Jesus 3 | Elizabeth Hagan

Love That Binds Us Together: Matthew 1:18-25

This week I was putting up Christmas decorations around our home and time came for my favorite part: arranging the nativity. Though some preachers I know take Advent to the extreme (I know you think I'm one of them, but trust me, I am not) and refuse to have Mary, baby Jesus or even the Wise Men placed in the manager scene before Christmas begins, I find it perfectly acceptable put them all out before the occasion.

Kevin and I got a nice set of individual pieces from an aunt and uncle of mine as a wedding gift, but I have to say, that it wasn't until this, my fourth time of putting them out did I notice something was missing.

There was baby Jesus. There was Mary. There was a shepherd (though sadly only one). There was an angel. And there were even three Wise Men.

But, no Joseph. So, I asked Kevin, "Are we missing Joseph? Did something happen to him two moves ago? Did we leave him in Maryland?" "Nope, "he said, "I don't think we've ever had a Joseph."

"No, Joseph? What is going on??" My nativity just didn't seem right.

Recently, a dear friend of mine who recently had a baby was asked by a local congregation in the city that she lives to be a part of the drive-thru living nativity.

With her daughter less than 2 months old, and the church without enough newborns on its membership roles to cover the multi-evening event, the baby girl was desperately needed to staff an important role: Baby Jesus to ensure the play's success.

When I asked about details, I inquired what my friend would be up do during the hour play. Would she watch nearby? Of course, she said, she would not leave her baby alone on the hay so the director made arrangement for her to be staffed as Mary. She would be on site in case baby girl (aka Jesus) cried and needed to be nursed or needed a diaper changed. Mary and baby's relationship was crucial to the show going on.

But what about her husband? "What was he going to be doing during the afternoon?" I asked. Though any man would have worked just fine, her husband was told he could tag along in costume as well, playing Joseph, but only if he really wanted. If not, other fill-ins would be easy to find.

I don't think dear ole Dad was feeling the love of the event with a part that was so replaceable.

Of all characters to be left out if one had to go in our Christmas plays and pageants, Joseph, I guess is the one we could most easily do without.

In Luke's account of the naivety that we all almost know by heart, Joseph doesn't have any lines. If Joseph was looking for a script from the Biblical text, he'd have trouble knowing what to say or do. For all we know is that he is called to census in his hometown of Bethlehem which is how Mary ended up giving birth to Jesus in this small town. He's not wrapping the baby up in those nonexistent clothes. He's not coming to worship or bringing gifts. He's not treasuring all of these things in his heart. He makes no grand gestures or tries to upstage anyone. He's just simply there. This is all.

However, if we read the less popular, but still important version of the birth story from Matthew's gospel, we find just the opposite, Joseph playing a leading role: crucial to the operation Son of God comes to earth mission going on without a glitch. Though not given a huge speaking part, what we learn is the how Joseph's response to both Mary's pregnancy and the birth illuminates how It is love that binds us together in Jesus Christ: yes, all of us, even the strangest of us all.

When Mary is found to be "great with child" according to Jewish law, Joseph had every obligation to divorce with his fiancée if he knew the child was not his. Sure, he could have scoffed off the Jewish law if he wanted and pretended without cause, but the Matthew writer who is always concerned with the Jewish point of view, tells us that Joseph was not your high holidays kind of Jew, he was a righteous man. And being a righteous man, a man who didn't want to bring this young girl and her family any more hardship than she would already experience with a divorce to their name, he came up with the plan to divorce her without any bells and whistles. And to ensure that Mary and her unborn child were not killed out of it-- as the law says that stoning her was an option.

And in his "seeking to the right thing" ways of life this "quiet divorce" plan seemed like a good plan. It was his lovingly way of both following what he thought God wanted (the law) and what was in the best interest of Mary (the law). For God and the law were one in the same at the time.

But, then everything changed one night when he went to sleep.

I don't know how many of you have dreams on a regular basis that you remember. While this is something I personally struggle with (actually remembering), I know that it is a spiritual practice of many of you and is in line with the Biblical narrative of how God works in this world to deliver deep truths to us, often truths that are deeper than we are able to consciously understand in the daytime.

Such was true for the life of Joseph. Though we are not told by Matthew if hearing from God was something that Joseph regularly paid attention to or ever experienced before or after this event, there was something I can imagine that was quite powerful about this dream that Joseph not only heard in the quietness of his own heart but felt so strongly about it that he later widely shared this encounter (so we could read it for ourselves today).

So, while Joseph had made up his mind of what he was going to do, of what righteous looked like to him. God had other plans. Actually much bigger plans.

Upon hearing God's plans, he was not to be concerned, but to believe Mary-- to take to heart the message that had been told to her from the angel Gabriel.

Indeed the child that was growing within her, was not his, but was the Lord's doing. And, because this baby was of the Lord, Joseph needed to embrace the babe as such, welcoming him into his life, into his family, into his history, as Joseph would do with any other child of his that might come in the future.

(I am not male pastor as you can tell. And the following which I am about to say seemingly would come better from a male voice, but in this case today, I'll just have to do).

While amazing, life-change and awe-inspiring news this was in a dream, I can only imagine how hard it was for Joseph to accept it. And, with Mary soon delivering a baby who was not technical "his," I can imagine the ego of Joseph deflated just a little. Especially in a culture where family heritage was everything, especially with identity attached to any offspring that is a part of what it means to be a "man," learning that "Yes, the baby in Mary is not your child, but love him anyway" was tough as I believe it would be for any man today.

How hard it was to stand by his self-descriptor of "righteous man" or "godly man" when God as the sperm donor came along! For it wasn't like he had anyone to talk to about such an experience among his hometown friends-- this God and this Emmanuel was too weird for any sort of reasonable explanation. No one had heard this before.

But, in obedience to the word of the Lord that he knew in his gut that he had heard, he decides to keep Mary as his wife and "adopt" Jesus as his son.

He stays to be the one Mary needed to lean on as she soon will undergo the pains of childbirth.

He stays to fulfill the prophecy that the Messiah would be coming from his family line.

He stays because he cares for Mary, even if they were having the craziest spiritual experience they'd ever heard of, and with both of them on the same page, the needed to find encouragement from one another to stick with it.

He stays because by his sheer presence-- even if he doesn't say a thing-- he provides the protection Jesus will need to grow up, mature and fulfill the reason his was born in the first place.

Joseph stays because though easily left out of nativity scenes or Christmas plays or even forgotten by us regular church goers, his love for God, his love for Mary and his love for Jesus is what binds this story together. Without his love, there would be glory of Christmas morn that we will celebrate next Sunday. Though not cast in a traditional role, though not cast in a role he had originally wanted or planned for, the story could not go on without Joseph's realization of God's love shinning upon all of them in the days leading up to the birth of Christ.

Recently, Carolyn Reith was helping out the Outreach committee in gathering pictures for the new design of our church website which will be live early in January (yay!). You might have noticed her drawing groups of you all to the side, taking your snapshot-- even if you wanted your picture taken or not.

Several weeks ago, when viewing the pictures that Carolyn sent over the church office of all of you, I couldn't help but feel struck by our diversity as a congregation. At first glance, each of the individual shots of you all didn't seem like you all would fit in an organization together, much less a church family. We are all so different!

Yet, when talking about how much I liked these pictures and showing them to a friend, I realized what the reason is for our community working here-- why after years of trials and changes to the Plaza and so on, we've stuck together. And the reason is love.

We've been bound together by our love for God and for one another. And even when someone new has come into the mix as we hope happens regularly, we like Joseph, seem to be the kind of people who see the bigger picture of humanity in it all-- treasuring the sight of God even in the strangest of situations that present themselves here.

But, if I were to end my story here, I would be remiss, because as good as we are at loving, church, we have a growing edge with the last part of the sermon title for this morning "that binds us together." For yes, as a community, when I look back over the past year, I see countless, numerous, overwhelming examples of how we've loved each other, but what I don't always see in our midst are examples of how we've been bound together in our love.

For if we are going to follow the example of Joseph this day and make room in this the 4th Sunday of Advent for more love in our lives, we've got to think more closely about sticking closer together. And this is what I mean:

Like Joseph, when times get tough, when life gets rocky, our first response needs to be of sharing, clinging, staying put instead of running away.

Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, a seminary classmate of mine from Duke, writes in his book the Wisdom of Stability, how easy it is in a culture such as our to be lured away by the promise of a better offer. We think things are always better somewhere else, with someones else. Yet, he talks about how what the gospel witness needs more of comes in packages of permanency, unconditional presence and not hitting the road, leaving a church or a community when people get on your nerves (for inevitability they will!).

Not only do we need to stay put more often, but as we stay put, we need to ground ourselves in community life making giving and receiving here a priority.

I'd be remised if I didn't say to the Christmas only crowd this morning, how much we'd love to see you in January.

I'd also be remised if I didn't say to the regulars around here that sticking together means that we've got to spend more time together. Sure, we are all busy. Sure, this town where we live runs like nobody sleeps and thus we often we don't really either. But if we are going to be a community that makes room for the Christ child, just as Joseph did, then we have to start investing in one another outside of Sunday mornings.

This is what real, love, my friends is all about in the first place. Love is not short-tempered. Love does not keep record of wrongs. Love does not leave when feelings are hurt. Love stays. Love protects. Love, God's love, is what binds us together.

When I think about all that we've been preparing for this Advent season. Our "What's coming?" preparations of hope, peace, joy and now today, love, it's love that I know our community need the most to have a bright future for the new year. Didn't the Apostle Paul once say about love, "Now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Thank goodness then, as we prepare to welcome on Saturday night, Christmas Eve, the babe called Emmanuel, God with us, born for us, we welcome the one who taught what love truly meant for Jesus was love incarnate. And, by following him, we can learn to love one another.

AMEN

Authority that Speaks for Itself

Matthew 21:23:32

Trust and politicians don't seem to go in the same sentence, do they? John Quiton once said, "Politicians are people who, when they see light at the end of the tunnel, go out and buy some more tunnel."

For even as we spent time this morning in our prayer, praying for peace and wisdom for our elected leaders, often it is our first reaction when we think of those in "authority" over us, is not to respect them. For as Doug Larson, once said, "Instead of giving politicians the keys to the city, it might be better to change the locks" we agree whole heartedly.

Just as one recent public survey poll reported, over 60% (and with the percentages on the rise all the time) don't trust governmental leaders to do what they say tey are going to do, we are a people (and for good reason of course) who have distasteful sentiments of those who claim "authority" in any area over us. And such is also true of those in positions of religious leadership too.

It's no conscience that when I say, preacher, many of you have images come to mind of sex scandals--Tim Haggard the evangelical pastor who could never admit he was gay-- money laundering scandals, Jimmy Swaggered and his trail of tears, or even of crazy cult scandals--images of Jim Jones and the deadly kool-aid which are all engrained in our memory. All this to say, we are a distrustful people, after all the evil that has been done in the name of "God told me to do this."

But, this is what I really want you to hear today: I think God wants us all of us to go home sell everything we have as quickly as possible and return to the church in 3 days and give all the money to me so that I can grow our church into a great empire . . .

(This is where you are supposed to say, "Yeah right. No way, Pastor and laugh me out of the sanctuary this morning)

But, even as what I just said was completely a joke, I think our issues with those claiming absolute authority over us, is as much about our shared experiences of watching the corruption of power manifest before our eyes as it is our own sense of feeling threatened by those who seem to suggest special knowledge over us. We are all Americans after all-- the land where everyone's voice and vote is supposed to be heard as much as anyone else. In this church, we are Baptists after all-- where we are firm believers in the priesthood of all-- that I have no more of a direct line to pray and hear from God as you do. Simply put, authority is not one of our favorite words.

When we begin to look at our Gospel reading for this morning, we encounter a group of the religious establishment who was both skeptical and threatened by the authority Jesus was seeming to stake his ministry on. For in this religiously saturated culture, much like ours, the chief priests and the elders had not seen anything like the clarity of thought and boldness of action in this man who called himself Jesus.

The story goes that Jesus has just made the religious leaders of the day really mad. On this third and final visit to Jerusalem, Jesus not only stirs up the crowd by his triumphant entry, as palm branches were waved over the shouts of "Hosanna, hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord" but Jesus did the unthinkable. He went into their more sacred of sacred places, the temple and placed judgment on a common practice-- the buying and selling of goods in the temple courts.

It wasn't just the act of turning over the tables in the temple courts that upset the religious leaders so much-- it was the fact that Jesus had the guts to do this with such unashamed authority. Jesus dared to touch ancient Judaism's sacred cow if you will, order of religious practice calling the temple, HIS Father's house.

And this is where the story before us in our text for today begins the narration. Look with me at verse 23: "When Jesus entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, 'By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?"

I guess, in a roundabout way, this was a nicest question they could ask Jesus in public and keep up appearances. I bet they really wanted to say something to Jesus like, "Who in the hell do you think you are coming in here and trying to make us look bad?"

But, alas, they question Jesus' authority to speak and act as he does for the sheer reason that they want to get into a debate with him and make him look bad. They want to know the name of his teacher, basically because as one commentator writes, "If you can identify someone's teacher, then you can better grasp what they 're about. [Or,] more to the point, they are prepared to counter any and all claims to human authority
with their own authority."

But, Jesus, being the smart guy that he was does not find himself trapped in this series of questionings. No, Jesus directs the teachers of the law by asking his own counter question in verse 25: "Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?"

We get to listen in on the internal monologue of the religious leaders and learn that they didn't want to pick sides.

As we hear the thoughts of these folks, we learn that they were the definition of what we like to speak of in modern times as political correctness.

They knew they couldn't say that John the Baptist, the precursor to Jesus, had authority from heaven-- because it would bring into question why John's ministry wasn't supported by them. And, they also knew they couldn't say that John the Baptist's authority came from himself--- because they knew that there were many John fans in the gathered audience.

So, Jesus gets them to vocalize what was the TRUTH in their hearts: they didn't want to stake a claim on Jesus.

While you and I might find the details of this passage confusing-- I have to admit that I really admire the gutsiness of Jesus to speak truth to those in power and to bring out the reality of what was really going on in the hearts and minds of those gathered around him. Jesus was forcing the religious leaders to say, "This I believe" (though we realize that this is something that they will not do).

We all understand how difficult this is, right?

To begin a conversation with "This I believe" is often a top our fear list-- because if we say we know something for sure, even if we say it in
passing, it's something that others can hold us accountable to.

In particular, more than saying we believe gravity holds us to the earth or the sun will rise and set each day, it's even more frightening for some of us to begin a conversation with "I believe in Jesus, as God's Son" because we know if we do, we could seriously offend others. We might make a fool of ourselves. We might even find ourselves with great disappointment in our hands after Jesus doesn't act in our lives as we hope
he might.

On Wednesday Night, those of us gathered at the Amazing Grace book study, we ventured into this conversation topic of what it means to say that we believe in Jesus.

It is an easy temptation, we noted to not want to fully commit our lives to Jesus with the excuse of "I'm not perfect enough yet" or "I don't know
enough yet." We think because we can't say with our mouths "I believe in Jesus" and talk intelligently about it, then we aren't worthy enough to
be a Christian.

With the class, I relayed the story of one of my first pastoral visits I made during my tenure as pastor at Washington Plaza. Grandison Jones made an appointment to meet with me, wanting to get to know me better and talk about one of my latest sermons.

When I asked him to tell me about his church and religious background, he said I needed to know about all of the years he spent in church choirs, especially in the Episcopal church in his early years.

As he described this experience of how much he enjoyed singing and how moving choir music was for his soul, he told me there was a turning point for him that changed the direction of his spiritual life. He was singing one day, he said with the choir, and after the sermon, there came a point, as it was done every Sunday when the congregation said together the Apostle's Creed.

Saying this creed or a statement of faith that generations of Christians had claimed as a summary statement of belief, was something that Grandison noted that he had recited every week previously, but this particular week he thought to himself, "Grandison Jones, you don't believe a word of that you are saying, so why don't you stop just going through the motions of repeating it."

I think this was one of the first stories that Grandison related to me-- may he rest in peace now-- because he wanted to shock me a little and see how I reacted to him, to see if he would still be welcome in the church even with all of his questions.

But if you had the privilege of knowing Grandison, you know that a man who was here with a smile on his face, beating even Ernie and Dave to church on many Sundays (which is hard to do, you know), was a person who wasn't far from faith. He built by hand the pulpit on which I preach
from this morning and lived out many acts of service that were rarely seen and not done for the purpose of showing off or somehow getting ahead in any way among the ranks of church leadership. But yet even up until the days of his death, it was hard for him to say with his words, "I believe in Jesus." In fact, I don't ever remembering hearing him saying this at all.

Yet, in this struggle to understand what it means to stake a claim of belief on Jesus-- asking ourselves do we have to make faith statements or do we have to show faith in our actions-- Jesus informs our thinking here with a parable.

"A man had two sons. He went to the first and said, 'Son go and work in the
vineyard today.' He answered, 'I will not'; but later he changed his mind and
went. The father went to the second [son] and the said the same; and he
answered, 'I go, sir.'; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his
father? They said, 'the first."

In this story, we find an appreciation by Jesus of the struggle of belief-- while the first son says in the beginning, "No I won't go" in the end this
is the son who changes his mind and does as his father asks while the second son speaks loudly at first-- sure I'll go but whose actions don't follow
through.

From this parable I gather that authority, according to Jesus rests in actions. Why did he want people to follow him? And for his future disciples, how would he want them to make known his authority?

This is not to say that Jesus didn't care about words and the confessions they can make, but words, he knew would never be the whole story. For Jesus, his a mission that was never about proving himself through particular words or wielding political power or even being able to pass a test which said he had the proper knowledge of the Torah. It was always about simply being who he was, for the authority on which his life's
work rested would simply speak for itself.

So, today, I ask you not what do you believe, but who are you? Whose are you? On what authority are you resting your life? What do our actions show about the fruits of the spirit-- love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and so on appearing the world ? What do our actions show about what we really believe in our hearts, even if can't yet say the words aloud? Didn't St. Francis of Assisi once say, "Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary use words?"

I am not saying that words of faith aren't important. I'm not saying that professing "Jesus as Lord" is not something that we should learn to
say together. I'm not saying that we should throw out altogether the historic words of the Creeds (as we said together earlier in the service), that our forefathers and mothers in the faith have shared together.

But, what I am saying today is let us shy away from Jesus because we can't say yet what we think are all the "right words." Let us affirm together the journey that each of us are now. Let us commit together anew to allow the life and work of Jesus to soak into your daily life with no checklist of what this journey looks through the ups and down and twists and turns. Knowing that as we stay on the journey, it becomes just a little easier
every step, every day, every week, every year to follow Jesus both in actions and words.

So, let us join our voices and sing, I have decided to follow Jesus-- such is something I could imagine that Grandison, even Grandison would cheer us on in singing this day-- as he's conversing with Jesus as we speak, asking him now all his questions.

Let us keep following this day.

AMEN

Easter 2011 a sermon preached at Washington Plaza Baptist Church, Reston, VA from Matthew 28:1-10

Stories that conclude without happy ending drive me completely nuts. I’d almost rather not hear the story if I don’t know everything is going to work out ok in the end. Sound familiar to anyone?

This is especially the case when I go movies. When the plot line finishes unresolved, with couples who don’t kiss and make up, or the final scene being a summary of this is how life stinks when we are alone, I feel like my hard-earned 10, 11 or even now 12 dollars (growing all the time these days) is wasted. For, I didn’t need to pay money to be reminded of unfair life can be. And, I’ll leave the theater in a bad mood. (Kevin knows this is so true).

Such sentiments of gloom would be perfectly understandable too in the case of where we left our gospel story when we last read together on Friday.

After a humiliating trial and unrelenting crowds shouting, “Crucify Him” and six hours on a cross facing a cruel Roman execution, Jesus dies. No happy ending. The beloved teacher, friend, and one said to be called, “The King of the Jews” on whom many hopes of the coming of the kingdom of God were placed, dies. So much promise, carrying on his shoulders so many hopes, yet he dies. It was the original unhappy ending.

Just as Jesus cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me” the followers of Jesus must have felt pretty abandoned too at this point. All the good talk Jesus had engaged in about “the kingdom of heaven is near” and “Trust God, trust also in me” seemed like a bunch of bologna as Jesus breathed his last and word got out in the community that had trusted him heard Jesus was dead. Anger and bad moods too were probably shared all around too.

How foolish the disciples and the women must have felt! They’d given up everything to follow Jesus and he was dead.

If you’ve recently lost a loved one, you know that one of the first things that we do immediately following is not always full-out “cry a river of tears” posture.

While there are tears, yes, there’s a lot of quickly trying to jump to what is next.

There are funeral arrangements to be made, family to inform, decisions about what to do with the body trying to unsure that the deceased has a proper burial.

The natural human instinct, for many, is a desire to move on and move on quickly. You begin imagining life without this person. You might even find yourself supposedly comforted by others of by the notion of “Ok, now, that he or she is dead, let’s just get on with our lives.” You begin to change the focus of your gaze from hope for your life together with the loved one to how you can get over this wrenching pain as quickly as possible.

I can imagine that the women, the two Marys, that Matthew speaks of at the tomb of Jesus, that early morning, were seeking to move on with their lives too.

Though the past day and a half had probably seemed like the most emotional, longest time of their lives, they were seeking to close the loop on their friendship to Jesus by morning. It was why they got up so early.

I think “drama” is the last thing that they were looking for or even expecting. They believed and hoped that everything was in good order—they were just going to make sure. Therefore, all that the scene needed was a powerful melodic closing song and it could win the Oscar for the saddest story ever told.

Yet, like any good plot, when all seemed lost and bleak, the interruption entered the scene and changed everything.

For, it would not be the unhappy ending they were living and preparing to keep on living. What would come next would be the disruption that changed everything!

As Matthew tells the story, as soon as Mary and Mary found themselves in the place where Jesus’ body had been laid, all of nature erupted in an earthquake.

We’ve all done a lot of thinking about earthquakes recently, sending our hearts out to our friends in Japan, so we know how shocking and overwhelming such an occurrence can be. The ground that you trust so much to lift you up and keep you safe is taken from beneath you. But this was not all.

Verse two goes on to tell us more about this interruption.

As the earth itself opened up, simultaneously, a messenger appeared an angel of the Lord from the heavens. Matthew gives us some good metaphors to deal with here because he writes that this angel was “like lightening” with “his clothes white as snow.”

It was a sight to behold.

An interruption to normal in more ways than one and not only just for the women: scripture tells us that the guards who had been sent to guard the tomb were greatly shaken and fell to the ground like dead men.

This was now the Lord’s day and the women were about to not only to see something of earth shattering proportions, literally, but there were going to get a word about it too.Look with me at the interruption from the angel after the stone to the tomb has been rolled away in verse five:

“Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come see the place where he lay. Then, go quickly and tell his disciples that he has been raised from the dead.”

“What?? Are you kidding, me?” would have been the reaction most of us would have had that day if the angel spoke the following to us. Sure, the earthquake and the divine light show were cool and all, but Jesus is alive? If we believed this, nothing was going to be the same. Nothing!

You see, for Jesus to be alive, to not be bound to the tomb, as he had predicted to his followers on countless occasions meant something huge—God could be trusted. Yes, indeed God could be trusted.

From now on, when religious leaders and government officials ruled with an iron fist and fraudulent practices, such was not the end of the story.

What they saw in front of their eyes in moments of deep loss, soul crippling pain, and heaps of sorrow was not the end of the story.

When they felt abandoned, forsaken and as if the whole world was against them, such was not the end of the story either.

And, the icing on the cake that morning came as the women were beginning the four-day journey, all 63 miles of it, from Jerusalem to Galilee. Because, I feel, they had eyes ready to behold the disruption—after accepting the word of the angel—Jesus appears to them on this road and they see him! He greets them, allowing the women to touch his feet (to know for sure that he was real) and said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

You and I would not be sitting here today, hearing this ancient story once again, if this disruption of major proportions was not received into the lives of the Marys and then later the other disciples.

For while the story of resurrection was Jesus completing the work of love he came to do, it had a dependant human element to it: resurrection would mean nothing, absolutely nothing if those who experienced it did not share it.

In Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan’s book, The Last Week, they write, “Easter is about God even it is about Jesus. Easter discloses the character of God. Easter means God’s Great Cleanup of the world has begun—but it will not happen without us.”

The interruption—the transformation, the new life-giving opportunity that the resurrection on Easter morn would give all of humanity—would be not one at all, if the women and then all who came after them at the empty tomb, and generations and generations that followed those first eyewitnesses had not allowed the disruption to sink into their beings and become a part of who they were.

Resurrection was more than a proclamation on that Sunday.

For the women at the tomb that morn, resurrection was the interruption that gave them purpose beyond being the traveling companions of this great teacher. They were charged to bear witness to this divine truth: God could be trusted to see the darkest night of our lives through.

Because in the end, this was all they were asked to do—not give theological accounts as to the science of the resurrection, not to be able to connect every dot of this point in the faith story to that one, not even to convince those whom they told with persuasive and passionate arguments so that they would believe too, they were just to live into the disruption by announcing it not only with words, but in presence too.

So, this morning I want you to practice. Those of you who were at the early morning service will remember this litany written by Sharlande Sledge. And, this is your part: we are resurrection people with Easter in our hearts. Say it with me.

When others dismiss your story as an idle tale, who will you be?