Easter Imperatives
Preaching
Gathering Up the Fragments
Preaching As Spiritual Practice
Almighty God, by the glorious resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ, you have broken the power of death and brought life and immortality to life. Help us to face the future with courage and assurance, knowing that nothing in life or death can ever part us from your love....
-- prayer for Easter Day
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the woman, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."
-- Matthew 28:1-10
The poet, Emily Dickinson, a woman of passionate faith and fierce independence, once told a friend that "consider the lilies" was the only commandment she every obeyed. Inspired by Dickinson, another poet, Kathleen Norris, combed through the New Testament to find other hidden commandments of Jesus. This is what she found and recorded in a poem titled, "Imperatives":
Look at the birds
Consider the lilies
Drink ye all of it
Ask
Seek
Knock
Enter by the narrow door
Do not be anxious
Judge not; do not give dogs what is holy
Go; be it done for you
Do not be afraid
Maiden, arise
Young man, I say, arise
Stretch out your hand
Stand up, be still
Rise, let us be going
Love
Forgive
Remember me1
There is an imperative on Easter morning as well, calling us to rise and face a new day. This Easter imperative comes not as a command from a drill sergeant wanting to whip us into shape, but rather as an invitation from one who knows and loves us. Can you hear it? What might your Easter imperative be? Is this the day for you to rise up and walk or to consider the lilies and look at the birds with new eyes? Is this the day for you to allow God's forgiveness to wash over you or to offer forgiveness to another? Is this the first day of a new life for you? Might you walk out of church a different person, transformed by the mercy and love of God?
No one can tell another what his or her Easter imperative is. It must be heard and responded to from within. But if I were to wager a guess, based on what the scriptures say and what seems to be in the air around here these days, I would say that your imperative, and mine, has to do with letting go of whatever is holding us back from living our lives with confidence, courage, and joy. I would say that it has to do with acceptance, accepting the assurance we need to live boldly, love lavishly, and forgive generously. I would say that it has to do with letting go of fear. "Do not be afraid," the angel said to the women gathered at the tomb. Moments later, Jesus said the same thing, "Do not be afraid." Objectively speaking, it wasn't as if there was nothing to fear. But the Easter imperative is one of courage: They didn't have to live in fear anymore.
Jesus is not asking us to pretend that there is nothing to fear -- that would be delusional. There is so much to inspire fear in this world that were we to consider each thing we might not have courage to get out of bed in the morning. There are so many things that bring us face-to-face with uncertainty and limitations and sorrow. There is so much sorrow. We, of all people, are not to avert our gaze.
While the sorrow of our time, of this particular week, has its own distinctive power to knock the breath out of us, sorrow itself is not new. We know this, even as we grieve for the family of the latest Minnesotan to be killed in a war the nation would rather forget, and for the people of Red Lake, caught in the double grief of loss and media frenzy. We know, even as we bring our own struggles, tribulations, and worries with us, the struggles and tribulations and worries are not new. Indeed, one of the greatest burdens for those of us who call ourselves Christians is this: Given the love and mercy and power of God, why does so little in the world seem to change?
But you see, asking what changes in resurrection isn't the right question. The question is not what, but who -- who changes and how? In the words of Harvard chaplain, Peter Gomes:
The heart and burden of the Easter story is not that the world changed, but that ordinary men and women were changed from the ordinary to the extraordinary. Jesus' disciples were changed, and thus was their attitude toward the world. They were no longer afraid of their shadows, frightened, or fearful of death. They were no longer in awe of people who had power over them. Read about those apostles in the New Testament; read about what happens to them, about how they lived their lives, how they faced the world, how they astonished everyone who knew them before the resurrection. Can these be the same people who never understood one of Jesus' parables, who were always late, who were never in the right place at the right time, who denied him, who shivered at the foot of the cross, who ran into the darkness, and who didn't even believe the good news when they first heard it? Could it be these same people who were now turning the world upside down?2
That's the power of an Easter imperative -- it changes us from within. It changes us from the people we are to the people we know we long to be, the people we were born to be. It changes us from people driven by anxiety and worry and self-protection to people of great generosity and love and courage. It changes us from people defined by our problems and limitations to people transformed and liberated by them. Resurrection doesn't change the world -- resurrection changes us and how we live. Then, through us, the world is changed, one loving, generous, courageous step at a time.
How does this happen? How are we changed by the Easter imperative? The most honest answer: "I don't know." Logic cannot be our guide in resurrection. I've been thinking all week of a wonderful line from the movie, Shakespeare in Love, when the owner of a bankrupt theater tries to explain to his creditors what the theater is like: "The natural condition," he says, "is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster." "What can be done about it?" his creditor asks. "Nothing," he replies. "It all turns out well." "How?" "I don't know. It's a mystery."
Resurrection is a mystery, lifting us beyond our insurmountable obstacles and sparing us from imminent disasters. We can't define, predict, or control it, for resurrection is God's way, God's capacity to transform us. All I can say is that when it happens, we ought not to fight it, question too much, or analyze it to death. We should simply live the resurrection that comes to us for the grace and the mystery that it is.
There is one thing we can do, however. We can, in the words of Wendell Berry, practice resurrection. We can learn the steps, practicing a new way of being ourselves. "It's not so terrible," writes Kathleen Norris in another poem, "It's like the piano lessons you love and hate. You know how you want the music to sound, but you have to practice, half in tears."3
Yet we do not practice resurrection alone. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, describes the way of resurrection as learning to dance, taught by one who already knows the steps. He tells the story of a young teacher who taught severely mentally and physically handicapped people in Australia, their accomplishment featured in a televised performance from the Sydney Opera House. The archbishop confessed that he first watched their performance prepared to feel moved in a patronizing sort of way, only to be humbled by the magnitude of their grace and beauty. He described how the teacher taught her students to value and admire their bodies, showing them by example how to circle their arms and move their hands. That's how dancing is taught -- by example and mirroring.
Listen to the invitation. Sit down, all you handicapped, lumpish, empty, afraid, and start to feel that you too are rooted in a firm, rich earth. Opposite you is someone who, it seems, doesn't need to learn. Dancing is natural to him. So he begins: he stretches out his arms, wide as he can. And so do you. Then he rises up, arms to the sky. And so do you. Then he takes your hand and swings you loose and leaves you to improvise to the music -- on your own, then combining with others ... He dances so that you will dance. He shows you what beauty is ... He repeats over and over his central gesture -- arms flung wide, then palms carried upward as he stands on the earth, carrying you, embracing you.4
We do not practice resurrection alone. The one who gives us the imperative is right there in front of us, showing us the steps, teaching us the way, reminding us as we stumble and fall that we are lovely and beloved, and through the mysterious power of resurrection, we can be transformed. Look at the birds. Consider the lilies. Do not be anxious. Do not be afraid. Rise, love, forgive, remember, and be you transformed.
____________
1. Kathleen Norris, "Imperatives," in Little Girls in Church (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1995), p. 62.
2. Peter Gomes, Strength for the Journey: A New Collection of Sermons (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2003), p. 261.
3. Op cit, Norris, "The Age of Reason," p. 28.
4. Rowan Williams, "My Dancing Day," in A Ray of Darkness (Cambridge: Cowley Publications, 1995), pp. 62-63.
-- prayer for Easter Day
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the woman, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."
-- Matthew 28:1-10
The poet, Emily Dickinson, a woman of passionate faith and fierce independence, once told a friend that "consider the lilies" was the only commandment she every obeyed. Inspired by Dickinson, another poet, Kathleen Norris, combed through the New Testament to find other hidden commandments of Jesus. This is what she found and recorded in a poem titled, "Imperatives":
Look at the birds
Consider the lilies
Drink ye all of it
Ask
Seek
Knock
Enter by the narrow door
Do not be anxious
Judge not; do not give dogs what is holy
Go; be it done for you
Do not be afraid
Maiden, arise
Young man, I say, arise
Stretch out your hand
Stand up, be still
Rise, let us be going
Love
Forgive
Remember me1
There is an imperative on Easter morning as well, calling us to rise and face a new day. This Easter imperative comes not as a command from a drill sergeant wanting to whip us into shape, but rather as an invitation from one who knows and loves us. Can you hear it? What might your Easter imperative be? Is this the day for you to rise up and walk or to consider the lilies and look at the birds with new eyes? Is this the day for you to allow God's forgiveness to wash over you or to offer forgiveness to another? Is this the first day of a new life for you? Might you walk out of church a different person, transformed by the mercy and love of God?
No one can tell another what his or her Easter imperative is. It must be heard and responded to from within. But if I were to wager a guess, based on what the scriptures say and what seems to be in the air around here these days, I would say that your imperative, and mine, has to do with letting go of whatever is holding us back from living our lives with confidence, courage, and joy. I would say that it has to do with acceptance, accepting the assurance we need to live boldly, love lavishly, and forgive generously. I would say that it has to do with letting go of fear. "Do not be afraid," the angel said to the women gathered at the tomb. Moments later, Jesus said the same thing, "Do not be afraid." Objectively speaking, it wasn't as if there was nothing to fear. But the Easter imperative is one of courage: They didn't have to live in fear anymore.
Jesus is not asking us to pretend that there is nothing to fear -- that would be delusional. There is so much to inspire fear in this world that were we to consider each thing we might not have courage to get out of bed in the morning. There are so many things that bring us face-to-face with uncertainty and limitations and sorrow. There is so much sorrow. We, of all people, are not to avert our gaze.
While the sorrow of our time, of this particular week, has its own distinctive power to knock the breath out of us, sorrow itself is not new. We know this, even as we grieve for the family of the latest Minnesotan to be killed in a war the nation would rather forget, and for the people of Red Lake, caught in the double grief of loss and media frenzy. We know, even as we bring our own struggles, tribulations, and worries with us, the struggles and tribulations and worries are not new. Indeed, one of the greatest burdens for those of us who call ourselves Christians is this: Given the love and mercy and power of God, why does so little in the world seem to change?
But you see, asking what changes in resurrection isn't the right question. The question is not what, but who -- who changes and how? In the words of Harvard chaplain, Peter Gomes:
The heart and burden of the Easter story is not that the world changed, but that ordinary men and women were changed from the ordinary to the extraordinary. Jesus' disciples were changed, and thus was their attitude toward the world. They were no longer afraid of their shadows, frightened, or fearful of death. They were no longer in awe of people who had power over them. Read about those apostles in the New Testament; read about what happens to them, about how they lived their lives, how they faced the world, how they astonished everyone who knew them before the resurrection. Can these be the same people who never understood one of Jesus' parables, who were always late, who were never in the right place at the right time, who denied him, who shivered at the foot of the cross, who ran into the darkness, and who didn't even believe the good news when they first heard it? Could it be these same people who were now turning the world upside down?2
That's the power of an Easter imperative -- it changes us from within. It changes us from the people we are to the people we know we long to be, the people we were born to be. It changes us from people driven by anxiety and worry and self-protection to people of great generosity and love and courage. It changes us from people defined by our problems and limitations to people transformed and liberated by them. Resurrection doesn't change the world -- resurrection changes us and how we live. Then, through us, the world is changed, one loving, generous, courageous step at a time.
How does this happen? How are we changed by the Easter imperative? The most honest answer: "I don't know." Logic cannot be our guide in resurrection. I've been thinking all week of a wonderful line from the movie, Shakespeare in Love, when the owner of a bankrupt theater tries to explain to his creditors what the theater is like: "The natural condition," he says, "is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster." "What can be done about it?" his creditor asks. "Nothing," he replies. "It all turns out well." "How?" "I don't know. It's a mystery."
Resurrection is a mystery, lifting us beyond our insurmountable obstacles and sparing us from imminent disasters. We can't define, predict, or control it, for resurrection is God's way, God's capacity to transform us. All I can say is that when it happens, we ought not to fight it, question too much, or analyze it to death. We should simply live the resurrection that comes to us for the grace and the mystery that it is.
There is one thing we can do, however. We can, in the words of Wendell Berry, practice resurrection. We can learn the steps, practicing a new way of being ourselves. "It's not so terrible," writes Kathleen Norris in another poem, "It's like the piano lessons you love and hate. You know how you want the music to sound, but you have to practice, half in tears."3
Yet we do not practice resurrection alone. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, describes the way of resurrection as learning to dance, taught by one who already knows the steps. He tells the story of a young teacher who taught severely mentally and physically handicapped people in Australia, their accomplishment featured in a televised performance from the Sydney Opera House. The archbishop confessed that he first watched their performance prepared to feel moved in a patronizing sort of way, only to be humbled by the magnitude of their grace and beauty. He described how the teacher taught her students to value and admire their bodies, showing them by example how to circle their arms and move their hands. That's how dancing is taught -- by example and mirroring.
Listen to the invitation. Sit down, all you handicapped, lumpish, empty, afraid, and start to feel that you too are rooted in a firm, rich earth. Opposite you is someone who, it seems, doesn't need to learn. Dancing is natural to him. So he begins: he stretches out his arms, wide as he can. And so do you. Then he rises up, arms to the sky. And so do you. Then he takes your hand and swings you loose and leaves you to improvise to the music -- on your own, then combining with others ... He dances so that you will dance. He shows you what beauty is ... He repeats over and over his central gesture -- arms flung wide, then palms carried upward as he stands on the earth, carrying you, embracing you.4
We do not practice resurrection alone. The one who gives us the imperative is right there in front of us, showing us the steps, teaching us the way, reminding us as we stumble and fall that we are lovely and beloved, and through the mysterious power of resurrection, we can be transformed. Look at the birds. Consider the lilies. Do not be anxious. Do not be afraid. Rise, love, forgive, remember, and be you transformed.
____________
1. Kathleen Norris, "Imperatives," in Little Girls in Church (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1995), p. 62.
2. Peter Gomes, Strength for the Journey: A New Collection of Sermons (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2003), p. 261.
3. Op cit, Norris, "The Age of Reason," p. 28.
4. Rowan Williams, "My Dancing Day," in A Ray of Darkness (Cambridge: Cowley Publications, 1995), pp. 62-63.
