"I have seen the Lord"

John 20:1-18

Easter Sunday

April 24, 2011

David Brooks reviewed the Broadway play “The Book of Mormon” this week in the New York Times.  Now I haven’t seen the play.  But I was interested in Brooks’ comments about religion and faith.

The central theme of “The Book of Mormon” is that many religious stories are silly — like the idea that God would plant golden plates in upstate New York.

But religion itself can do enormous good as long as people take religious teaching metaphorically and not literally; as long as people understand that all religions ultimately preach love and service underneath their superficial particulars; as long as people practice their faiths open-mindedly and are tolerant of different beliefs.  

The only problem with “The Book of Mormon” . . .  is that its theme is not quite true. Vague, uplifting, nondoctrinal religiosity doesn’t actually last. The religions that grow and motivate people to perform heroic acts of service are usually theologically rigorous, arduous in practice and definite in their convictions about what is True and False.

Of course, the idea that God raised Jesus from the dead would qualify as “silly” as well.  Many educated people assume that it’s not true.  Or that if it is true, it is true only in some vague and symbolic way.

Christianity claims that on that first Sunday morning, something happened.  It is not a story that is to be reduced to something else - a symbol of something, a metaphor for something.  It is a world rupturing, world-defining event.  It is the truest thing that has ever happened.  Yes, we admit that the event exceeds our capacities to render it in language.  It is too rich and too full of life and meaning to be captured fully in a net of words.  It is not simply a doctrine to be believed.  It is more like a deep and personal encounter with a powerful love that enables us to say with Mary Magdalene, “I have seen the Lord.” 

Our most ancient creeds still resonate: we believe that Jesus was crucified, buried, and raised on the third day.  And what does this mean?  It means that the crucified Jesus is the living one.  The lowly Jesus who favored the poor and the sick is now the victorious Lord of all.  It means that we talk and sing and pray not to a Jesus who was, but who is.  He is a lively presence in our midst.  Of course, we do not see and feel this all the time.  And many of our friends and neighbors cannot see it at all.

The resurrection story begins with a shocking newness (v. 1-2).

Seeing this story through Mary Magdalene’s eyes means we are seeing the story in a very intimate, and personal way.  She is involved deeply in Jesus’ life.  She is one who has been healed and given hope by him.  His arrest, trial, and crucifixion are to her an assault on all she has become and all she cares deeply about.  She is so deeply committed to Jesus that she follows him with several other women all the way to his crucifixion on Friday.  And she comes to the tomb this morning in the still-raw grief over the teacher and friend she loved and lost.  

But when Mary Magdalene gets to the tomb on Sunday morning in the dark, the stone has been rolled away from the tomb.  Because we already know this story, it is hard for us to pause long enough to imagine Mary’s shock and surprise.  This tomb isn’t supposed to be empty.  What she saw was a disorienting interruption.  

After we had lived in New Haven for a year, a friend of mine from college came to Yale.  He needed to stay with us for a few days before his apartment opened up.  He got in one late summer evening, and we unloaded a few things from his car.  The next morning we both went out to the spot where his car was parked and it wasn’t there.  There is that disorienting moment when you’re just staring at the spot where the car was, thinking, “There should be a car there.”

Now don’t run too far ahead.  This isn’t an Easter story yet.  She doesn’t burst into a joyous hallelujah chorus.  She doesn’t register joy or confidence or belief or a sense of victory.  Rather, she registers shock and confusion.  She runs from the tomb back to the others.  NOT to report that their crucified Lord has been raised from the dead.  NOR does she just stick to the facts to report that Jesus’ tomb is empty.  She tells the others that “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb.”

Entering the Easter story with Mary Magdalene allows us to admit that it is not obvious what it all means.  Mary - who loved and believed in Jesus - got it wrong at first.  And this is a place we can enter the story.  Life turns in directions we don’t anticipate.  And we have to respond and react.  Much of our energy is devoted to improvising on life as it rolls at us.

Our family spent a few days on the Connecticut coastline this past week.  The weather was overcast and cold.  But that didn’t stop the kids from enjoying the sand and even the frigid water.  I didn’t go anywhere near the water.  But I did enjoy watching the tide move in and out.  You could stand on the deck and watch the waves rhythmically rolling in to the surf.  I don’t know when that shoreline was formed, but those tides and waves have been coming in something like that rhythm for thousands, maybe millions of years.  Our lives feel like this sometimes, more and more of the same.  They feel the same, until something new happens and breaks things open.  Well, the tomb is empty, and we stare, mouths open, trying to figure out what we’re seeing, what it all means.  

Mary’s report from the tomb gets our attention and prompts us to check it out for ourselves (v. 3-8).

When Mary tells Peter and John (“the disciple whom Jesus loved”) that the Lord’s body has been taken from the tomb, Peter and John make a mad dash to the tomb.  They race as fast as they can to see matters for themselves.  

The fact that John’s gospel account of the resurrection contains a foot race between John and Peter is at least curious.  The two set out running for the tomb “together.”  “But the other disciple (John, the writer) outran Peter and reached the tomb first” (v. 4).  

A few weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon I was deep into a book and Henry was conducting science experiments at the table.  The details are irrelevant.  What you need to know is that when he said, “Wo, Dad!”, I looked over and saw flames shooting up several feet out of a can.  I screamed “Get into the kitchen” as I sprung up off the couch and whirled towards the kitchen to turn on the sink.  But I tripped on the little step up into the kitchen and flew hard into the wall and ended up on the ground.  Henry jumped over me and got the flames under control in the sink.  I hit my elbow on the wall so hard I thought I broke my arm.  It’s still sore.  The whole scene unfolded in about three seconds, and before I could tear into him with full rhetorical force we both wound up laughing as I lay groaning on the floor.

That’s how I picture Peter and John tripping over one another as they scramble out the door to race to the tomb.  Now why focus this resurrection story on Peter and John racing to the tomb?  And why make the point that John was faster and got there first?  The earliest account of the resurrection is Paul’s letter to the Corinthians.  There it says that the risen Lord “appeared first to Peter,” and then to the others.  In the earliest tradition, Peter was seen as the primary witness of the resurrection (cf. I Cor. 15:3-5). John’s gospel was the last of the gospels written. and it takes on this earlier tradition that recognizes Peter as the first and primary witness to the resurrection.  Maybe Jesus appeared to Peter first, but John was the first to the empty tomb, and the first to “believe.”  Peter and John are here pictured in a kind of friendly rivalry.  It was a friendly rivalry carried on, of course, by the churches that were associated with each of these early apostles.  

So John wins the race to the tomb.  He looks in the tomb and sees the linen burial cloths, but he doesn’t go in.  Then old, fat, slow Peter finally gets there, huffing and puffing.  And Peter “went into the tomb.”  And Peter now sees the linen burial cloths as well.  But now we’re given more detail.  The linen cloths that wrapped his body were folded and in one place.  The cloths used to wrap Jesus head for burial were rolled up and separate.  

You might be wondering - why these details about the linen burial cloths?  Are we to imagine that the newly raised Jesus took his time, unwrapped himself and folded the cloths neatly before leaving the tomb.  Or, are we to imagine that the resurrected Jesus miraculously vanished through his burial clothing, leaving them lying rolled up as they were around his body.  Either way, the point the gospel writer is making is clear.  This isn’t what you find when grave robbers steal a body.  Grave robbers would have just carried out the body wrapped in its cloths.  They wouldn’t have taken the time to unwind the cloths and refold them.  This isn’t the Banana Republic or JCrew where people stand around refolding shirts all day!

Peter and John ran to theh tomb because they had gotten stunning news, and they wanted to see for themselves.  When the report is this significant, due diligence is required of us all.  We have to check things out for ourselves.  This isn’t something trivial that can be set aside.  Nor is it something that can just be taken at face value on someone else’s word and experience.  So they take off running.  They want to test the report.  So I tell you, Jesus is risen.  But don’t take my word for it.  Check it out.  Investigate matters yourself.  Ask hard questions of friends.  Pray in a way that articulates your worries and doubts.  Read a book or two.  Whatever you do, take off running to see if this is true or not.  And if the story checks out, then give yourself to it with joy.

Jesus’ resurrection is powerfully true but not obvious (v. 11-15).  

After the race to the tomb by Peter and John, the story returns to Mary Magdalene.  She is back at the tomb, weeping.  What surprises us as readers is that Mary encounters two angels and doesn’t register anything at all.  No fear, no falling down, no blinding light or surprise.  And then she encounters the risen Jesus himself, but takes him to be the gardner.  How could she possibly miss the sacred splendor of the angels?  How could she not recognize the face of the Lord she loved so dearly?

For reasons we don’t fully understand, God does not dominate us or overwhelm us with his presence.  He normally does not grab us and shake us.  Does not dance in front of us, waving his arms so that we will notice him.  God gives us space and time.  God gives us freedom.  God leaves us to our work and our families.  God leaves us to our daily routines and the challenges of navigating our lives and finding meaning.  God leaves us with our bodies in their full materiality, leaves us in a natural landscape that is both menacing and beautiful.  God leaves us a network of communities called churches who receive and pass along the stories of Scripture.  The risen Christ is among us, but more often than not, he does not shout or light himself on fire.  He is not a celebrity who demands to be noticed.  

Most of our lives are spent in Mary’s situation - missing the presence of the lively risen Jesus.  And most of our friends and neighbors spend their lives overlooking his lively presence as well.  One of the reasons we worship together is so that we can train our hearts and minds to be alert to his mysterious presence in our lives. 

Mary reminds us that Easter is for people who are weeping.  The resurrection is God’s announcement that Jesus was right: the first will be last and the last first.  The Kingdom of God really does belong to the “poor in spirit.”  This is not a holy day of celebration for the rich and powerful.  It is hope for people who have experienced hardship and grief.  That’s important to remember because we call it a celebration.  But it is no time for manufactured smiles and cheap sentimentality.  This is the holy season to remember that God is on the side of those who live in darkness.  God dwells with those whose lives are bent by sin.  God refuses to abandon those who are depressed and disappointed because of what’s come their way.

The resurrection makes possible a revealing encounter with Jesus Christ (v. 16-18) 

Mary mistakenly relates to the risen Jesus as if he’s the gardner, and not her beloved friend and Lord, her healer and Savior.  But then he speaks her name.  “Mary”.  And by speaking her name he ushers her into a new recognition of him as her Teacher and Lord.

Until you’re named in a personal way, until you feel that the newness of the risen Christ has become real to you in an undeniable way, it will not be “your” story.  When Jesus addresses us personally, it enables us to say something definitive, “I have seen the Lord.”  

Yet this risen Lord who invites us into his newness is full of mystery.  And he speaks to us too, “Don’t hold on to me.”  We cannot know him as one who belongs to the past.  He will not allow us to assign him that place.  He is the living one.  The lively one who ascends to continue his work in and among us.  And we are the people made glad to live and work in the power of the risen Christ.

David Brooks was right.  Faith in God that is healthy and life-changing is faith with a few sharp edges.  It is faith that believes.  It is faith that’s willing to testify that the resurrection of Jesus Christ is true.  “I have seen the Lord.”  But Brooks is wrong to suggest that real faith is certainty about doctrines or religious teachings.  The gospels teach us that real faith lives in wonder and mystery.  Real faith lives in humility with the lively presence of Jesus Christ in our midst.  Real faith lets go of Jesus’ feet, so that he can become a lively presence to all people and to the rest of creation.