resurrection — Page 2

A World Turned Upside Down

April 20, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Matthew 28:1-10 for Easter Sunday
preached on April 20, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

It all began as a quiet trip to visit a friend’s grave, but before long, their whole world was turned upside down. Mary and Mary Magdalene were still trying to figure out what had happened to their friend Jesus—how the loud praises of the crowd on Sunday had turned to cries of “crucify him” on Friday, how the religious officials who had always pushed him a bit suddenly turned on him, how even his disciples abandoned him as he was unjustly accused, convicted, and sent to the cross. But before that reality could even really set in, everything changed—and I mean everything.

As Mary and Mary Magdalene journeyed to Jesus’ tomb early on that Sunday morning, their world was turned upside down. These women left behind a world, where, as preacher Tom Long puts it so well, “hope is in constant danger, and might makes right, and peace has little chance, and the rich get richer, and the weak all eventually suffer under some Pontius Pilate or another, and people hatch murderous plots, and dead people stay dead, and they entered the startling and breathtaking world of resurrection and life. Jesus of Nazareth, who had been dead as a doornail on Friday afternoon, was not in his tomb that morning, and the world—theirs and ours—has been turned upside down ever since.” (Matthew, p. 322)

Easter, you see, is ultimately a story of our world getting turned upside down. If the old maxim is correct and there are only two things certain in this world, death and taxes, then Easter brings it down to just one! This is simultaneously wonderful and scary. On Easter, we can rejoice because death has been defeated, because the one thing that would seem to separate us from God is no longer in the way, because the injustice, the pain, the hostility, and the danger of this world have all been overcome once and for all. But on Easter, we also see that the old ways of the world, the ways we are used to, the ways that seem normal to us, are no longer in place. We can’t count on the dead to stay dead, on our merits to be the basis of our salvation, on the injustice we perpetuate to be ignored, or even on war to bring us peace. Resurrection turns our world upside down. As Tom Long puts it, “The wonderful news of Easter is that Jesus is alive, and the terrible news of Easter is also that Jesus is alive, because nothing is nailed down anymore.” (Matthew, p. 323)

Once the women at the tomb realized that everything had been turned upside down, that the earthquake that had shaken them on their way there had shattered their whole world, they had to sort out what all this meant for them and what they were to do from there. It was surely not an easy task. They had already been struggling to sort out what life without Jesus would mean for them, and the empty tomb confused things all the more. Thankfully the angel that met them at the tomb helped them out a bit. His instructions were clear and direct, and his presence, though startling, was comforting.

First, he told them, “Do not be afraid.” The world may have been shifting, and death may not have meant what they thought it did when they woke up that morning, but the angel made it clear that they should set aside their fears and trust that God was doing something new and different and wonderful right before their very eyes, raising Jesus from the dead and conquering death once and for all.

Then he gave them further instruction: “Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’” The angel gives them a mission and purpose: to bear witness to the emptiness of the empty tomb, to share the good news of the resurrection with the disciples, and to carry this word of new life with them on the journey back to the familiar territory of Galilee as they began to sort out what it meant to live in the reality of the resurrection each and every day.

We face a similar challenge every time we hear the proclamation of the resurrection. “The grave is empty, Christ is risen,” we proclaim so boldly—but what does that mean? “Jesus Christ is risen today,” we sing—but how will we be different tomorrow? The world may be turned upside down, but it is so easy to pretend like it isn’t. It is easy to stick to the things we have known, to make the choices that we have made before, to reinforce the old way of doing things and simply be safe and stay comfortable, to put ourselves first and set aside any concern for the other that might come from this new world.

But the angel who meets us at the tomb insists that things are different, that we set our minds on the things that are above, as Paul described it, that we choose paths that lead to the abundance of life for all and not just a few, that we seek hope and justice and peace for ourselves and others and all creation, that we join in all that God is doing in our world to make everything new. The world has been turned upside down, and now we must set aside death and embrace God’s new life, announcing to all who will hear, in our words and even more in our deeds, all the good news that is before us: that the grave is empty and Christ is risen, that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never put it out, that while once we were no people, now we are God’s people, and that nothing, not even life or death, can separate us from God’s love in Jesus Christ our risen Lord.

Just as everything was turned upside down for the women on that first Easter morning, the resurrection keeps turning our world upside down. It demands that we join in making all things new, that we stop staring into the graves of our lives and start looking for something more than what we have seen before. It demands that we set out on the road from the tomb and start looking for Jesus.

Over the last year, I haven’t had to look far for signs of these things, for this very place has been filled with signs of resurrection. Less than a year ago, we heard a report from our congregational consultant who took a hard and honest look at the realities facing us: a small and aging congregation, a challenging neighborhood setting for the type of ministry we are poised to offer, and a financial situation that had us living well beyond our means. He ended his report to us with a glimpse of resurrection, though: “Most importantly,” he said, “I believe you have the maturity and faith to bring to birth a new thing in this corner of God’s kingdom.”

Over the last year, against all odds, something new has begun to be born here. We have been turned upside down by the wonder of resurrection and new life. We have welcomed new people to our community and opened our doors wider than ever before. We have found new possibility and promise in a shift to a part-time pastor. And we have watched as God has started working in us and through us and in spite of us to bring us to new life. Things have been turned upside down for us—many of the things that were draining us are now filling us, many of the frustrations that we faced are now being replaced with joy, many of the challenges that were before us are now becoming possibilities—because God has opened the way of resurrection for us here and now.

Like any story of resurrection on this earth, this rebirth is not complete. We still have work to do to deepen our mission, strengthen our life together, and reach out into our community—to embody the resurrection life of Christ in our midst—and there moments when it is a little scary because we have never been here before, but there are signs of new life here that I for one could not see a year ago. God has turned our world upside down, and for that I am deeply grateful.

So as we set out on the resurrection road ahead, with our world turned upside down and death transformed into resurrection life, may God show us the way from the tomb to new life, the places where we can meet Jesus along the journey, starting right here at table together, and the possibilities to join in the amazing work of making all things new because of the resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord that keeps turning our whole world upside down today on this Easter Day and every day.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed. Alleluia! Amen.

The Stories That Define Us: Dry Bones and New Life

April 6, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Ezekiel 37:1-14 and Psalm 130
preached on April 6, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

One of the biggest adjustments for this southern boy living in New York is not the snow or the cold but the extended season of gray that results from a longer winter. This winter’s grays are worse than usual. Spring may have technically begun two weeks ago, but the grays just haven’t gone away yet. The snow that just wouldn’t go away made everything so blah for so long, and the charcoal color of it after weeks of below-freezing temperatures just made it miserable to look out the window for days on end. And now that the snow has melted, we see all the gunk that got piled up on the ground over the past few months: the cigarette butts so well hidden in the snow but now standing out against the gray dirt and brown grass, the litter strewn here there and everywhere by the winds of winter, abandoned gloves and hats just waiting to be reunited with their mates and owners, and the dead grass that reminds us of the winter that seemed like it would never end. By contrast, in the South, by now most trees have their leaves back, the days are consistently warmer, and flowers have burst into bloom everywhere. Now there is much that I have come to love about the seasons of New York, not the least of which is the beautiful fall colors that are simply without compare down South, but when the buds are barely on the trees by Easter even when it is as late as it is this year, this southern boy feels like he’s been stuck in the valley of dry bones for six months!

Our reading from the prophet Ezekiel this morning about that valley of dry bones is another one of those stories that defines us. Like the story of Abraham, it is immortalized in a song that keeps it more vivid in our minds than it might otherwise be. Even so, this is a little different from the other stories that we have considered that define us. This is a vision of God’s intentions for the world, not so much a real and immediate depiction of a historical moment and figure, yet it is no less a real and true depiction of how God is at work around us and through us and in us and no less a faithful reflection on what God promises to make real for us and our world.

When in a vision the prophet Ezekiel found himself in this strange valley of very dry bones, he knew that God was up to something. God started things out by asking Ezekiel a question that only God could answer: “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel rightfully turned the question back on God, who then commanded him to prophesy to the bones:

O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
Thus says the Lord God to these bones:
I will cause breath to enter you,
and you shall live.
I will lay sinews on you,
and will cause flesh to come upon you
and cover you with skin,
and put breath in you,
and you shall live;
and you shall know that I am the Lord.

Then as Ezekiel spoke out across the dry bones, into the gray darkness of the valley, “suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone.” As Ezekiel spoke, the valley of dry bones was transformed by the sights and sounds of life, with bones rattling together and sinews and flesh and skin suddenly appearing on these old, dry bones—but they still weren’t alive. It seems that those bones weren’t just lacking the outer skin of life—they were lacking the inner life that would make them flourish, the breath that would fill them and make them live. So God spoke to Ezekiel and told him to prophesy once again, this time to the wind, the spirit, the breath of life:

Thus says the Lord God:
Come from the four winds, O breath,
and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.

The wind, the spirit, the breath of life came upon these bones, these sinews, this flesh, this skin, these bodies—and they lived. Then God made this vision clear to Ezekiel. These bones were not just any bones but the bones of the people of God, seemingly dead and dry after a long exile and countless attacks from every quarter, ready to be lifted up to new life and shown the path to something new. This valley was not just some place where too many went to die but instead will be the cradle of new life. And these bodies restored to new life will not just be a bunch of automatons set in motion as an automated army but a blessing of God to all the nations because of the spirit, the wind, the breath that blows within them.

So what does this story of dry bones mean for us today? At one level, it seems pretty morbid—and it is. This is a story of death, after all. There were lots and lots of bones in that valley, and they were very dry, very dead. But here God promises that death is only the beginning of the story. Erin Wathen puts it very well:

Death doesn’t ruin the story.
It doesn’t steal the joy of love found or moments shared.
It just creates a new kind of beginning,
the potential to start a new chapter and learn life-giving lessons from some new trip, or relationship, or set-back.

Before the bones can rattle back together, before the sinews and flesh and skin can reappear, before the spirit can breathe life into these bodies, the bones have to be very dry and very dead. Before the spring can emerge with meaning, before the buds can sprout forth in beauty, before new life can take hold, the gray and dreary days of winter must be real. And before we can know the deep and real gift of God’s love, before we can experience the reality of forgiveness, before we can emerge from the depths of pain and hurt, we must experience the separation and frustration of sin.

But all this talk of death is only the beginning, for it helps to make the possibility of new life all the more real. It gives us new sight to see signs of new life even in the midst of the longest winter. It gives us hope for new breath to enter the lifeless bodies around us. And it gives us the promise that death may be a part of our story but will certainly not be the end of it. This story—and so our story, too—does not end with dead, dry bones but with living, breathing bodies filled with new life. Our story does not end with an empty valley but with women and men of all times and places filled with God’s Spirit and made ready to go forth to live out God’s mission in the world. And our story does not end with the gray darkness of winter but with spring taking hold all around us, with flowers bursting into bloom, trees budding with new life, and warm sunlight shining into the dark places of our hearts and lives.

So all the stories that define us—and especially this one—ultimately not only look back on the past but look ahead to the future, reminding us that God has made things new over and over again and promises to do the same with us, too. The stories that define us tell us that the gray days of even the longest winters will eventually be displaced with the burst of color in spring. And the stories that define us assure us that God will not only hear our cries out of the depths but will guide us from all our darkness into the bright light of the new day.

The other day, as I was struggling with these words and wondering when this gray and dreary winter would finally give way to new life, I left the church to take some mail to the post office. On my way out of the church, at the top of the basement stairs, I was greeted with a surprise: the first flowers of spring. At the end of this crazy and full week, even as we still wait for spring to burst forth into its fullness, the first flowers of spring reminded me that there is hope for something new, that God is even now making all things new.

So as we await the fullness of the resurrection, may the words of the psalmist inspire us anew:

O [people of God], hope in the Lord!
For with the Lord there is steadfast love,
and with [God] is great power to redeem.

May the breath, the wind, the Spirit of new life blow into us so that we too might be made new as we await the fullness of the resurrection promised in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Will It Sink In?

October 21, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon on Mark 10:32-45 for the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time
preached on October 21, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

As a child, how many times did your mother or father have to tell you something before it made sense and really sunk in? Or as a parent, how many times did you have to tell your child not to do something before he or she would actually stop doing it? I don’t think any of us can actually count the times for either of those questions! It’s not just children who have a hard time getting things into our heads—it seems to be a pretty human thing. So often we tend to be stubborn folks, slow to learn the lessons we are taught but frustrated when others don’t figure things out as fast as we’d like, impatient for others to change but deeply resistant to change ourselves, ready for something to shift and move but afraid of the uncertainty that movement can bring.

Our reading today from Mark offers us a moment when Jesus and his disciples experienced just this sort of thing. It opens with Jesus telling his disciples for a third time about his coming death and resurrection. Every time this comes up, they can’t quite process it. Even though they have been journeying together for several years, they haven’t quite gotten it into their heads that this journey might not end with glory and honor for Jesus and for them. They just don’t seem to realize how many people are threatened by Jesus’ message that challenges the power structures and demands a new and different way for everyone. So even when he told them again that they were on the way to Jerusalem where he would be condemned and killed, they were amazed and afraid.

Then the brothers James and John approached him with a request. “Arrange it,” they said, “so that we will be awarded the highest places of honor in your glory—one of us at your right, the other at your left.” (Mark 10:37, The Message)

As usual, Jesus was surprised—they still didn’t get what he was up to and what was ahead for him. “You have no idea what you’re asking,” he replied. “Are you really up for this? Are you really sure that you can drink the cup I am about to drink and be baptized with the baptism that I am about to receive?”

“Of course!” they replied. They would do anything to be near Jesus, anything to share the glory that they were sure he would have, anything to continue the wonderful experiences that had defined their world for the last several years as they journeyed with Jesus, anything to preserve for all time the way things had been over the last couple years.

But then Jesus burst their bubble a bit. “Yes, you can drink the cup that I will drink and share the baptism that is ahead for me, but I can’t guarantee anything about glory. That’s not mine to promise, and it is for those for whom it has already been prepared.”

The other disciples got wind of all this and got angry. How could James and John be so interested in status and power, trying to take something for themselves that they all ought to be sharing? The other disciples wanted their fair share of status and power too! But Jesus would have none of it from any of them. He made it clear that status and titles should mean nothing to them—they should be more concerned with how they are serving God, one another and the world.

Whoever wants to be great among you will be your servant. Whoever wants to be first among you will be the slave of all. The [Son of Man] didn’t come to be served but rather to serve and to give his life to liberate many people. (Mark 10:43b-45, CEB)

This text is so rich with meaning and possibility, which probably explains why I’ve now preached on it every time it has come up in the lectionary! The disciples are so incredibly naïve here—somehow they just don’t get what Jesus is up to in his life and ministry, even though he has told them everything they need to know several times before. Jesus is so direct and so honest with them here—he doesn’t shy away from explaining what he’s really up to even when he knows that it is not the best news for the disciples. And in the midst of a power play from James and John, all the disciples show their true colors here—they want in on the action too! But the repeated questions of the disciples also remind us of children who are struggling to find their way in the world—of anyone who is confused and afraid of a new and uncertain thing.

The text reminds us too: “Those who followed were afraid.” Maybe James’ and John’s request to Jesus was less about grabbing power and more about fear that the good thing that they shared with Jesus was really going to come to an end. Maybe the disciples’ reactions here were less about gaining eternal life and more about holding on to things as they were in the moment. Maybe it was finally starting to sink in that they would be facing the same way of condemnation and death that Jesus had ahead, that they actually would have to take up their cross and follow in his footsteps. The disciples’ uncertainty and confusion was clearly shifting into fear, and they wanted to do everything possible to hold on to things as they were.

But in the face of their fear of the unknown, Jesus made it clear that they would not walk this way alone. First, he was going ahead of them. He would be the first one to face these things, and they would be all the stronger for their own trials and tribulations because they could look to his example along the way. But that was not all of it. His cup that they would share, his baptism that they would share—these are nothing less than the things that have sustained the followers of Jesus for two millennia. This was a promise to them that something will change, that they too will one day share a new and different way with him. My preaching professor Chuck Campbell paraphrases Jesus’s words here like this:

You will not always be driven by your fears and your need for security. Rather, you will be empowered to take up your cross and follow me. You will be faithful disciples even to the end. (Feasting on the Word Year B Volume 4, p. 193)

For us today as we celebrate our 141st anniversary, as we remember the faithfulness of our members who have been among us for a milestone of years, as we commemorate the 30th anniversary of the merger with the Epworth United Methodist Church that continues to shape the life of this place even today, Jesus’ words can continue to speak their challenge and their promise to us. We as individuals and as a congregation must walk with him along the difficult road. We must seek to live together in all our celebration and all our sighing and all our pain. And we must not be afraid to face the end of the way things have been so that we can embrace the new thing that God promises is surely ahead.

So just as Jesus promised this way for his disciples, so his promise comes to us, too. We share the cup that he has drunk so that we might know the fullness of his death and his resurrection. We share the baptism that he has already known so that we might die and rise anew with him. Chuck Campbell again offers words of comfort and hope to us:

We need not always live in fear; we need not continually seek our own security. Rather, we have Jesus’ promise that we can and will live as faithful disciples as we seek to follow him. (Feasting on the Word Year B Volume 4, p. 193)

By this gift from Jesus Christ himself, we are freed from all that brings us fear, all that keeps us apart from God, and all that prevents us from being the kind of servant to others that Christ was to us. By this gift, we are freed to serve God and neighbor, to set aside our ways of seeking status and stability and security, to take up the way of service to those in greatest need modeled by none less than Christ himself.

And so today, as we begin our 142nd year together, may Jesus’ words be our challenge and our hope. Yes, the path before us is marked by death and resurrection—but it is a path that Jesus has gone before us, a path that so many others have known in this place before us and with us, a path whose signposts of comfort along the way are nothing less than the cup of his salvation and the baptism of his new life. So may God give us the strength we need for the journey that is before us, that we might share Jesus’ promise of new life in this place and everywhere and be his servants now and always until he comes again.

Lord, come quickly! Amen.