Singing To Resurrection
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Maybe It's Just Too Good"
Good Stories: "Singing to Resurrection" by Frank R. Fisher
"The Power of the Resurrection Over Death" by Steve Burt
Sermon Starter: "Are You Jesus?" by Sil Galvan
Scrap Pile: "Caterpillars and Butterflies" by Kenneth Carlson
What's Up This Week
On Easter Sunday we celebrate the marvelous news of Jesus' triumph over the power of death -- and as our Story to Live By suggests, the implications of the resurrection may be just too wonderful for us to fully appreciate. But even so, we are called to share this "good news" with everyone -- and Frank Fisher's "Singing to Resurrection" story in Good Stories and Sil Galvan's Sermon Starter illustrate how the singular power of this event can inspire us to spread the message far and wide. In the Scrap Pile this week, we have something that could be an exciting addition to your sunrise service. It's a creative choral reading that depicts the new life Christ offers us in the imagery of caterpillars transforming themselves into majestic butterflies.
A Story to Live By
Maybe It's Just Too Good
Many years ago, a friend told me that his young son was a great fan of both Captain Kangaroo and Mister Rogers. The boy faithfully watched both of their television shows, and one day it was announced that Mister Rogers would be paying a visit to Captain Kangaroo's show. The boy was ecstatic. Both of his heroes, together on the same show! Every morning the boy would ask, "Is it today that Mister Rogers will be on Captain Kangaroo?" Finally the great day arrived, and the whole family gathered around the television. There they were, Mister Rogers and Captain Kangaroo together. The boy watched for a minute, but then, surprisingly, got up and wandered from the room.
Puzzled, his father followed him and asked, "What is it, son? Is anything wrong?"
"It's too good," the boy replied. "It's just too good."
Maybe that's it. Maybe the news of the empty tomb, the news of the resurrection, the news of Jesus' victory over death is just too good to believe, too good to assimilate all at once.
(Thomas G. Long, "Empty Tomb, Empty Talk," from The Christian Century, April 4, 2001)
Good Stories
Singing to Resurrection
by Frank R. Fisher
We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear...
Acts 10:39-40
"Most of us go to our graves with the music still inside us."
My mother always said those words to me. She'd laugh as she spoke them. Then she'd add, "But you'll never do that, Salome. You were born with your song on your lips." I always joined in my mother's laughter as she lovingly stroked my hair and spoke to me about music. Part of my own delight came, of course, from her complete attention and her love. But most of the joy fueling my glee came from the truth of her words -- for it seemed like music was on my lips for every waking moment of every waking day.
Every day at dawn, I'd rise from my sleeping mat, rush out the door, and gaze with delight at the expanse of the sea of Galilee. The red morning sun reflecting off the water would ignite my music as my voice lifted up in a morning Psalm praising the Holy One for all of creation's beauty.
And as I skipped from task to task for the rest of the day, my song never quieted. Indeed, I never ceased my song of God's praise until after the evening Psalm, when I closed my eyes once again in sleep.
My music gave voice to the very center of my life. And at each step I took along life's pathway, my music seemed to expand and grow to match my life's new heights. When Zebedee and I wed, my music truly blossomed. Then when our sons James and John were born, the joy they brought made my songs soar afresh. At that point I was sure there were no further heights for my songs to reach. I was very sure of that -- or at least I thought I was sure.
But then, James and John began to follow the Master. The first time those boys brought me to meet Jesus, I knew in an instant any song I'd ever sung was only a prelude to the ones I'd sing now. With my sons, I followed Jesus across high Galilean hills and through dusty city streets. And as I followed, I sang. I sang of the blind regaining their sight and the sick regaining their health. I sang of sins forgiven and of the good news Jesus preached to the poor. Most of all I sang of the joy of finding the Messiah, the true morning sun who would long shine over Judah.
Every day seemed to bring a new crescendo of song. It was almost like something was about to begin. Then one day, I (along with hundreds upon hundreds of other singers) sang as Jesus rode into Jerusalem. "Hosanna in the highest" we trilled as the Master neared the temple. "Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest." But as we reached the temple, my song caught in my throat. As soon as I saw the sun reflecting off its golden roof, I knew somehow that something horrible was about to happen.
My music died the day Jesus died. As I watched him hang there twisting in agony on the cross, I screamed and screamed and screamed again! I screamed and cried until I couldn't utter a single sound.
That was fitting, I thought. How could I make music when Jesus was dead? As I watched Joseph take his body down from the cross and carry it away to the tomb, I knew my mother had been wrong. There were no songs left to sing; there was no music left to make. I would go to my grave with my music locked down deeply inside me.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to move through my new joyless, non-musical world. I ate, slept, and washed like one whose very mind had shut down. Gradually, I began to respond to the others around me and to understand that they too were feeling pain of unimaginable depths. I reached out to them for comfort, and they reached out to me. Their presence kept me alive in those days.
It was my gratitude for their presence that made me agree to accompany the two Marys back to the tomb on the first day of the week. I certainly didn't want to see the decaying body of the Master I'd so loved. But I knew I couldn't let the others face its presence alone.
We stopped in the market as it first opened and bought the spices we needed to anoint Jesus' body in the way taught by the law. Then, step by dragging step, we made our way toward the place where Jesus had been laid.
On the way we suddenly realized we'd brought no one along to help us open the tomb. We knew we hadn't enough strength to do it alone. Yet we also knew we couldn't face another agonizing trip such as this one. So we continued walking, heads held downward in despair, wondering all along the way what we'd do when we were confronted with the immovable grave stone.
But as we neared the tomb something made us look up. And we saw that someone had already rolled the grave stone away. Dropping the spices, we ran to the tomb's door, ducked our heads under its low entrance, and stepped inside.
Jesus wasn't there! In the place where Joseph had laid his body, there was a strange man sitting. He was dressed in dazzling white. My eyes locked with the man's eyes, and something deep inside me unlocked as he said, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell the disciples Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you."
That something unlocking deep inside me opened fully with the man's words. And at its awakening, I screamed out in fear and amazement. Both Marys screamed out too, and together all three of us ran away from the tomb as fast as we could.
At first we were so stunned and frightened that we couldn't speak. And when my voice returned, it wasn't speech coming forth from my mouth. Instead, music came forth. The music I had felt would go with me to my grave bubbled forth and arose in a song of incredible gladness.
I sang all the way to Galilee. I sang to my risen Lord as I sat with Jesus by the side of the lake. And now I sing across all Judah and out into the lands to the Gentiles.
I will not go to my grave with my music still inside me. I will go there instead singing alleluias to my Lord and Savior. And I will sing through death into the new life Jesus gave me.
Alleluia I will sing!
Praise I will sing!
Thanks I will sing! Thanks to the risen Christ who died and arose for such a one as me! Alleluia!
Frank R. Fisher currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. During the final years of his first career as a paramedic and administrator for the Chicago Fire Department, Fisher graduated from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois.
The Power of the Resurrection Over Death
by Steve Burt
Todd was two months into pastoring his first church. He'd served communion once, and never had a baptism or a funeral.
The hospital's patient listing showed a 22-year-old from Todd's parish area admitted to intensive care. Todd didn't know the name, but he knew enough to visit anyone from his area.
The boy's name was Gary, and his spinal cord had been severed in a car accident. He was paralyzed from the neck down and couldn't speak. When Todd saw him that first day, Gary had IV tubes and breathing devices everywhere. It wasn't a good time to visit, so Todd said hello and left, feeling helpless.
Over the next month, Todd visited Gary daily.
One night Gary's mother called Todd from the hospital. The doctors gave Gary less than two days to live. Todd left for the hospital.
When he arrived, Gary's mother fell into his arms and wept. Todd wept too, and he felt even more powerless to affect things now. He asked the nurses if the doctors had told Gary he was dying. They said no and asked if Todd would tell him. He agreed before he could think twice.
"Gary, Todd said, "I want you to know that God loves you. In the Bible there's a promise of eternal life. It's there and I believe it. Somehow, I believe it. But it's hard to read it and not know it through feeling it in your heart. But right now I feel it; I know it. And it tells me that nothing -- not life, nor death, nor anything else in all of creation -- can separate us in a love like ours -- mine, yours, and God's." They were both crying now. "As a friend, I've got to be honest with you, Gary -- you're going to die." Todd's own words cut through his heart like a burning knife. But Gary seemed glad to know finally. They cried some more, and Todd went to Gary's mother.
"We don't know what'll happen to Gary," she said. "Jesus will have to decide."
"What do you mean?" Todd asked.
"Gary's never been baptized," she said.
"I can do it," Pastor Todd said without flinching.
"Gary, do you want to be baptized?" Todd asked. Gary nodded yes with his eyes, so Todd stepped to the nurse's station.
"Could I have some water?" he asked. "It's for a baptism."
The nurse filled a plastic cough medicine cup to the brim with water and handed it to Todd. He took it to Gary's room.
"Gary," Todd asked, not knowing any of the words to the liturgy for the baptismal service, "do you profess Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?" Gary's eyes nodded yes. "Then I baptize you into the Christian faith in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." And with that Pastor Todd poured the medicine cup of water back over Gary's forehead, where it ran down through his brown tousled hair.
Suddenly, in a time of no hope and numbing, paralyzing fear, there was hope, and the three of them broke out in broad smiles and laughed and wept with joy. In that instant the three of them knew in their hearts the truth of the resurrection and its hope.
The next morning Gary died. Todd officiated at the funeral. It was his first, and it came on the heels of his first baptism. He hadn't expected they'd be so close or that they'd involve the same person. But Pastor Todd was different now. Some of his fear was gone, and even though he wasn't a doctor who could heal, he no longer felt powerless, for he had Christ, his faith, and a story of hope to share. It would make all the difference in his life, in the lives of those he met, and in his ministry.
Steve Burt is a United Church of Christ pastor and an acclaimed author of inspirational and horror stories. He has been the winner of the Ben Franklin, Ray Bradbury, and Bram Stoker Awards, and he is a multiple contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. Burt is also known for his church leadership books and devotional material. For more information about Burt and his books, visit his website at www.burtcreations.com.
Sermon Starter
Are You Jesus?
by Sil Galvan
John 20:1-18
Today's gospel reading has two themes running through it: faith and love. First of all, to believe in the resurrection, we need faith. The resurrection is a mystery. As Webster himself defines it, a mystery is something which is puzzling and inexplicable, something which causes amazement, awe, or wonder. The resurrection is certainly all of those things, something which can only be understood in the context of faith, for there is nothing on earth which prepares us for the truth of the resurrection of the body from its death. And yet there it is. The sadness and apparent finality of death has been overcome by the promise of life to come, which also can be accepted only through the eyes of faith.
Second, we see love at work. As he relates at the end of today's passage, it was John, the disciple whom Jesus loved and who loved Jesus, who was the first to believe in the resurrection. He was the first one to believe and to understand. Love gave him eyes to read the signs and to believe. Love can grasp the truth when the intellect is left groping and uncertain. Love can realize something's true meaning when our minds are blinded.
It is also fitting that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary should be the first to receive the news of the Risen Lord and to encounter him, because they had been among the last to be present with him at the cross. They were there when he was laid in the tomb, and now they were receiving love's reward: they were the first to know the joy of the Resurrection.
So now that Jesus has ascended to his heavenly home, where can we encounter Jesus in our own day and age? Earlier in John's Gospel, some Greeks -- historically renowned as great seekers of the truth -- approach the disciples with a request to see Jesus. But Jesus could only be found through them. So there is the answer to our question: others should see Jesus through those who profess to believe in his name -- namely, all of us Christians, who are Christ's modern-day disciples. Our friends and any others, for that matter, who encounter us in our everyday lives should be able to see Jesus through our love and service to them. This is a love which is impossible unless it is rooted in a firm belief in the resurrection, a belief that our actions do have eternal consequences.
We all know that Mary Magdalene's life had been radically changed by her first encounters with Christ. He saw the piece of God that was in her, deep within her spirit, and brought her to the point of seeing it in herself. Ideally, those of us who call ourselves Christians should cause the same effect in those whom we meet that Jesus brought about in Mary Magdalene: a radical change of life and a belief in the inherent goodness of themselves as a human person. Here is someone who was scorned and despised by everyone -- and she is given back her dignity and self-respect through her experience of Jesus. It should be the same with us.
Jesus saw the inner beauty in Mary when no one else did; likewise, we need to be able to see that beauty in others, just as Christ has shown us. We need to see not the weak human nature with which we are all clothed but the piece of the divine heart which resides within each one of us. We can neither understand Jesus nor help others to understand him, unless we believe in him and love him -- and then witness that belief and love in our actions. Only then will others see Jesus in us.
Several years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago. They assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday's supper. One thing led to another and the meeting ran overtime, so the men had to race to the airport, tickets in hand. As they barged through the terminal, one man inadvertently kicked over a table supporting a basket of apples. Without stopping, they all reached the plane in time and boarded it with a sigh of relief -- all but one. He paused and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned. He waved good-bye to his companions and returned to the terminal. He was glad he did. The ten-year-old girl was blind. The salesman gathered up the apples and noticed that several of them were battered and bruised. He reached into his wallet and said to the girl, "Here, please take this ten dollars for the damage we did." As he started to walk away, the bewildered girl called out to him, "Are you Jesus?" ("Are You Jesus?" by Brennan Manning, from More Sower's Seeds, Second Planting by Brian Cavanaugh [Paulist Press, 1994], p. 13)
It was this man's kindness and disregard for his own welfare which caused a young girl to ask him the question which our actions should cause others to ask us. Are you Jesus for your spouse, your children, or your parents? Are you Jesus for your neighbors, your co-workers, the strangers you meet on the street like the girl in that story? Such love can only begin with a firm foundation in faith, in the reality of the resurrection, in the belief that Jesus loves you unconditionally. Once you believe that Jesus loves you, then you can see Jesus in others. In turn, they will see Jesus in you and come to believe that Jesus is in them also. Only then can you be Don Quixote for all of the Dulcineas you meet every day of your lives, and be Jesus to all the Mary Magdalenes you encounter, too -- for only a faith in the resurrection can lead to love. And only a faith in Jesus can cause us to see Jesus in others and be Jesus to others.
Silverius "Sil" Galvan is a deacon at the Catholic Community of Saint Mary of the Lake in Lakewood, New Jersey. He has been involved in music ministry as an organist, guitarist, and sometime cantor for more than four decades. Galvan also operates www.deaconsil.com, a website offering extensive homiletic resources.
Scrap Pile
Caterpillars and Butterflies
by Kenneth Carlson
(This choral reading can be performed by three voices, indicated by the numbers 1-3. Where the number 4 appears, all three voices read in unison.)
1: Once upon a time in a beautiful garden there lived a family of caterpillars.
2: Some of them were small and slender
1: While others were large and round.
3: Some were smooth
1: And some were fuzzy,
2: But they were all caterpillars and lived together in this beautiful garden.
4: They were happy with their garden.
3: It had flowers and soft grass
1: And more than enough leaves for them to eat.
2: The days were never too hot
3: Nor the nights too cold.
1: It was a perfect, peaceful garden,
4: And the caterpillars were very happy.
2: They spent their days eating the soft, tender leaves of the plants that grew in the garden.
3: They spent their nights curled up in tight little balls of fur
1: Or curled around each other, using each other's warmth as blankets.
3: Every morning they would get up, locate the next tender bunch of leaves, and eat throughout the entire day.
2: And every night they would curl up next to each other and sleep.
1: Day after day,
2: Night after night,
4: The same old thing.
3: As enjoyable as the garden was, some of the caterpillars began to wonder:
1: Is this all there is to the meaning of life?
2: We eat,
3: We sleep,
2: We eat,
3: We sleep,
2: We eat,
3: We sleep,
1: And we eat some more.
4: What's the purpose?
3: Suddenly something very strange happened --
2: Having eaten so many leaves, the caterpillars had grown too large for their skins.
3: One by one they started to rip apart down their backs.
4: They were scared.
1: No one told them this would happen;
2: They thought they were dying.
1: One of the caterpillars shouted out to the others:
3: "I told you we shouldn't have eaten so much."
1: Just as suddenly as they started to split their old skins,
4: The experience was over.
2: All around them were pieces of their old selves.
3: They had grown so large from eating all day,
4: They had grown new skins.
1: They had not died,
4: They had only grown.
2: And they learned that growing was good and they shouldn't be afraid --
1: Growing was natural and in some ways fun.
2: Oh, there was a little pain as the old skins started to split,
3: But the new skins were so much prettier than the old ones.
1: They soon forgot the pain and began to enjoy the garden once more...
3: Yet it was back to the old routine:
1: Eat all day,
2: Sleep all night,
1: Eat all day,
2: Sleep all night.
4: It was boring,
1: And they still wondered if this was all there was to life.
3: Once when two caterpillars found themselves eating the same leaf, a fight started.
1: One said that she had the leaf first,
2: But the other said it didn't matter and kept eating.
3: This was something new, they thought:
4: Fighting over food.
2: It broke the routine of eating and sleeping,
3: But it scared the smaller caterpillars.
1: If fighting became the rule for eating,
3: Then the little ones would be left out.
4: It didn't seem fair.
2: The larger caterpillars said that fairness had nothing to do with it;
4: It was all about survival.
1: If the smaller ones couldn't keep up,
2: Then they would just have to die.
3: The larger the caterpillars grew,
4: The nastier they became --
3: Especially toward the little ones.
1: Soon their new skins were growing long spikes from top to bottom.
2: This made the fighting even worse.
3: Friends would become enemies over the possession of the same leaf.
2: They would try to spike each other to gain control of the food.
1: Some of the caterpillars were badly hurt,
3: And some of them even died.
4: This didn't seem right.
1: There was plenty of food to go around --
2: It just seemed that the larger caterpillars enjoyed taking control of the garden and hurting the little ones,
1: Even though this upset the balance of the garden.
4: The routine never changed --
3: Eat,
1: Sleep,
3: Eat,
1: Sleep,
3: Eat,
1: Sleep...
4: And shed their skins.
2: Then one day something miraculous happened --
4: The routine stopped.
1: The caterpillars no longer felt like eating
2: And they didn't feel like sleeping.
1: They just stopped where they were and tried to figure out what was happening.
3: Some thought they were just going through another stage of shedding their skins,
2: But others thought something quite new was happening.
1: Then one by one the caterpillars started hanging from the branches;
3: By a thin thread of silk they hung upside down.
2: Then one by one they started to create a cocoon.
1: They didn't know what was happening or why,
3: It only seemed like the right thing to do.
4: There they hung,
1: Just swinging in the soft breezes of the garden,
4: Waiting for something to happen.
3: One day, after an especially beautiful sunrise,
2: The garden was bathed in the warmth of a glowing summer morning.
1: It should have made a sound, but it didn't.
2: One by one the cocoons started to crack open --
4: The caterpillars were gone.
3: The dangerous spikes that had grown on their backs were transformed into beautiful wings;
1: Their hungry mouths equipped for chewing had now turned into elegant long tongues equipped for sucking nectar from flowers;
2: Some of the new creatures had grown slender long antennae,
3: While others grew fuzzy feathered ones.
1: But the most remarkable feature of these transformed caterpillars was their wings:
3: Some were orange with black stripes,
2: Some were red with black spots,
1: Others were white and yellow and even blue.
3: They were a rainbow of colors waiting in the sunlight for their wings to dry so they could stretch them out and fly.
2: It was a miracle of God that little fuzzy worm-like caterpillars,
3: Some with nasty tempers,
2: Could be transformed into beautiful multi-colored butterflies and moths.
3: From ground-bound caterpillars they had become beautiful creatures that could fly and swoop and visit other gardens all over the neighborhood and beyond.
1: As butterflies and moths they had discovered many new reasons for living:
2: They were no longer competitive for food;
1: They would no longer fight and cause harm to themselves and others --
3: With their ability to fly they knew there was food to feed their need;
2: They would add glorious color to the neighborhood and backyards;
4: They would be admired
1: And praised for their flight and beauty...
3: And they knew that this too was a part of their reason for living.
2: But most importantly they would help the flowers and shrubs multiply by bringing pollen from one plant to another.
1: And all over the neighborhood
2: New flowers would grow year after year:
4: From caterpillars to butterflies;
3: From competitive ground-bound creatures
2: To cooperative and peaceful creatures of the daylight sky;
4: From caterpillars fearful of growth
1: To butterflies and moths,
2: The beautiful result of faithful growth.
3: From the lost to the found,
2: From the blind to those who see,
1: God has a way of working on our behalf to restore beauty and honor to the human soul,
3: And cooperation and love to the human community.
4: Where there is waste
2: We will co-create with God the resources for growth and community.
4: Where there is loss
1: We will co-create with God's Spirit a climate of comfort and encouragement.
4: Where there is despair
3: We will co-create with Christ the faith that transforms futility into hope,
2: Darkness into light,
1: Indifference into love.
4: For love never fails --
3: We will all be transformed from the ground-crawling caterpillars of yesterday
2: Into the beautiful sky-flying butterflies of tomorrow.
3: All our prayers have taken wing.
1: As Christ was raised from the dead,
2: So we shall be raised from the moments of darkness and despair.
1: We shall all fly with wings as eagles,
2: Butterflies,
3:Moths.
4: We shall all be transformed --
1: No one shall hurt or destroy anything God has created,
3: And the living presence of our loving God shall remain with us always.
4: Amen! Amen!
Kenneth Carlson is a former radio disk jockey who now serves as a United Methodist pastor in Colorado. This reading appeared in the anthology Leading To Easter.
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StoryShare, April 16, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Maybe It's Just Too Good"
Good Stories: "Singing to Resurrection" by Frank R. Fisher
"The Power of the Resurrection Over Death" by Steve Burt
Sermon Starter: "Are You Jesus?" by Sil Galvan
Scrap Pile: "Caterpillars and Butterflies" by Kenneth Carlson
What's Up This Week
On Easter Sunday we celebrate the marvelous news of Jesus' triumph over the power of death -- and as our Story to Live By suggests, the implications of the resurrection may be just too wonderful for us to fully appreciate. But even so, we are called to share this "good news" with everyone -- and Frank Fisher's "Singing to Resurrection" story in Good Stories and Sil Galvan's Sermon Starter illustrate how the singular power of this event can inspire us to spread the message far and wide. In the Scrap Pile this week, we have something that could be an exciting addition to your sunrise service. It's a creative choral reading that depicts the new life Christ offers us in the imagery of caterpillars transforming themselves into majestic butterflies.
A Story to Live By
Maybe It's Just Too Good
Many years ago, a friend told me that his young son was a great fan of both Captain Kangaroo and Mister Rogers. The boy faithfully watched both of their television shows, and one day it was announced that Mister Rogers would be paying a visit to Captain Kangaroo's show. The boy was ecstatic. Both of his heroes, together on the same show! Every morning the boy would ask, "Is it today that Mister Rogers will be on Captain Kangaroo?" Finally the great day arrived, and the whole family gathered around the television. There they were, Mister Rogers and Captain Kangaroo together. The boy watched for a minute, but then, surprisingly, got up and wandered from the room.
Puzzled, his father followed him and asked, "What is it, son? Is anything wrong?"
"It's too good," the boy replied. "It's just too good."
Maybe that's it. Maybe the news of the empty tomb, the news of the resurrection, the news of Jesus' victory over death is just too good to believe, too good to assimilate all at once.
(Thomas G. Long, "Empty Tomb, Empty Talk," from The Christian Century, April 4, 2001)
Good Stories
Singing to Resurrection
by Frank R. Fisher
We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear...
Acts 10:39-40
"Most of us go to our graves with the music still inside us."
My mother always said those words to me. She'd laugh as she spoke them. Then she'd add, "But you'll never do that, Salome. You were born with your song on your lips." I always joined in my mother's laughter as she lovingly stroked my hair and spoke to me about music. Part of my own delight came, of course, from her complete attention and her love. But most of the joy fueling my glee came from the truth of her words -- for it seemed like music was on my lips for every waking moment of every waking day.
Every day at dawn, I'd rise from my sleeping mat, rush out the door, and gaze with delight at the expanse of the sea of Galilee. The red morning sun reflecting off the water would ignite my music as my voice lifted up in a morning Psalm praising the Holy One for all of creation's beauty.
And as I skipped from task to task for the rest of the day, my song never quieted. Indeed, I never ceased my song of God's praise until after the evening Psalm, when I closed my eyes once again in sleep.
My music gave voice to the very center of my life. And at each step I took along life's pathway, my music seemed to expand and grow to match my life's new heights. When Zebedee and I wed, my music truly blossomed. Then when our sons James and John were born, the joy they brought made my songs soar afresh. At that point I was sure there were no further heights for my songs to reach. I was very sure of that -- or at least I thought I was sure.
But then, James and John began to follow the Master. The first time those boys brought me to meet Jesus, I knew in an instant any song I'd ever sung was only a prelude to the ones I'd sing now. With my sons, I followed Jesus across high Galilean hills and through dusty city streets. And as I followed, I sang. I sang of the blind regaining their sight and the sick regaining their health. I sang of sins forgiven and of the good news Jesus preached to the poor. Most of all I sang of the joy of finding the Messiah, the true morning sun who would long shine over Judah.
Every day seemed to bring a new crescendo of song. It was almost like something was about to begin. Then one day, I (along with hundreds upon hundreds of other singers) sang as Jesus rode into Jerusalem. "Hosanna in the highest" we trilled as the Master neared the temple. "Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest." But as we reached the temple, my song caught in my throat. As soon as I saw the sun reflecting off its golden roof, I knew somehow that something horrible was about to happen.
My music died the day Jesus died. As I watched him hang there twisting in agony on the cross, I screamed and screamed and screamed again! I screamed and cried until I couldn't utter a single sound.
That was fitting, I thought. How could I make music when Jesus was dead? As I watched Joseph take his body down from the cross and carry it away to the tomb, I knew my mother had been wrong. There were no songs left to sing; there was no music left to make. I would go to my grave with my music locked down deeply inside me.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to move through my new joyless, non-musical world. I ate, slept, and washed like one whose very mind had shut down. Gradually, I began to respond to the others around me and to understand that they too were feeling pain of unimaginable depths. I reached out to them for comfort, and they reached out to me. Their presence kept me alive in those days.
It was my gratitude for their presence that made me agree to accompany the two Marys back to the tomb on the first day of the week. I certainly didn't want to see the decaying body of the Master I'd so loved. But I knew I couldn't let the others face its presence alone.
We stopped in the market as it first opened and bought the spices we needed to anoint Jesus' body in the way taught by the law. Then, step by dragging step, we made our way toward the place where Jesus had been laid.
On the way we suddenly realized we'd brought no one along to help us open the tomb. We knew we hadn't enough strength to do it alone. Yet we also knew we couldn't face another agonizing trip such as this one. So we continued walking, heads held downward in despair, wondering all along the way what we'd do when we were confronted with the immovable grave stone.
But as we neared the tomb something made us look up. And we saw that someone had already rolled the grave stone away. Dropping the spices, we ran to the tomb's door, ducked our heads under its low entrance, and stepped inside.
Jesus wasn't there! In the place where Joseph had laid his body, there was a strange man sitting. He was dressed in dazzling white. My eyes locked with the man's eyes, and something deep inside me unlocked as he said, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell the disciples Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you."
That something unlocking deep inside me opened fully with the man's words. And at its awakening, I screamed out in fear and amazement. Both Marys screamed out too, and together all three of us ran away from the tomb as fast as we could.
At first we were so stunned and frightened that we couldn't speak. And when my voice returned, it wasn't speech coming forth from my mouth. Instead, music came forth. The music I had felt would go with me to my grave bubbled forth and arose in a song of incredible gladness.
I sang all the way to Galilee. I sang to my risen Lord as I sat with Jesus by the side of the lake. And now I sing across all Judah and out into the lands to the Gentiles.
I will not go to my grave with my music still inside me. I will go there instead singing alleluias to my Lord and Savior. And I will sing through death into the new life Jesus gave me.
Alleluia I will sing!
Praise I will sing!
Thanks I will sing! Thanks to the risen Christ who died and arose for such a one as me! Alleluia!
Frank R. Fisher currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. During the final years of his first career as a paramedic and administrator for the Chicago Fire Department, Fisher graduated from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois.
The Power of the Resurrection Over Death
by Steve Burt
Todd was two months into pastoring his first church. He'd served communion once, and never had a baptism or a funeral.
The hospital's patient listing showed a 22-year-old from Todd's parish area admitted to intensive care. Todd didn't know the name, but he knew enough to visit anyone from his area.
The boy's name was Gary, and his spinal cord had been severed in a car accident. He was paralyzed from the neck down and couldn't speak. When Todd saw him that first day, Gary had IV tubes and breathing devices everywhere. It wasn't a good time to visit, so Todd said hello and left, feeling helpless.
Over the next month, Todd visited Gary daily.
One night Gary's mother called Todd from the hospital. The doctors gave Gary less than two days to live. Todd left for the hospital.
When he arrived, Gary's mother fell into his arms and wept. Todd wept too, and he felt even more powerless to affect things now. He asked the nurses if the doctors had told Gary he was dying. They said no and asked if Todd would tell him. He agreed before he could think twice.
"Gary, Todd said, "I want you to know that God loves you. In the Bible there's a promise of eternal life. It's there and I believe it. Somehow, I believe it. But it's hard to read it and not know it through feeling it in your heart. But right now I feel it; I know it. And it tells me that nothing -- not life, nor death, nor anything else in all of creation -- can separate us in a love like ours -- mine, yours, and God's." They were both crying now. "As a friend, I've got to be honest with you, Gary -- you're going to die." Todd's own words cut through his heart like a burning knife. But Gary seemed glad to know finally. They cried some more, and Todd went to Gary's mother.
"We don't know what'll happen to Gary," she said. "Jesus will have to decide."
"What do you mean?" Todd asked.
"Gary's never been baptized," she said.
"I can do it," Pastor Todd said without flinching.
"Gary, do you want to be baptized?" Todd asked. Gary nodded yes with his eyes, so Todd stepped to the nurse's station.
"Could I have some water?" he asked. "It's for a baptism."
The nurse filled a plastic cough medicine cup to the brim with water and handed it to Todd. He took it to Gary's room.
"Gary," Todd asked, not knowing any of the words to the liturgy for the baptismal service, "do you profess Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?" Gary's eyes nodded yes. "Then I baptize you into the Christian faith in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." And with that Pastor Todd poured the medicine cup of water back over Gary's forehead, where it ran down through his brown tousled hair.
Suddenly, in a time of no hope and numbing, paralyzing fear, there was hope, and the three of them broke out in broad smiles and laughed and wept with joy. In that instant the three of them knew in their hearts the truth of the resurrection and its hope.
The next morning Gary died. Todd officiated at the funeral. It was his first, and it came on the heels of his first baptism. He hadn't expected they'd be so close or that they'd involve the same person. But Pastor Todd was different now. Some of his fear was gone, and even though he wasn't a doctor who could heal, he no longer felt powerless, for he had Christ, his faith, and a story of hope to share. It would make all the difference in his life, in the lives of those he met, and in his ministry.
Steve Burt is a United Church of Christ pastor and an acclaimed author of inspirational and horror stories. He has been the winner of the Ben Franklin, Ray Bradbury, and Bram Stoker Awards, and he is a multiple contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. Burt is also known for his church leadership books and devotional material. For more information about Burt and his books, visit his website at www.burtcreations.com.
Sermon Starter
Are You Jesus?by Sil Galvan
John 20:1-18
Today's gospel reading has two themes running through it: faith and love. First of all, to believe in the resurrection, we need faith. The resurrection is a mystery. As Webster himself defines it, a mystery is something which is puzzling and inexplicable, something which causes amazement, awe, or wonder. The resurrection is certainly all of those things, something which can only be understood in the context of faith, for there is nothing on earth which prepares us for the truth of the resurrection of the body from its death. And yet there it is. The sadness and apparent finality of death has been overcome by the promise of life to come, which also can be accepted only through the eyes of faith.
Second, we see love at work. As he relates at the end of today's passage, it was John, the disciple whom Jesus loved and who loved Jesus, who was the first to believe in the resurrection. He was the first one to believe and to understand. Love gave him eyes to read the signs and to believe. Love can grasp the truth when the intellect is left groping and uncertain. Love can realize something's true meaning when our minds are blinded.
It is also fitting that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary should be the first to receive the news of the Risen Lord and to encounter him, because they had been among the last to be present with him at the cross. They were there when he was laid in the tomb, and now they were receiving love's reward: they were the first to know the joy of the Resurrection.
So now that Jesus has ascended to his heavenly home, where can we encounter Jesus in our own day and age? Earlier in John's Gospel, some Greeks -- historically renowned as great seekers of the truth -- approach the disciples with a request to see Jesus. But Jesus could only be found through them. So there is the answer to our question: others should see Jesus through those who profess to believe in his name -- namely, all of us Christians, who are Christ's modern-day disciples. Our friends and any others, for that matter, who encounter us in our everyday lives should be able to see Jesus through our love and service to them. This is a love which is impossible unless it is rooted in a firm belief in the resurrection, a belief that our actions do have eternal consequences.
We all know that Mary Magdalene's life had been radically changed by her first encounters with Christ. He saw the piece of God that was in her, deep within her spirit, and brought her to the point of seeing it in herself. Ideally, those of us who call ourselves Christians should cause the same effect in those whom we meet that Jesus brought about in Mary Magdalene: a radical change of life and a belief in the inherent goodness of themselves as a human person. Here is someone who was scorned and despised by everyone -- and she is given back her dignity and self-respect through her experience of Jesus. It should be the same with us.
Jesus saw the inner beauty in Mary when no one else did; likewise, we need to be able to see that beauty in others, just as Christ has shown us. We need to see not the weak human nature with which we are all clothed but the piece of the divine heart which resides within each one of us. We can neither understand Jesus nor help others to understand him, unless we believe in him and love him -- and then witness that belief and love in our actions. Only then will others see Jesus in us.
Several years ago a group of salesmen went to a regional sales convention in Chicago. They assured their wives that they would be home in plenty of time for Friday's supper. One thing led to another and the meeting ran overtime, so the men had to race to the airport, tickets in hand. As they barged through the terminal, one man inadvertently kicked over a table supporting a basket of apples. Without stopping, they all reached the plane in time and boarded it with a sigh of relief -- all but one. He paused and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned. He waved good-bye to his companions and returned to the terminal. He was glad he did. The ten-year-old girl was blind. The salesman gathered up the apples and noticed that several of them were battered and bruised. He reached into his wallet and said to the girl, "Here, please take this ten dollars for the damage we did." As he started to walk away, the bewildered girl called out to him, "Are you Jesus?" ("Are You Jesus?" by Brennan Manning, from More Sower's Seeds, Second Planting by Brian Cavanaugh [Paulist Press, 1994], p. 13)
It was this man's kindness and disregard for his own welfare which caused a young girl to ask him the question which our actions should cause others to ask us. Are you Jesus for your spouse, your children, or your parents? Are you Jesus for your neighbors, your co-workers, the strangers you meet on the street like the girl in that story? Such love can only begin with a firm foundation in faith, in the reality of the resurrection, in the belief that Jesus loves you unconditionally. Once you believe that Jesus loves you, then you can see Jesus in others. In turn, they will see Jesus in you and come to believe that Jesus is in them also. Only then can you be Don Quixote for all of the Dulcineas you meet every day of your lives, and be Jesus to all the Mary Magdalenes you encounter, too -- for only a faith in the resurrection can lead to love. And only a faith in Jesus can cause us to see Jesus in others and be Jesus to others.
Silverius "Sil" Galvan is a deacon at the Catholic Community of Saint Mary of the Lake in Lakewood, New Jersey. He has been involved in music ministry as an organist, guitarist, and sometime cantor for more than four decades. Galvan also operates www.deaconsil.com, a website offering extensive homiletic resources.
Scrap Pile
Caterpillars and Butterflies
by Kenneth Carlson
(This choral reading can be performed by three voices, indicated by the numbers 1-3. Where the number 4 appears, all three voices read in unison.)
1: Once upon a time in a beautiful garden there lived a family of caterpillars.
2: Some of them were small and slender
1: While others were large and round.
3: Some were smooth
1: And some were fuzzy,
2: But they were all caterpillars and lived together in this beautiful garden.
4: They were happy with their garden.
3: It had flowers and soft grass
1: And more than enough leaves for them to eat.
2: The days were never too hot
3: Nor the nights too cold.
1: It was a perfect, peaceful garden,
4: And the caterpillars were very happy.
2: They spent their days eating the soft, tender leaves of the plants that grew in the garden.
3: They spent their nights curled up in tight little balls of fur
1: Or curled around each other, using each other's warmth as blankets.
3: Every morning they would get up, locate the next tender bunch of leaves, and eat throughout the entire day.
2: And every night they would curl up next to each other and sleep.
1: Day after day,
2: Night after night,
4: The same old thing.
3: As enjoyable as the garden was, some of the caterpillars began to wonder:
1: Is this all there is to the meaning of life?
2: We eat,
3: We sleep,
2: We eat,
3: We sleep,
2: We eat,
3: We sleep,
1: And we eat some more.
4: What's the purpose?
3: Suddenly something very strange happened --
2: Having eaten so many leaves, the caterpillars had grown too large for their skins.
3: One by one they started to rip apart down their backs.
4: They were scared.
1: No one told them this would happen;
2: They thought they were dying.
1: One of the caterpillars shouted out to the others:
3: "I told you we shouldn't have eaten so much."
1: Just as suddenly as they started to split their old skins,
4: The experience was over.
2: All around them were pieces of their old selves.
3: They had grown so large from eating all day,
4: They had grown new skins.
1: They had not died,
4: They had only grown.
2: And they learned that growing was good and they shouldn't be afraid --
1: Growing was natural and in some ways fun.
2: Oh, there was a little pain as the old skins started to split,
3: But the new skins were so much prettier than the old ones.
1: They soon forgot the pain and began to enjoy the garden once more...
3: Yet it was back to the old routine:
1: Eat all day,
2: Sleep all night,
1: Eat all day,
2: Sleep all night.
4: It was boring,
1: And they still wondered if this was all there was to life.
3: Once when two caterpillars found themselves eating the same leaf, a fight started.
1: One said that she had the leaf first,
2: But the other said it didn't matter and kept eating.
3: This was something new, they thought:
4: Fighting over food.
2: It broke the routine of eating and sleeping,
3: But it scared the smaller caterpillars.
1: If fighting became the rule for eating,
3: Then the little ones would be left out.
4: It didn't seem fair.
2: The larger caterpillars said that fairness had nothing to do with it;
4: It was all about survival.
1: If the smaller ones couldn't keep up,
2: Then they would just have to die.
3: The larger the caterpillars grew,
4: The nastier they became --
3: Especially toward the little ones.
1: Soon their new skins were growing long spikes from top to bottom.
2: This made the fighting even worse.
3: Friends would become enemies over the possession of the same leaf.
2: They would try to spike each other to gain control of the food.
1: Some of the caterpillars were badly hurt,
3: And some of them even died.
4: This didn't seem right.
1: There was plenty of food to go around --
2: It just seemed that the larger caterpillars enjoyed taking control of the garden and hurting the little ones,
1: Even though this upset the balance of the garden.
4: The routine never changed --
3: Eat,
1: Sleep,
3: Eat,
1: Sleep,
3: Eat,
1: Sleep...
4: And shed their skins.
2: Then one day something miraculous happened --
4: The routine stopped.
1: The caterpillars no longer felt like eating
2: And they didn't feel like sleeping.
1: They just stopped where they were and tried to figure out what was happening.
3: Some thought they were just going through another stage of shedding their skins,
2: But others thought something quite new was happening.
1: Then one by one the caterpillars started hanging from the branches;
3: By a thin thread of silk they hung upside down.
2: Then one by one they started to create a cocoon.
1: They didn't know what was happening or why,
3: It only seemed like the right thing to do.
4: There they hung,
1: Just swinging in the soft breezes of the garden,
4: Waiting for something to happen.
3: One day, after an especially beautiful sunrise,
2: The garden was bathed in the warmth of a glowing summer morning.
1: It should have made a sound, but it didn't.
2: One by one the cocoons started to crack open --
4: The caterpillars were gone.
3: The dangerous spikes that had grown on their backs were transformed into beautiful wings;
1: Their hungry mouths equipped for chewing had now turned into elegant long tongues equipped for sucking nectar from flowers;
2: Some of the new creatures had grown slender long antennae,
3: While others grew fuzzy feathered ones.
1: But the most remarkable feature of these transformed caterpillars was their wings:
3: Some were orange with black stripes,
2: Some were red with black spots,
1: Others were white and yellow and even blue.
3: They were a rainbow of colors waiting in the sunlight for their wings to dry so they could stretch them out and fly.
2: It was a miracle of God that little fuzzy worm-like caterpillars,
3: Some with nasty tempers,
2: Could be transformed into beautiful multi-colored butterflies and moths.
3: From ground-bound caterpillars they had become beautiful creatures that could fly and swoop and visit other gardens all over the neighborhood and beyond.
1: As butterflies and moths they had discovered many new reasons for living:
2: They were no longer competitive for food;
1: They would no longer fight and cause harm to themselves and others --
3: With their ability to fly they knew there was food to feed their need;
2: They would add glorious color to the neighborhood and backyards;
4: They would be admired
1: And praised for their flight and beauty...
3: And they knew that this too was a part of their reason for living.
2: But most importantly they would help the flowers and shrubs multiply by bringing pollen from one plant to another.
1: And all over the neighborhood
2: New flowers would grow year after year:
4: From caterpillars to butterflies;
3: From competitive ground-bound creatures
2: To cooperative and peaceful creatures of the daylight sky;
4: From caterpillars fearful of growth
1: To butterflies and moths,
2: The beautiful result of faithful growth.
3: From the lost to the found,
2: From the blind to those who see,
1: God has a way of working on our behalf to restore beauty and honor to the human soul,
3: And cooperation and love to the human community.
4: Where there is waste
2: We will co-create with God the resources for growth and community.
4: Where there is loss
1: We will co-create with God's Spirit a climate of comfort and encouragement.
4: Where there is despair
3: We will co-create with Christ the faith that transforms futility into hope,
2: Darkness into light,
1: Indifference into love.
4: For love never fails --
3: We will all be transformed from the ground-crawling caterpillars of yesterday
2: Into the beautiful sky-flying butterflies of tomorrow.
3: All our prayers have taken wing.
1: As Christ was raised from the dead,
2: So we shall be raised from the moments of darkness and despair.
1: We shall all fly with wings as eagles,
2: Butterflies,
3:Moths.
4: We shall all be transformed --
1: No one shall hurt or destroy anything God has created,
3: And the living presence of our loving God shall remain with us always.
4: Amen! Amen!
Kenneth Carlson is a former radio disk jockey who now serves as a United Methodist pastor in Colorado. This reading appeared in the anthology Leading To Easter.
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StoryShare, April 16, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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