Resurrection Happens -- Easter Meditation

This is the text of the Easter Meditation given by Rev. Christine Ng on March 31, 2013, based on John 20:1-18.


Resurrection happens. It happens all the time. Sometimes it takes us a while to notice.
It’s what struck me as I was rereading the gospel stories of Easter this year. Like John, which is my personal favorite.
In John, Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb by herself, early, so early it’s still dark. And she sees that the stone had been removed from the tomb, leaving it wide open.
And this strikes me as really important. It’s Easter morning, yes, but the resurrection of Jesus has already happened. We don’t know when it occurred. We don’t know how. No video surveillance cameras caught the event on tape and posted it all over the web. All we are told is that when Mary got there, it had already happened. She just didn’t know it.
And even seeing the open and empty tomb – she still didn’t see the miracle. Remember, the first cry in this story isn’t “He is Risen!” it’s “He’s been stolen!” Later, she even looks right at Jesus, and doesn’t see him. It’s a morning of chaos and confusion – what is going on?
It reminds me of a wonderful prayer from the Jewish tradition, often said on the Sabbath:  “Days pass and the years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles.”
Easter is a day full of miracles – but not everyone notices. I can tell you, first hand, that it is a miracle, always, that we manage to pull this Sunday together at all. All the pieces – music and word and drama and pancakes and Easter eggs -- and all the people, all with busy lives, coming together and, even if just for a moment, becoming something more – the body of Christ – Jesus incarnated now in us. Sounds like resurrection to me.
Resurrection happens – in ways large and small and mostly unexpected. Resurreciton happens – all the time. And often, like the resurrection of Jesus that long ago morning, it has already happened, we just don’t always notice – or recognize it for the miracle it is.
And even when we see it, we give it other names – like Mary in at the tomb, naming Jesus the gardener. We find reasonable explanations – it’s all very rational – and we pride ourselves on being rational people. Even Mary and the disciples who saw the empty tomb clothed themselves in what we would consider a healthy skepticism – at least at first. Even they had trouble coming to terms with the risen Christ. Eventually, they found their voices and began to sing of resurrection, but not that first day.
So we shouldn’t beat ourselves up if, sometimes, it all seems so impossible, so hard to take in, to reconcile with the world we think we know. We come to church on Easter because we always have, or because we like the music, or the pancakes (it’s okay to come for the pancakes), or the children running around with baskets full of eggs.
But if you don’t think this is resurrection – if you don’t think this is miraculous – you’re not looking.
I read one writer who argued that the reason we have so much trouble recognizing resurrection is that it’s “unnatural.” I couldn’t disagree more. It’s the way God created the universe – life, death, new life arising from the old. The seed is planted in the ground – it must let go of being a seed, to transform into the plant that will spread its leaves and reach for the sun. It will create, give birth to a seed that will fall into the ground, carrying with it the possibility of new life being born anew. Resurrection.
Or like the peacock or butterflies – other Easter symbols. The peacock with it’s beautiful tail, that molts, leaving it looking pretty sad. But suddenly, there is a new beautiful tail – out of the blue it is beautiful again. Resurrection.
Happens all the time. “Days pass and years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles.”
Perhaps one of the reasons we don’t see or recognize the miracles of resurrection all around us is that we’re really looking for something else. We mistake resurrection for resuscitation. When things are hard, when our old life is dying, we want it brought back – we want things the way they were before. But that’s not the way God works.
That wasn’t how it worked for Jesus either. Jesus rose from the dead – but things didn’t go back to the status quo ante. Even when he appeared to the disciples he wasn’t the Jesus of before – he still bore the wounds from hanging on the cross.
But I’m sure Mary’s hope, when she finally recognized Jesus, as he called her by name, was, “He’s back. Things will be as they were before!” There’s that old hymn, “In the Garden,” that’s usually played at funerals, about the joy of Mary walking with Jesus in the garden Easter morning.
But Jesus wasted no time and gently told her differently. “Don’t hold on to me,” he said. “Don’t hold on to me. You need to let me go, so that I can become something more, something new.” Mary needed to let go of what had been before, so she could be part of that recreation – part of the new thing God was doing through Jesus, and through her. It can’t have been easy – it must have felt like loosing Jesus a second time. But gradually, the miracle unfolded in her like a flower, and she came to realize that Jesus was still with her – because he lived now in her.  Another resurrection.
The interesting thing I have found in my own spiritual journey is that the more one looks for miracles, for resurrection, for moments of connection with the divine as when Mary heard her name, the more we look, and recognize and recollect such moments that have happened in our lives – the more we see. It’s like our spiritual vision improves.
And then we have a choice – once we see – will we acknowledge and accept the new life happening before our eyes, and the responsibility that comes with it? Or will we turn away, rationalize it, pretend we didn’t see it?
Perhaps this is another reason why we miss signs of resurrection – we’re afraid. We know it will never be the same and we’re afraid of the challenges that may come with new life. Sometimes it seems easier to just sit in the darkness of the tomb, instead of walking out into the light. It takes real courage to step out and greet the dawn. I wonder if Jesus felt that way?
But Jesus did leave the tomb, accepted resurrection and all that came with it. And calls us to resurrection as well.
A couple of months ago my husband, Steve, and I were watching a cable political news show – not a place one would ordinarily go for spiritual enlightenment – when we both had a profound vision of resurrection.
We were watching an interview with David and Francine Wheeler on the one-month anniversary of the killing of her 6-year-old son, Ben, at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut. It was the first interview they had given. (Here is a link to the interview:  Interview video) And they did it with a large picture of Ben on the table next to them.
It’s one of the most amazing and courageous interviews I have ever seen, as these grieving parents almost literally walked out of the tomb to tell their story, Ben’s story. They talked about having to recreate (my word) what it meant for them to be parents, good parents, and what it meant to be family.
They had made a promise to Ben, and his older brother, Nate, to be the best parents they could be. To protect them. And as they grieved the loss of Ben, they also clearly grieved the loss of that ideal. But gradually, they realized that, to quote David, they are “still [Ben’s] parents. We’re never not going to be his parents.” In a very real way, Ben is still here. And their job, their responsibility, in David’s words, is to continue to be the best parents they can be – to both their children. And one way they are doing that is by speaking out, telling their story, and using that story to try to change their world – to make it safer for Nate and other people, to not let Ben and the others who died that day be forgotten.
When David first said he wanted to do this, wanted to speak out, Francine said her “gut” told her it was the right thing to do, and that she associated that feeling with Ben. She sometimes hears, though not necessarily in worlds, Ben speaking to her in her “gut.” Feels Ben’s love, deep inside. It’s a love that couldn’t stay in the grave, anymore than Jesus’ love could stay in the tomb.
Francine told about how her father, Ben’s grandfather, would say, “Ben is going to do great things. He’s going to do great things.” His mother now says, “I just didn’t know it was going to be in his death. I thought it was going to be in his life. But it will be in his death. He will do great things.”
Resurrection – of David and Francine, of their family, of Ben. Not the same as it was before – they’ll never get to hug him again, they’ll never get to see Ben grow up – and they will continue to mourn the loss of that – but new life all the same. New life that can be good life. New life that may lead to resurrection in the lives of others as well.
        Resurrection happens. Happens all the time in ways large and small and often unexpected.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus leaves Mary with instructions to go and tell others – it’s not a minor detail – it’s part of the process of resurrection in us – and in others. Mary had a private moment with Jesus in the garden of the tomb, but she couldn’t stay there. She had to let Jesus go, and she had to live out Jesus’ resurrection, and her own, in community. She had to tell her story, Jesus’ story, and let the Spirit use it to change lives, and change the world.
And a funny thing, when we start telling our own stories, sharing our experiences just as Mary went and shared with the other disciples that she had “seen the Lord” and what Jesus had said to her, the more people come and tell us their own stories of encounters with the holy – stories they were afraid to tell because they didn’t seem reasonable or rational.  And their telling touches and lifts us, and opens them up to resurrection as well.
       And all of this comes with responsibility. Responsibility to pay attention to these moments of resurrection, to listen to Jesus speaking at the tomb, and to follow where he leads. And if we have the courage to do that, we get to see this miraculous process happen all over again. God’s love incarnated now in us.
        And each time it happens, in us, in those around us, in our world, it is Easter morning, the stone is rolled away, and we experience that Christ has risen. Christ has risen indeed. Christ has risen in you. Amen.