothes rolled up neatly, but no body; angelic messengers; belief and disbelief, or perhaps we should say belief in the process of becoming. Notice the details. Simon enters the tomb first, but there is no comment about his state of mind. Then the writer of the Gospel enters and recalls, "He saw and believed," followed by the remarkable comment, "For as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead" (20:9). He believed, but he did not fully understand.
The same is the case with Mary. When the angelic messenger asks her what is wrong, her response is identical to the message she had taken to Peter. There had been no opportunity for reflection, for absorbing what was happening. Her mind was racing in such a way that she did not recognize the resurrected Jesus. In a recent seminar, one student found Mary's lack of recognition of Jesus harder to believe than the presence of angels. One classmate suggested that the resurrected Jesus must have looked different from the earthly Lord, while another pointed out, quite perceptively, that Mary was in a garden and that she would have expected to see a gardener, and that is who she thought he was.
It seems to me that this scene puts to rest the notion that the empty tomb and the grave clothes provide some kind of "scientific proof" of the resurrection. All the empty tomb proved was that Jesus' body was gone, a fact which greatly troubled Mary. Evidence and faith are connected but not synonymous. Some persons are surprised when they study the life of C. S. Lewis and wonder how the great apologist of Mere Christianity could have penned the painful questioning of A Grief Observed. They overlook the simple fact that argument and conclusion are not the same thing; evidence and faith are not concomitant. Personal tragedy often motivates growth in belief through pain, but not always; and it does take time.
This time to absorb things is one of the primary reasons for Christian worship, and it is certainly one of the reasons for special worship on Easter. It is not the purpose of Easter celebrations to explain the Resurrection, let alone prove it scientifically, but it is our purpose to take a little time to let some of the great truth and overwhelming mystery of Easter sink in. During Lent the worship space at Patchwork Central (an urban intentional community in Evansville) is gradually filled with original works of art, many made from materials gleaned from the neighborhood. Most of the pieces are quite abstract: there are no banners with felt letters proclaiming, "He is Risen," no pictures of the rolled away stone. Instead, there are suggestive shapes that require interpretation, which take time and energy to figure out, just like real life.
We may very well come to our Easter morning worship as overwhelmed and confounded as Mary. Frankly I'd be amazed if there weren't at least some of us in that shape. And we stop, and take a moment to ponder the confusing landscape and see if we can recognize the resurrected one in our midst.
But there was one more thing. Jesus cautioned Mary, "Do not hold on to me." Another rendering of the Greek is, "Do not cling to me," with some of the negative connotations of "clinginess." She could not keep Jesus with her; they could not return to Lazarus' house; things would not go back to being as they were before. Mary didn't build a church there in the garden -- that remained for later generations. But she did go out and announce to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord." Unfortunately the others had not yet seen Jesus and found this hard to accept. The twelve would not believe the story of the resurrection, Mark tells us, while Luke says that the other followers of Jesus regarded this news as an "idle tale."
Today we are not afforded the luxury of remaining in the beautifully decorated church forever, although some of us will spend the lion's share of today in church. The time comes when we must go out and proclaim this message of good news to those who do not believe, and who will ridicule the gospel of Jesus Christ -- and no part of it more than the Resurrection story -- as an "idle tale." But that is an inescapable part of our lives as disciples of Jesus. We must echo Mary's words, "I have seen the Lord."
At first Mary was totally confounded. But that didn't last for long. Unfortunately, many of us never get past this stage. We do all right identifying with the gospel characters when they were discouraged and burdened down -- we know all about that. And we are in good shape in the garden with the angel and the resurrected Jesus, having our spirits lifted, being reassured, having our faith bolstered. Who would not be in good shape this moment, with the lilies, the music, the freshness of spring! It is the going out and telling that troubles us. But that's part of the Easter story, and part of our great commission as disciples of Jesus Christ.
We know that the disciples' disbelief and confusion didn't last forever. Soon the disciples were rejoicing, and before long the process of "turning the world upside-down" was beginning. But it would never have happened if Mary and the other women had kept quiet, if they had been paralyzed by fear. One of the greatest tasks in the history of the world was entrusted to them, not the twelve, not the inner circle of three, not even the seventy. It was entrusted to these plain women. And they were, as they had been, faithful. The same task, the task of proclaiming the Resurrection and the Lordship of Jesus Christ, is entrusted to us this morning. As we rejoice, may we help others rejoice by spreading the good news that Jesus who was dead, lives again!
I am positive that I would not have qualified as one of the "inner circle of three" or even one of the twelve intimates. Some argue for a correspondence between the seventy and persons in full-time Christian work, but I wouldn't press that issue. I think if we are honest with ourselves most of us fit in with the "multitude" or "large crowd" of disciples, those who responded to the general challenges given by our Lord to "take up your cross and follow me."
While there were clearly no women among the twelve Apostles, and none that we know of among the seventy, there were many women in that larger crowd of disciples, some of them very close to Jesus. And while the Twelve scattered when things began to fall apart, the synoptic Gospels all attest to the fact that a group of women who had been faithful followers of Jesus kept vigil during the crucifixion. And John, in his touching scene, states that while the only male follower at the foot of the cross was the "beloved disciple," he was joined by the Virgin Mary, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene. They were some of those very faithful women who, according to the Scriptures, were not only ministered to by Jesus, but also "ministered to him" by supporting him out of their own goods. So while the women were not on the top rung of the ladder, they were there, faithfully following.
And now it is one of these three who stood by the cross, the unlikely Mary Magdalene, who finds her way to the tomb in the dark of pre-dawn. Why was she there? In the other Gospels the women came to prepare Jesus' body for burial, but no mention is made of that here. Of course, if we accept the traditional association of the Magdalene with the Mary who had anointed Jesus' feet (John 12), she had already prepared him symbolically for the tomb. But she is surprised and runs to Peter and (evidently) John with distress in her voice: "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him."
It is easy to pull these words out of context and use them as an indication of Mary's lack of faith. After all, had she not heard Jesus' predictions that on the third day he would rise? In fact, why was she at the tomb at all, we might press. She should have known that the Lord wouldn't be there! I hope you feel as I do that this line of reasoning is unfair and misses the point. Mary was not unfaithful but she was burdened down by the crushing events of the previous days. The shock of the betrayal, the apparent catastrophe of the kangaroo court, the agonizing way of the cross, and the crucifixion weighed so heavily on her mind that she could think of little else. So I can picture her confused, almost panic-stricken. This mental picture brings two things to mind. First, as much as we like to talk about God's providential care, it is always amazing, always taking us by surprise, so we have trouble accepting it. It is one thing to tell others that their suffering is a part of God's plan for them but quite another thing to believe it when we are the ones having the doubts. The Scriptures talk a good bit about a God who cares about us and provides for us even when we are unaware of God's presence. The traditional term for this is God's "prevenient grace," a subject John Wesley used to speak about frequently. When we face unexpected hard times, the shock of loss or unfortunate reversals, can we believe that the God who created the lilies of the field and who raised Jesus from death is at work even in our misery, even when we do not see God somehow creating an opportunity for good? It is hard to let go of our anxieties and allow God to break through. We are no less confused and burdened than Mary.
This image of the frenzied Magdalene also stands as a strong warning against being too hard on ourselves and others. We Christians are often far too quick to pronounce a temporary discouragement or a momentary setback "a serious loss of faith." The term "backslider" comes to our lips all too quickly. There is an aspect of childhood that none of us ever totally outgrows: a child often acts out the understandings of self that others provide. Tell a little boy he's a dunce, and he will often act like one. Treat a little girl like a holy terror, and you're likely to have one on your hands. Handle an adult like a terrible sinner, one who is unworthy of love -- God's or ours -- one who has fallen irrevocably from grace, and we have someone who begins to feel and act that way. This is not to say, of course, that times of discouragement or setback in faith cannot lead to more serious consequences if unattended. But it is to say that we have to be cautious about jumping in with both feet with self-righteous condemnations of others, or self-destructive introspection every time things seem a little discouraging. A few years ago a little book came out titled Sinners in the Hands of an Angry Church (Merrill, Dean, Zondervan, 1997). I don't want to be part of that church! Mary was puzzled. She seemed to have forgotten God's prevenient grace. But that discouragement was soon replaced by utter amazement.
Peter and John arrive in their often-portrayed foot race to the tomb. Here again the Gospel stories differ, but there are common elements: linen grave clothes rolled up neatly, but no body; angelic messengers; belief and disbelief, or perhaps we should say belief in the process of becoming. Notice the details. Simon enters the tomb first, but there is no comment about his state of mind. Then the writer of the Gospel enters and recalls, "He saw and believed," followed by the remarkable comment, "For as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead" (20:9). He believed, but he did not fully understand.
The same is the case with Mary. When the angelic messenger asks her what is wrong, her response is identical to the message she had taken to Peter. There had been no opportunity for reflection, for absorbing what was happening. Her mind was racing in such a way that she did not recognize the resurrected Jesus. In a recent seminar, one student found Mary's lack of recognition of Jesus harder to believe than the presence of angels. One classmate suggested that the resurrected Jesus must have looked different from the earthly Lord, while another pointed out, quite perceptively, that Mary was in a garden and that she would have expected to see a gardener, and that is who she thought he was.
It seems to me that this scene puts to rest the notion that the empty tomb and the grave clothes provide some kind of "scientific proof" of the resurrection. All the empty tomb proved was that Jesus' body was gone, a fact which greatly troubled Mary. Evidence and faith are connected but not synonymous. Some persons are surprised when they study the life of C. S. Lewis and wonder how the great apologist of Mere Christianity could have penned the painful questioning of A Grief Observed. They overlook the simple fact that argument and conclusion are not the same thing; evidence and faith are not concomitant. Personal tragedy often motivates growth in belief through pain, but not always; and it does take time.
This time to absorb things is one of the primary reasons for Christian worship, and it is certainly one of the reasons for special worship on Easter. It is not the purpose of Easter celebrations to explain the Resurrection, let alone prove it scientifically, but it is our purpose to take a little time to let some of the great truth and overwhelming mystery of Easter sink in. During Lent the worship space at Patchwork Central (an urban intentional community in Evansville) is gradually filled with original works of art, many made from materials gleaned from the neighborhood. Most of the pieces are quite abstract: there are no banners with felt letters proclaiming, "He is Risen," no pictures of the rolled away stone. Instead, there are suggestive shapes that require interpretation, which take time and energy to figure out, just like real life.
We may very well come to our Easter morning worship as overwhelmed and confounded as Mary. Frankly I'd be amazed if there weren't at least some of us in that shape. And we stop, and take a moment to ponder the confusing landscape and see if we can recognize the resurrected one in our midst.
But there was one more thing. Jesus cautioned Mary, "Do not hold on to me." Another rendering of the Greek is, "Do not cling to me," with some of the negative connotations of "clinginess." She could not keep Jesus with her; they could not return to Lazarus' house; things would not go back to being as they were before. Mary didn't build a church there in the garden -- that remained for later generations. But she did go out and announce to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord." Unfortunately the others had not yet seen Jesus and found this hard to accept. The twelve would not believe the story of the resurrection, Mark tells us, while Luke says that the other followers of Jesus regarded this news as an "idle tale."
Today we are not afforded the luxury of remaining in the beautifully decorated church forever, although some of us will spend the lion's share of today in church. The time comes when we must go out and proclaim this message of good news to those who do not believe, and who will ridicule the gospel of Jesus Christ -- and no part of it more than the Resurrection story -- as an "idle tale." But that is an inescapable part of our lives as disciples of Jesus. We must echo Mary's words, "I have seen the Lord."
At first Mary was totally confounded. But that didn't last for long. Unfortunately, many of us never get past this stage. We do all right identifying with the gospel characters when they were discouraged and burdened down -- we know all about that. And we are in good shape in the garden with the angel and the resurrected Jesus, having our spirits lifted, being reassured, having our faith bolstered. Who would not be in good shape this moment, with the lilies, the music, the freshness of spring! It is the going out and telling that troubles us. But that's part of the Easter story, and part of our great commission as disciples of Jesus Christ.
We know that the disciples' disbelief and confusion didn't last forever. Soon the disciples were rejoicing, and before long the process of "turning the world upside-down" was beginning. But it would never have happened if Mary and the other women had kept quiet, if they had been paralyzed by fear. One of the greatest tasks in the history of the world was entrusted to them, not the twelve, not the inner circle of three, not even the seventy. It was entrusted to these plain women. And they were, as they had been, faithful. The same task, the task of proclaiming the Resurrection and the Lordship of Jesus Christ, is entrusted to us this morning. As we rejoice, may we help others rejoice by spreading the good news that Jesus who was dead, lives again!
