San Williams, Presenter

John 20:1-18

"And the Word Became Mystery and Dwelt Among Us"

Sometimes I ride the bus to work.  Mostly I use the time to read, but occasionally someone will strike up a conversation.  Last Wednesday the lady sitting next to me was in a talkative mood.  Somehow the subject of Easter came up. "I've already got the candy for the kids," she exclaimed.  Later she asked me where I worked. I told her that I'm the pastor at University Presbyterian Church. I could tell by the expression on her face that she regretted her statement about the candy, and in an effort to correct any offense, she said, "Oh, of course I know that Easter is about more than candy."  Yes, surely Easter is about more than candy, but understanding what that more is can be challenging. 

Now I know that the more is the resurrection.  Easter, of course, is about the resurrection of Jesus. Every preacher knows that the sermon on Easter has to at least mention the resurrection.  There's one of those "you know it's going to be a bad day when" jokes for preachers that goes:  You know its going to be a bad day when you're halfway through your sermon and it suddenly dawns on you that it's Easter Sunday.  And you're preaching on the Jebusites. Everybody knows that Easter is supposed to be about the resurrection.

Still, proclaiming the resurrection is a tough assignment. It's been challenging from the very beginning, but perhaps the difficulties are more acute for us today, because we moderns tend to view the world as tightly ordered and strictly governed. We are heirs of Enlightenment ideology that reduces reality to that which can be verified by human logic or calculation. The resurrection simply doesn't fit into such a logical framework.

And religious belief can be equally closed.  There's a kind of religious belief, perhaps the predominant kind, that is unwilling to entertain uncertainty, doubt or ambiguity. These Christians want the resurrection wrapped up neatly in an air tight doctrine, one that defies question. They approach Easter with a kind of blind acceptance that says, "The Bible says it. I believe it, and that settles it."  

But I'm preaching this morning for all of you who experience the resurrection as distinctly unsettling. Those of you who find it baffling, or confusing or inexplicable.  If that describes you, then at least you're in good company, because that's how John describes the first witnesses to the resurrection.  Each expresses confusion, misunderstanding, bewilderment.  John belabors the point that the resurrection of Jesus is about what is not readily accessible or easily understood.

Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, but we're not told why. The stone has been rolled away, but no explanation is given for how. Mary runs to tell Peter and the other disciples that they have taken the body, but we don't know who they are, or where the body has been taken.  These two disciples race to the tomb, look inside, Peter first, then the other.  They see and believe, but what they believe is not clear, because John says they don't yet understand.  Perhaps they simply believe Mary's statement that the body has been stolen. Then Mary looks into the tomb and sees two angels who ask her why she is weeping. She reiterates her distress that they have taken the body of Jesus and she doesn't know where.  She turns and sees Jesus but mistakes him for the gardener.  Only when he calls her name does she recognize him, but she can't hold him because he is ascending.   At every point in the Easter narrative, we encounter unexpected outcomes. John describes an event that can't be apprehended by human logic, sight or touch.

Some scholars today try to make sense of the resurrection by putting it all under the category of metaphor.  Others will insist on viewing it as historical fact.  Perhaps we come closest to what John has in mind if we simply consider it as the deepest of mysteries. 

Ponder, for example, a detail in the resurrection account that is unique to John's Gospel.  I'm thinking of the scene wherein Mary peers into the tomb.  According to John, she sees two angels there, one sitting at the head, and the other at the foot, of the grave slab. Only John so carefully notes the position of the angels.  He shows us two angels flanking the grave, with nothing between them but silent, (pause) empty (pause) space.

Rowan Williams, current Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury, wonders if John isn't recalling the mercy-seat of the ark, which we read about in the Old Testament.  The mercy-seat, you recall, was Israel's symbol of God's presence and covenant. The mercy-seat was flanked by two cherubim. But the seat in between the cherubim was empty.  It contained no image, no representation.  Why?  Because the God of Israel cannot be represented in any form that is visible to the eye. God is the great "I am" who is sovereign, and free, and beyond conceptualization.  Thus John may be suggesting that the empty space between the angels is telling us that Jesus can no longer be contained, or represented or possessed. The Lord has risen indeed, but the truth of that rising is a mystery.  It cannot be dogmatically captured or institutionally owned.   

But that isn't to say that the resurrection is void of content.  It's a mystery that is rooted in the life and teachings of Jesus. His welcome to outsiders, his forgiveness of sinners, his selflessness, his nonviolent response to evil and especially his complete self-giving on the cross all reveal Jesus as God's Son, as God's representative.  But his resurrection proclaims that the Word that became flesh has become mystery. After the resurrection, Jesus is experienced as more than a prophet and teacher.  That he has returned to God in heaven is one way of putting it, but another is to say that that the life and ministry of Jesus have not been exhausted by his death. Rather his life has been gathered up into the mystery of God's sovereign grace, a grace that can be experienced but never contained or adequately represented. "Do not hold me," Jesus says to Mary, "…I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God."

Then Mary returns to the disciples and announces, "I have seen the Lord."  Her experience with the risen Lord was not due to anything Mary was able to figure out.  In fact, the whole experience totally confused her. Her experience of the risen Lord was a gift.  The Lord called her name, and she recognized him.  Perhaps that's the experience that is trying to find us this morning.  The great Easter gift would be for us to say with Mary, "We have seen the Lord."  Of course, like Mary, we've seen Jesus before. We've seen him as a vulnerable baby born in a manger. We've seen him eating with sinners, embracing the lepers, healing the sick, teaching beside the sea, praying on the hillside, feeding the hungry crowds, forgiving his enemies.  We've seen him standing silent before Pilate and we have beheld him impaled on a cross.  Yes, we've seen Jesus before, but what a gift it would be this Easter morning to see Jesus as the living one who has gone before us, whom we can experience, and follow, and love but never possess.

Laura Mendenhall, President of Columbia Theological Seminary, wrote about one of her last visits with Shirley Guthrie, beloved and long-time professor of theology at the seminary.  She wrote:  "We were taking about his approaching death, and I told him he seemed to be at peace.  His eyes twinkled, and with amazement in his voice he said, 'Yes, and the peace is bigger than I imagined.'"

“I know that Easter is about more than candy," said my companion on the bus.  Well, I’ll go her one better.  Not only is Easter about more than candy, but also it’s about more than all our ideas and images and thoughts can conceive.  Quite simply, it's bigger than we can imagine!  

Amen.