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March 27, 2005 |
See also: [2008][2007] [2006] [2005] [2005] [2004] [2003] [2002] [2001]Sermons: [Nance 2006] [ Sauter 2003] John Cobb on atonement |
Acts 10:34-43 or Jeremiah 31:1-6
Colossians 3:1-4
John 20:1-18 or Matthew 28:1-10
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Preaching the Resurrection
Easter Sunday is a popular time for worship attendance, especially for
those who only occasionally attend church. But if you haven’t been
participating in the season of Lent, and if you haven’t been exposed
to Passion week, then attending only Easter Sunday worship is like
coming in on the last scene of a movie, or reading only the final
chapter of a novel: it’s hard to appreciate the emotional payoff
without being part of the set up of the story. Those who have seen the
whole movie are laughing or crying at the conclusion; they are
experiencing the payoff.
The resurrection story is the conclusion of a long story line that
begins, well, at the beginning of the gospel narrative. Here is the
problem: without knowing how the story develops from the beginning, the
resurrection episode then becomes a puzzle, a passage that is just
bizarre, and then is often defended on irrational grounds. However, if
one begins at the beginning and participates in the development of the
story, the resurrection is a fitting conclusion to a story well told.
It has all the usual elements of narrative: character development,
dialogue, plot, conflict, conflict resolution, etc.
Without the context, the resurrection makes no sense. When it makes no
sense, the pressure is on to explain it outside the flow of the story.
Weird explanations are used. Irrationality becomes a test of faith.
Pilate wants to argue about truth. By the way, what is truth, anyway?
Context is everything.
Here is a legitimate question for those who want to explain the
resurrection outside the framework of the narrative and push to take it
literally: If video cameras were set up inside the tomb when Jesus was
buried and the death chamber was filmed during the whole period of
Jesus’ entombment, what would be on the tape? When the actual
resurrection moment came, what would we see? A flash? Jesus suddenly
standing? What would constitute proof of the resurrection? We could ask
the same question about conception in the womb. If we had a camera
peering into the womb (and we have) what would we see at the moment of
conception of a human being? A sperm wiggling to an egg, penetrating.
The cell soon divides. What are we seeing? Where did life come from? How
did this small transformation happen? The truth of the matter is that we
don’t know. Beyond sperm and egg, beyond biology, beyond any human
ability to understand how it all works, life is still a deep mystery to
us. It’s like electricity: we don’t really understand what it is,
but we use it and manipulate it to our benefit. We see its effects all
around us. What calls life out of the dead ground in the Spring? What
draws order out of chaos? How does new life come out of death?
Ultimately, we don’t know the answer to any of these questions. But we
see the effects all around us. We experience this creative transforming
power. How to explain this strange power of transformation requires
poetry, metaphor, imagination, a story
Each of the gospel narratives has a resurrection story. We will focus on
the John text. The payoff of this story is trust. Being involved in the
whole story as it unfolds, you will experience the power of the ending.
Then the participant in the narrative will understand how trust works.
In order to understand the resurrection story, the reader must begin
with the first story. Indeed, the first story in the Gospel of
John--Jesus changing the water into wine--is instructive. I would go so
far as to say it holds the key to the whole gospel narrative and
especially to the resurrection story. I will repeat an earlier paragraph
from the Third Sunday in Lent:
When we look at the first story in the Gospel of John of Jesus turning
the water into wine, we see a simple story, quietly told, almost
low-key. But it is a crucial story; it sets the parameters and terms of
creative transformation, which is the basic idea of divine involvement
in the world shown throughout the Gospel of John. The scene is a wedding
and the host runs out of wine. Jesus’ mother appeals to him to do
something and he resists. Yet he goes on to instruct the servants to
fill six jars with water and then to take a sample to the wine steward.
The wine steward tastes and compliments the bridegroom on the quality of
the wine. And the wedding goes on with few people knowing what just
happened. Jesus knew, the servants knew, and the reader knows what
happened. But what do we really know other than the water became wine.
No hocus-pocus. No chemistry experiment. It was a simple, inexplicable,
transformation that was witnessed. But that’s the whole point: we
experience the creating, transforming power of God routinely, quietly
moving through life, our life. That same, mysterious, power of
transformation is featured in following stories, many of them more
dramatic. Then we get to the final act of transformation with the story
of the resurrection of Jesus from the dead and realize that the
creative, transforming power of God is at the center of the stories and
at the center of life.
Jesus soon makes the point in chapter three that transformation is
symbolized by the image of birth. You must be born anew, he told
Nicodemus. The same power that transformed water into wine is the same
power that brings new life. We saw that earlier in the story of Abraham
and Sarah.
In John, we then move to the story of Jesus and the woman at the well.
Water becomes a symbol of transformation. Then in 4:46 we are reminded
of the water-to-wine story just before Jesus heals a child. The link to
that first story is clear; the same principle is involved. Then Jesus
heals the paralytic at the pool. There he asks the man, “Do you want
to be healed?” The man is told to rise up and walk. The word
“rise” is joined with the chorus of images and words used to
describe the transforming power of God. We should be getting the point
by now if we are reading the narrative closely. Then the feeding of the
multitude comes. No explanation is given for how so many people were fed
with so little food. The same principle at work in the water-to-wine
story is again at work here. Then Jesus walks on the water. What weird
kind of power is at work here? It’s the kind of power that God
exercised over creation in Genesis: order out of chaos, water being a
symbol of chaos. Thus Jesus walking on the water is a stark reminder of
creative power.
Jesus makes a direct link between death and childbirth in chapter 16.
They are similar in more ways than we imagine. I don’t remember being
in my mother’s womb, but I can easily imagine it to be a place of
comfort and safety. All my needs were cared for and, as far as I knew,
there was no world beyond my mother’s womb. And if it were up to me, I
would have preferred to stay there indefinitely. But about nine months
along the way, quite against my will, the walls of that world bear down
on me with such tremendous force, pushing me through the narrowest of
possible passageways into a world I had no idea was there: cold and
bright and loud. It is a tremendous loss being expelled from the womb,
even an experience of death. But the irony of this is that this great
loss turned out to be our birth day. I remember witnessing the birth of
both of my daughters. It was traumatic, a struggle. But I remember the
look of surprise on their squirming faces at they began to orient
themselves to this strange, surprising world. Who could have guessed
this world was here? We never imagined. But the reality of this world
does not depend upon our imagining it; it has been here all along.
Similarly, Jesus implies, here we are in this world. It is a place of
comfort and safety. All my needs are cared for and, as far as I know,
there is no world beyond this world. And if it were up to me, I would
prefer to stay here indefinitely. But there will come a time, quite
against my will, when the walls of this world will come bearing down on
me with such force, pushing me through the narrowest of possible
passageways, into a world I had no idea was there. It is a tremendous
loss, even an experience of death. But the irony of this is that this
great loss turns out to be a rebirth. Life and death are two sides of
the same coin.
Jesus healing the man born blind, asking the reader through the story:
can you see how this works? Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead is a
foreshadowing of his own resurrection. The power of resurrection is
everywhere in the gospel narrative; it is the theme running through each
episode, building to the conclusion we celebrate at Easter.
The exhibitions of Divine power in the narrative are interlaced with
Jesus interacting with people. We see him teaching. What does he talk
about? Everything he says is a little off angle, slightly strange,
catching people off guard, forcing reactions, pushing, cracking our
nut-hard world view wide open He’s talking about the less obvious
power of God, not the obvious power of armies and kings, not the power
to impose one’s will, but another power that is more difficult to
describe. The power of creative transformation is often subtle, quiet,
unpredictable (like the wind), more evasive. It is less like a hammer on
the head than it is a gentle prod, a tickle, sometimes as gentle as a
feather, touching each moment into being.
Resurrection power is about order coming from chaos, life coming out of
death, hope coming from despair, beauty coming form ugliness. In God’s
hands, every experience of death is a transition to new life.
To preach the resurrection is to “see” how this creative,
transforming power is displayed throughout the whole gospel narrative. A
sense of the whole story needs to be communicated in order to appreciate
the conclusion (resurrection).
Ultimately, the Easter sermon is a call to trust this creative,
transforming power, without fully comprehending it. Abraham trusted that
power, so did Moses and so did many others. And so did Jesus. We, too,
can trust our lives to this power. If we do, we will experience peace,
joy, well-being and fullness of life.
Our church goes through a beautiful ritual at the end of the Easter
worship service. We have a rough wood cross on a stand, about three feet
tall. It is wrapped in chicken wire and it quite unremarkable, even
ugly. It is at the center of our Good Friday service and remains
unchanged. For Easter service, everyone brings flowers and, at the end,
during the singing of a hymn, all the flowers are woven into the chicken
wire until the whole cross is covered with flowers. When all the
business of flowering is finished, we all stand back and behold the
transformed cross. It is a hushed moment; we hold our collective breath
in delight. Such is the power of the resurrection that it can be
communicated to us emotionally, subliminally, visually, experientially
To know the power of the resurrection is to experience it. We all
experience this power by simply being alive and going through all the
normal, routine transformations of human growth and love and death.
Truly, we are in the hands of God and we can trust God’s creating,
transforming power. See how we are in God’s loving care! Relax!
Behold!
Rick Marshall is the pastor of the Brea Congregational Church, UCC in Brea, California. This year, he and the Brea church will be celebrating 20 years of mutual ministry. He has written a confirmation curriculum based on a relational theology that is available from Process & Faith. The Rev. Rick Marshall can be reached at bccrick50@msn.com
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