A sermon preached at Bradley Hills Presbyterian Church, Bethesda, Maryland, April 11, 2004.

Text: John 20:1-18

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Alleluia!

This is the first time in thirty years that I don’t feel the need to explain the resurrection. In fact, I’m not even going to try to give rational credence to the biological absurdity of this day. Instead, I simply want to proclaim resurrection—to proclaim, against all rational odds, that God has done it again.

God, out of nothing, has created everything! God, out of emptiness, has created the abundance of exquisite life!

I have discovered over the years that a preacher’s job on Easter is not to focus on facts, but on faith. Not to unravel science, but to unleash Spirit. Not to dwell on the past, but to open up the future. In other words, the burden and privilege of this day is not to offer the proof of resurrection, but instead to proclaim the truth of resurrection. And what a joy it is for me to do so!

Now, if you think about it, truth is a rare commodity in today’s world. You see, most of us have an ax to grind or a flaw to cover up when we try to tell the truth. Just think about Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky—or George W. Bush and weapons of mass destruction. Yes, truth is hard to tell in our win-at-all-cost world.

I went to my Bible concordance on Friday and discovered an interesting fact about the word “truth” in Scripture. The word appears once in Matthew, twice in Luke, and three times in Mark. But it appears twenty-two times in the Gospel of John—one of the main themes in this second century account of Jesus’ life. John’s birth narrative is that elegant description of the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us, full of grace and truth. Then the Gospel writer goes on, encouraging us to stop focusing on empty ritual and to instead worship “in spirit and in truth.” In one of his more direct sermons, Jesus makes it clear that we are to know the truth, for only “the truth will set us free.” And then he puts content to his words by reminding us that he, Jesus, is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The last time we hear the word truth in the Gospel of John is in the passion story. Pilate asks the wounded, haunted, humiliated Jesus, “What is the Truth?” And the answer Jesus gives is completely silent, but profound. The answer Jesus gives is to immediately enter into his forgiving death and his liberating resurrection. Yes, in John’s Gospel, the truth is God’s glorious, gutsy, ghastly gift of grace embodied in the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ.

And so, for me, the resurrection tells the truth—the truth about life: your life, my life, and the life of the world. And the foundational truth of truth is this: God is in charge of life—not you or me, not George Bush or Osama bin Laden, not the Dow Jones average or your SAT score, not family or friends, not your boss or your physician or your accountant. No, God is in charge of life. And that is good news indeed.

Do some of you remember back in the 1970’s when Alvin Toffler wrote his book Future Shock? He had all kinds of predictions about technology, education, community life, politics, and economics. At about the same time, a seminary held a conference inviting the avant garde scholars of the day to gather and do “futuring” about the church based on Toffler’s predictions. The seminary president was asked to give the closing address at that conference, and this is what he said: “I am only a theologian, and I have no idea what shape the future will take. The only thing I do know is that the future will belong to a merciful God.” Recently, that retired seminary president found his notes from that conference. “You know,’ he said, “I was the only one whose prediction was right!” (Thomas G. Long, “Growing Old and Wise on Easter”)

William Sloan Coffin was a giant in the last half of the 20th century—a civil rights activist, chaplain of Yale University, preacher at Riverside Church in New York City, and president of a major nuclear freeze organization. Coffin is now 79, severely restricted from a stroke, and quietly awaiting his death with anticipation and little regret. In a recent, reflective interview, Coffin remembers what it was like when he was a not-particularly-religious college student. He attended a memorial service for two of his friends who had been killed in an automobile accident. Something he heard caught him off balance. The priest intoned familiar words: “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.” It was the giveth part that pierced Coffin’s soul—his prideful, puffed up, young adult, I’m-in-charge-of-the-world soul. And that simple phrase changed his life. “I just thought, ‘You know Coffin, you’re only a guest here...A guest, at best.’” (Interview with Alexa Smith of the Presbyterian News Service, April 7, 2004)

The truth of resurrection, my friends, is simply that God is in charge—creating us, recreating us, chastening us, challenging us, chastising us, cherishing us with fresh surprises every morning. And either we can resist and rebel, trying unsuccessfully to wrest that control from God. Or, we can yield with joy and yearning, trusting that our God is a good God, a generous God, a graceful God who always has our best interests at heart.

None of the four Gospel accounts of the resurrection totally agrees with one another. The number of angels, the number of disciples, the number of appearance stories—these details differ. But they all have one thing in common. They all include Mary Magdalene—this enigmatic figure—a woman whom some think was a harlot, though there is no biblical proof of that. What is clear is that Mary is disturbed in some way—a woman who has seven demons, according to Luke.

And so Mary stands for all of us—all of us who can’t seem to get through a day without being disturbed in some unsettling way. What we discover, thankfully, is that God recreates Mary. God recreates us—calming us, claiming us, and yes, calling us by name—calling to become brand new. Do not hold on to me. Do not hold on to the past. Do not hold on to the fears, the failures, the frustrations that have so deeply disturbed you. Do not hold on to the losses, the lamentations, the limitations that have so immobilized you. Instead go. Go and tell. Go and serve. Go and live. And lo, I am with you—risen and walking beside you every step of the way.

All of which suggests another central truth of Easter. For each of us—each of us who is disturbed by the problems and passions and pressures of the past, God is calling us to the future. And God is giving us a new vocation, a new purpose, a new identity, a new calling. Our new vocation is the vocation of resurrection. Our new vocation is to be God’s astounding, merciful, resurrecting presence in a world badly in need of grace (with thanks to William Willimon for this insight). Yes, my friends, Easter is as much about us as it is about God. Easter is as much about life on this side of the grave as it is about life on the other side of the grave. Easter is as much about vocation as it is about victory. Easter is when God takes our personal relationship with Jesus, cracks it open, and pours it out, propelling us to love the world as much as we love God.

I’ve met many Presbyterians this year who understand that our baptismal vocation as Christians is to be the embodiment of Christ’s resurrection. And two of them are former associate pastors of Bradley Hills! At Central Presbyterian in Denver, where Mark Ramsey used to serve, there is a homeless shelter for men in the basement with 160 beds. It is called New Genesis, and it is indeed an opportunity for disturbed people to be born again. Using a tough love approach, the men are given thirty days to change the direction of their lives—with lots of help and encouragement and counsel. Indeed, the message is clear: do not hold on to the past. But go and live as those created and recreated in the image of God. And this New Genesis ministry rehabilitates and resurrects 600 men a year.

In Winston-Salem, where Steve McCutchan has served for over twenty years, there is a ministry called the Presbyterian Inter-Racial Dialogue. It involves three African-American congregations and three Caucasian congregations who have done the hard work of racial reconciliation. Steve is at the heart of this resurrection ministry that grew out of an episode twelve years ago of racially motivated police brutality. Through racism training in the schools and the police department, through discussion groups for youth and adults, through joint worship and Habitat for Humanity projects, these faithful Presbyterians have helped to transform the racial climate in Winston-Salem. They have refused to hold on to the prejudices of the past and have instead embraced, with passion and purpose, God’s vocation of resurrection.

And so, my friends, the truth of this Easter day is that God always—mercifully and magnificently—is in charge. The truth of this Easter day is that because the new is always more powerful than the old, we have been recreated and called to a new vocation of resurrection. And the truth of this Easter day is that all of this is possible because hope always has the final word. Yes, resurrection is not only the vocation of our lives. It is also the vital vision of our lives.

There is a true story that says it all. A teacher, who worked in a hospital, was sent to a little boy who was barely surviving on the burn unit. When she saw how sick he was, she felt badly about bothering him. But she proceeded to do what she had been sent to do: teach him the difference between nouns and adverbs. The next morning, the nurse on the burn unit saw the teacher and asked, “What did you do to that boy yesterday?” The teacher was about to apologize, when the nurse interrupted. “We had given up on him, but ever since you visited him, he seems to be fighting back and responding to treatment.”

The boy himself later explained that he too had about given up hope. But then he figured out that the school wouldn’t have sent a teacher to help him learn nouns and adverbs if they thought he was going to die. (Joyce Hollyday, “Wayfare,” Sojourners, vol. 15, no. 3, 1986, p. 19)

Yes, indeed. Hope—the most powerful truth, the most life-affirming truth of Easter. Hope. God’s yes is always more powerful than our all-too-human no. My friends, as ministers of resurrection, let us go. Let us go and tell. Let us go and tell the truth of resurrection so that the world might have life and have it more abundantly.

May it be so!