Although images of shepherds and sheep fill the Scriptures, Christian iconography, and predominate our lectionary texts for today, I suspect most modern folk have a tough time identifying themselves as sheep. Most of us are far removed from pastoral metaphors such as sheep; moreover that word has even taken on a negative connotation. To describe someone as a "sheep" in 2012 would be an insult! Images of them being aimless, being blindly obedient, or passive, helpless dumb creatures headed to the shearer or butcher; or fast food for Wiley Coyote does not make for a comfortable metaphor.
The qualities we aspire to in today's world are definitely "unsheep-like": highly educated, self-directed, goal-driven, entrepreneurial, and validated by high achievement. Consider animal qualities we admire and wish in emulate through the mascots of sports teams; we find: falcons, panthers, bears, tigers, lions, bulls, wolves, jaguars, buffalos, my favorite canine breed - the Husky, and even a jayhawk and a badger… but never sheep! No way do we seek the sheep's qualities of following without question, having no mind of one's own, or expecting someone else to take care of us!
As Anglicans, we may recall the traditional confession of sin, in which we are reminded what miserable creatures we are by having "erred and strayed like lost sheep, following too much the "devices and desires of our own hearts…" If we can overcome our initial knee-jerk reaction against comparison to sheep, we find a very important message in our Gospel lesson from St. John for today.
Despite this post-resurrection liturgical season, our Gospel lesson today relates back to a pre-crucifixion event when Jesus is walking in the Temple precincts and is taunted and provoked by his skeptical detractors: "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah. tell us plainly." Like many people today, they want a plain black and white answer; not Jesus' invitation to live in mystery. He offers His words, His deeds, His compassionate person, His sacramental presence, but that is not enough. They want an iron-clad guarantee. In essence they say that trust is too "iffy" and faith unsettling; they want it all spelled out. But, of course, Jesus turns the question back on them, saying that there already is plenty of evidence… the real issue, He tells them, is their own belief.
This is the question the Gospel brings to us this morning. Of course we believe, don't we? And isn't this a rather peculiar time to ask the question? Here we are in the midst of the joyous Easter season of belief. But the question continues to nag at the back corners of our minds: how deeply do we really believe… and how? Our Western consciousness has been formed by the notion that belief is based on evidence. The scientific method depends on the formulation of an hypothesis, which we then test by experimentation. If the data from the experiment confirms the hypothesis, we may be reasonably certain it is true. If the evidence fails to confirm the hypothesis, we must revise it or create a whole new theory. A belief is firmly rooted in observation and evidence collected in support of it. St. John concludes, however, that for the group to whom Jesus speaks, even this will not be enough; for even observing the testimony of His works is not proof enough for them; because they are not tuned in to God.
Later in this narrative about the Good Shepherd Jesus talks about the sheep knowing the shepherd’s voice. It's about learning to hear the sound of God amidst all the noisy distractions of our lives. When we become fine-tuned to His voice, our response to Him will be instinctive. Those who do not give God a chance to be heard, who are not alert or learn the sound of His voice, don't have a clue when He is speaking or trying to lead them.
“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want…” The 23rd Psalm is one of the most well-known and beloved of Scripture verses. I recall childhood memories of a pastel painting of Jesus on a grassy hillside, with a lamb over his shoulders, rescuing it from danger. This is the Jesus who stayed with me through scary nights with alligators under the bed and monsters in the closet. And this is the Jesus who stays with adults too, through nights of weeping, and grief, and loneliness, and worry, and despair. In those times of danger, or grief, or worry we find solace in the image of the protecting shepherd; in those instances we are not insulted by the imagery of sheep and shepherd; rather we find strength in it.
But then, there are the times when events in our lives or in the world throw our peace, our hopefulness, our comfort, into doubt – times when the smiling pastel image of the Good Shepherd on the grassy hillside seems almost irrelevant to the darkness in the world. How do we make sense of a world in which so many innocent, promising lives, especially the children, are tragically and suddenly lost in war or gang violence? How do we begin to understand a world where people in Afghanistan or on the streets of our own cities die senselessly?
Perhaps the people crowding around Jesus in the Portico of Solomon were asking similar questions – and they want a clear and decisive answer. They want Him to speak about weapons and strategies and instead He talks about sheep - and then He makes a claim so outrageous that they seek to kill Him on the spot. How does this Jesus have anything to do with my life, my worries and dangers and how can our faith in this Jesus help us through the tragedies in our world we witness all the time? What can the Good Shepherd do?
The 23rd Psalm is realistic about the darkness and fear of life. Like the Psalmist many of us have walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and have known the threat of the unknown. And many have somehow also experienced the transcendent presence of God in the darkest of times. What our Easter faith shows us is that our Lord and Savior is not the God of Light alone. He is the sovereign over the darkness too because He has been enfolded by the darkness. Like us, He has grieved over the senseless waste and tragedy of life. Like us, He has agonized over those who suffer. As all of us will eventually, He has entered into the darkness of death and to all of us, He promises to walk that road with us so that we do not have to walk it alone.
It is our choice to attune our hearing to the voice of the Good Shepherd. It is our choice to believe not through empirical signs, rote dogma, and complex theologies, but through the Love of the Christ, who shepherds us to fullness of life. It is a choice that that calls us to live in distinctive ways apart from shallow standards the culture sets as priorities; yet urges us to invite the rest of the world to join us, to hear the voice of God. This is the choice each of us will carry with us as we leave Mass today, the choice to live each day with faith that is a radical trust.February 26, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
Amen.
April 22, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
“While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.”
Unfortunately we may know these stories too well to be astonished like the disciples in those first days following Jesus’ Resurrection and if so, we must then reacquaint ourselves with the astonishing Jesus. This Easter season provides us with readings that focus on some aspect of the Resurrection. Today we actually encounter two dimensions of the mystery – the wondrous character of the risen Lord and the effect our own transformed lives can have on others. But in the midst of miracles is simplicity – in the midst of these miracles is everyday life. This is where the risen Christ meets us now; he meets us in the activities of our everyday lives. God chose to come among us and even after the glorious miracle of the Resurrection, asks us to have a meal with him.
When God interrupts our lives, as Jesus did the lives of the disciples that day by the Sea of Galilee, it has a way of bringing us face to face with what we should be all about. We like to retreat into the comfort of what we know, as opposed to being challenged to grow. We like to look back instead of looking forward. Peter and the others might have told Jesus, “Let somebody else be your disciple, I’m busy fishing, earning a livelihood.” But Jesus offers the gift of each new day as the opportunity to put to practice what we preach; it is the opportunity to be changed and transformed.
I’m reminded of the story of a wife who put a little plaque in the kitchen which said, “Prayer Changes Things.” Twenty-four hours later it was gone. She went to her husband and asked, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like prayer?” to which he replied, “Oh, I like prayer. I just don’t like change.”
The grace of a new day brings with it the challenge to change. The disciples could no longer be comfortable to ease back into their old, former way of life. They were given the gift of another opportunity to become what Jesus had envisioned for them. We, too, are being challenged to believe that not only can we have the grace of a new day, but in that day we can change and in changing, change the world around us.
Our opening collect for this Sunday reminds us that the “blessed Son made himself known to the disciples in the breaking of bread” and we prayed that God would “open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work.” We just prayed that God would open our eyes to what is right in front of us.
This is Incarnation – God appeared and appears where we never expect it. Jesus Christ is here, part of everything we do. Our life is a miracle. Our life is a prayer.
Where are our meetings with the risen Christ? They are right in front of us!
If the stories about the risen Lord no longer astonish us, the implications of the Resurrection in our lives well may. We have all been called to witness to our resurrection faith. This includes our interactions with family members and neighbors, companions in the workplace, fellow parishioners, even strangers. Faith in the Resurrection of Jesus influences the decisions that we make about everything in life. Jesus extends the invitation: “Follow me.” Our manner of living reveals how we have responded.
The only One whose resurrection means anything to us is the One who was wounded, as we are. The only Christ worth believing in at all is the One who was crushed by what crushes us; Who knows pain and anguish and longing and confusion and ultimately death. I am wounded… as you are. A remote God in the heavens who merely offers rest to the dead or the occasional granting of a wish or two is of little help to me; To maybe get an eternal reward if I get through my years with enough good points to outbalance my bad ones, does not give me spiritual strength. I am wounded; I need a God who can heal my wounds and make me a wounded healer. I am a prisoner and I need to be set free. I need – we need – the God of the crucified Christ, whose wounds are the sign of life.
We are all here together, wounded, every one of us… By the burdens of life and by secret pains, by sin and suffering and threat of dying. We are here because we are looking for the One who lived the life we live, wounded as we have been, and was healed. He is here: the Christ of God, Jesus of the scars, who brings life from death and salvation from sorrow.
Last week our Gospel lesson related the well known story of the Resurrected Christ appearing to Thomas who would not believe until he saw Jesus for himself. Jesus loved Thomas, not in spite of his doubts and fears, but perhaps because of them. Jesus called Thomas from his doubt to belief and from his belief to missionary ministry to the poor, the lonely, the hurting. We are Thomas Christians called by our Lord to do the same: We are called to go to the lonely and befriend them. We are called to go to the crying and dry their tears. We are called to go to the wounded and dress their wounds. If we do accept our Lord’s mandate to us, then we just might find ourselves touching the wounds of Christ in those we serve and in those moments, along with Thomas, looking into the eyes of Christ Himself to proclaim, “My Lord and my God!”
Jesus’ appearance in the midst of His frightened friends is a story of the Incarnation. It reminds us that God came and comes among us, experiencing and loving our humanity (no matter how rough around the edges it might be sometimes). We are aware of the Incarnation at Christmas when we hear that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.” Then the churches are full and even fair-weather Christians and non-believers are drawn somehow into the Christmas story. Yet Good Friday is just as much about the Incarnation. Jesus on the cross is an icon of suffering, a powerful statement about the flesh and its vulnerability. The Passion reminds us of our almost infinite capacity to inflict and suffer hurt. Easter Day can be a pleasant abstraction, especially for most of the people who show up in all their finery but did not crawl through the messiness and pain of the cross here on Good Friday. We can ring bells and surround ourselves with lilies and joyous music as we distance ourselves from the broken, scarred body.
But the risen Christ did not appear to His followers in dreams or visions: He came among them in the most ordinary experiences of walks and shared meals. He still comes to us in “everydayness.” He still says: “See my hands and my feet.” “Don’t avert your eyes from my wounds out of politeness or disgust.” “Look at them. Put your finger here. Don’t be afraid. Remember the Incarnation. I came among you first in human flesh – flesh that can be hungry and tired, flesh that can be hurt and even killed. Flesh that can embody God’s love.”
He comes among us still. Behold His hands and His side. Touch Him and see.
Amen.
Unfortunately we may know these stories too well to be astonished like the disciples in those first days following Jesus’ Resurrection and if so, we must then reacquaint ourselves with the astonishing Jesus. This Easter season provides us with readings that focus on some aspect of the Resurrection. Today we actually encounter two dimensions of the mystery – the wondrous character of the risen Lord and the effect our own transformed lives can have on others. But in the midst of miracles is simplicity – in the midst of these miracles is everyday life. This is where the risen Christ meets us now; he meets us in the activities of our everyday lives. God chose to come among us and even after the glorious miracle of the Resurrection, asks us to have a meal with him.
When God interrupts our lives, as Jesus did the lives of the disciples that day by the Sea of Galilee, it has a way of bringing us face to face with what we should be all about. We like to retreat into the comfort of what we know, as opposed to being challenged to grow. We like to look back instead of looking forward. Peter and the others might have told Jesus, “Let somebody else be your disciple, I’m busy fishing, earning a livelihood.” But Jesus offers the gift of each new day as the opportunity to put to practice what we preach; it is the opportunity to be changed and transformed.
I’m reminded of the story of a wife who put a little plaque in the kitchen which said, “Prayer Changes Things.” Twenty-four hours later it was gone. She went to her husband and asked, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like prayer?” to which he replied, “Oh, I like prayer. I just don’t like change.”
The grace of a new day brings with it the challenge to change. The disciples could no longer be comfortable to ease back into their old, former way of life. They were given the gift of another opportunity to become what Jesus had envisioned for them. We, too, are being challenged to believe that not only can we have the grace of a new day, but in that day we can change and in changing, change the world around us.
Our opening collect for this Sunday reminds us that the “blessed Son made himself known to the disciples in the breaking of bread” and we prayed that God would “open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work.” We just prayed that God would open our eyes to what is right in front of us.
This is Incarnation – God appeared and appears where we never expect it. Jesus Christ is here, part of everything we do. Our life is a miracle. Our life is a prayer.
Where are our meetings with the risen Christ? They are right in front of us!
If the stories about the risen Lord no longer astonish us, the implications of the Resurrection in our lives well may. We have all been called to witness to our resurrection faith. This includes our interactions with family members and neighbors, companions in the workplace, fellow parishioners, even strangers. Faith in the Resurrection of Jesus influences the decisions that we make about everything in life. Jesus extends the invitation: “Follow me.” Our manner of living reveals how we have responded.
The only One whose resurrection means anything to us is the One who was wounded, as we are. The only Christ worth believing in at all is the One who was crushed by what crushes us; Who knows pain and anguish and longing and confusion and ultimately death. I am wounded… as you are. A remote God in the heavens who merely offers rest to the dead or the occasional granting of a wish or two is of little help to me; To maybe get an eternal reward if I get through my years with enough good points to outbalance my bad ones, does not give me spiritual strength. I am wounded; I need a God who can heal my wounds and make me a wounded healer. I am a prisoner and I need to be set free. I need – we need – the God of the crucified Christ, whose wounds are the sign of life.
We are all here together, wounded, every one of us… By the burdens of life and by secret pains, by sin and suffering and threat of dying. We are here because we are looking for the One who lived the life we live, wounded as we have been, and was healed. He is here: the Christ of God, Jesus of the scars, who brings life from death and salvation from sorrow.
Last week our Gospel lesson related the well known story of the Resurrected Christ appearing to Thomas who would not believe until he saw Jesus for himself. Jesus loved Thomas, not in spite of his doubts and fears, but perhaps because of them. Jesus called Thomas from his doubt to belief and from his belief to missionary ministry to the poor, the lonely, the hurting. We are Thomas Christians called by our Lord to do the same: We are called to go to the lonely and befriend them. We are called to go to the crying and dry their tears. We are called to go to the wounded and dress their wounds. If we do accept our Lord’s mandate to us, then we just might find ourselves touching the wounds of Christ in those we serve and in those moments, along with Thomas, looking into the eyes of Christ Himself to proclaim, “My Lord and my God!”
Jesus’ appearance in the midst of His frightened friends is a story of the Incarnation. It reminds us that God came and comes among us, experiencing and loving our humanity (no matter how rough around the edges it might be sometimes). We are aware of the Incarnation at Christmas when we hear that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.” Then the churches are full and even fair-weather Christians and non-believers are drawn somehow into the Christmas story. Yet Good Friday is just as much about the Incarnation. Jesus on the cross is an icon of suffering, a powerful statement about the flesh and its vulnerability. The Passion reminds us of our almost infinite capacity to inflict and suffer hurt. Easter Day can be a pleasant abstraction, especially for most of the people who show up in all their finery but did not crawl through the messiness and pain of the cross here on Good Friday. We can ring bells and surround ourselves with lilies and joyous music as we distance ourselves from the broken, scarred body.
But the risen Christ did not appear to His followers in dreams or visions: He came among them in the most ordinary experiences of walks and shared meals. He still comes to us in “everydayness.” He still says: “See my hands and my feet.” “Don’t avert your eyes from my wounds out of politeness or disgust.” “Look at them. Put your finger here. Don’t be afraid. Remember the Incarnation. I came among you first in human flesh – flesh that can be hungry and tired, flesh that can be hurt and even killed. Flesh that can embody God’s love.”
He comes among us still. Behold His hands and His side. Touch Him and see.
Amen.
April 8, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
Alleluia, the Lord is Risen! The Lord is Risen indeed. Alleluia!
We come together this Easter Day to celebrate. We know that this is a happy day, a day to put on our best clothes, a day to plan and prepare a wonderful meal, a day to come to church with the whole family, a day to sing glad hymns. But the people we encounter at the tomb in today’s Gospel didn’t know that. They weren’t having springtime thoughts about hyacinths breaking forth from dead earth, or caterpillars turning into butterflies. The thoughts about eggs and baby chicks or prolific little bunnies as signs of new life did not enter their minds, not only because those symbols came much later in Christian custom borrowed from pagan cultures; but because the people in our Gospel lesson were still in the middle of the story.
In St. John’s Gospel Mary Magdalene was the first one at the tomb that Sunday morning and dawn was just breaking when she arrived. She did not come to check if Jesus’ body was there; she came to grieve. The whole world had just come crashing down around her. She, among others, had centered all her hope and trust and love in Jesus and now he had been cruelly executed. When she arrived at the tomb she found that the stone which had sealed the entrance had been mysteriously rolled away. She is distraught when she finds it empty, thinking someone has taken away Jesus body, and stood weeping outside the tomb. When her Lord approached her, “Woman why are you weeping?” she didn’t recognize Jesus. She did not recognize him because her mind was fixed on finding a dead body. Not until Jesus spoke and called her by name did Mary know him. She had come to the tomb with grief in her heart, but now her weeping had been turned to joy.
And now here we are 2,000 years later, come to church to celebrate the Resurrection. Yes, here we are all dressed up and singing glad hymns and will probably have a good dinner when we leave. But are we not really like Mary Magdalene and the others in many ways? Don’t we carry grief in our hearts? Perhaps it is the loss of loved one that causes us grief. Perhaps it is the frustrations and disappointments we have suffered in our lives. Perhaps it is the weight of bad choices we have made, or we bear the wounds of pain caused by others. Perhaps physical ailments weigh us down. Yes, we believe that Christ is risen. Yes, we know we have cause for great joy this Easter day – but the grief is still there too.
Today as we celebrate the Resurrection, we are like Mary at the tomb. Jesus comes to us and he did to her – will we recognize him? We can lay our grief at his feet as he calls us by our name and then like with Mary we will know it is really he. Philips Brooks, 19th century Episcopal Bishop and author once said, “The great Easter truth is not that we are to live newly after death, but that we are to be new here and now by the power of the resurrection.” The real good news of Easter is that when we meet the risen Lord in the Garden there is the possibility of new life right now! The power of the Resurrection is not something that simply awaits us after bodily death, but something that comes to us at all times, proclaiming that new life is present and possible for us in the here and now – today!
It does seem like in so many ways people are longing for an Easter experience in their lives. Contemporary New Testament scholar and former bishop of Durham England, N. T. Wright, said in his book “Surprised by Hope”, “Those of you who are going to preach on Easter Day, please note that the resurrection stories of the Gospels do not say Jesus is raised, therefore we’re going to heaven or therefore we’re going to be raised. They say Jesus is raised, therefore, God’s new creation has begun and we’ve got a job to do.” We can surely say, then, that Easter is not just an historical event, or a future hope; but a profound reality for us now in the present. Oh yes, many of us have had grief and hurt as our companion, like those going to the tomb. But our promise is that we can let go of past hurts and can have a new life. Right here, right now, we can overcome our fear of death and trust in the Lord of life and love. Right here, right now, wherever we are, we can claim new life in our marriages and partnerships, and families, in our jobs, in our relationships, in our churches, in this broken but beautiful world. We can be new here and now by the power of the Resurrection. We can joyfully participate in the great adventure of God’s new life for us. We can let Easter get into us; let Easter come and live where we live; let Easter permeate our souls.
By letting go of what we thought we knew we are free to discover what is truly meaningful and how that meaning empowers us to live justly and compassionately. Even if we don’t at first recognize Jesus in the garden, we have to at least be there looking for Him. The Risen One is there; He awaits us on many occasions and meets us now. The Risen One waits for us in Scripture and Sacrament, in prayer and music, in community and service. The Risen One waits for us in the faces of those who love us both in this life and the next, and in the faces of those who need our love. The Risen One waits for us in the complexity and texture of our lives: in the dreams and in the broken dreams; in the pain and broken hearts; and in the joy.
Today we Christians accept that our world means something, that life is not just a freak coincidence in the universe. We believe that our lives are not random events lost among the dust and debris of history, footnotes in a book of no meaning or consequence. In the single event of the Resurrection everything is changed for all time. The risen Christ is unrestrained in the world today with power to raise us up from whatever is attempting to pull us down – power to complete what we cannot complete in ourselves – to lift us who now see through a glass darkly to then see face to face, to bring us who now know in part to then know as we are known. Until we discover a new vision of the Savior, a savior who has risen out of heartache and disappointment, we will never understand Easter.
After the Resurrection, things do not return to normal. Mary and the Disciples were not the same and after encountering the risen Christ; neither are we. There is no more “normal.” We can’t even count on the darkness. All we know for sure is that the risen Savior is on the loose. And He knows our names…
We come together this Easter Day to celebrate. We know that this is a happy day, a day to put on our best clothes, a day to plan and prepare a wonderful meal, a day to come to church with the whole family, a day to sing glad hymns. But the people we encounter at the tomb in today’s Gospel didn’t know that. They weren’t having springtime thoughts about hyacinths breaking forth from dead earth, or caterpillars turning into butterflies. The thoughts about eggs and baby chicks or prolific little bunnies as signs of new life did not enter their minds, not only because those symbols came much later in Christian custom borrowed from pagan cultures; but because the people in our Gospel lesson were still in the middle of the story.
In St. John’s Gospel Mary Magdalene was the first one at the tomb that Sunday morning and dawn was just breaking when she arrived. She did not come to check if Jesus’ body was there; she came to grieve. The whole world had just come crashing down around her. She, among others, had centered all her hope and trust and love in Jesus and now he had been cruelly executed. When she arrived at the tomb she found that the stone which had sealed the entrance had been mysteriously rolled away. She is distraught when she finds it empty, thinking someone has taken away Jesus body, and stood weeping outside the tomb. When her Lord approached her, “Woman why are you weeping?” she didn’t recognize Jesus. She did not recognize him because her mind was fixed on finding a dead body. Not until Jesus spoke and called her by name did Mary know him. She had come to the tomb with grief in her heart, but now her weeping had been turned to joy.
And now here we are 2,000 years later, come to church to celebrate the Resurrection. Yes, here we are all dressed up and singing glad hymns and will probably have a good dinner when we leave. But are we not really like Mary Magdalene and the others in many ways? Don’t we carry grief in our hearts? Perhaps it is the loss of loved one that causes us grief. Perhaps it is the frustrations and disappointments we have suffered in our lives. Perhaps it is the weight of bad choices we have made, or we bear the wounds of pain caused by others. Perhaps physical ailments weigh us down. Yes, we believe that Christ is risen. Yes, we know we have cause for great joy this Easter day – but the grief is still there too.
Today as we celebrate the Resurrection, we are like Mary at the tomb. Jesus comes to us and he did to her – will we recognize him? We can lay our grief at his feet as he calls us by our name and then like with Mary we will know it is really he. Philips Brooks, 19th century Episcopal Bishop and author once said, “The great Easter truth is not that we are to live newly after death, but that we are to be new here and now by the power of the resurrection.” The real good news of Easter is that when we meet the risen Lord in the Garden there is the possibility of new life right now! The power of the Resurrection is not something that simply awaits us after bodily death, but something that comes to us at all times, proclaiming that new life is present and possible for us in the here and now – today!
It does seem like in so many ways people are longing for an Easter experience in their lives. Contemporary New Testament scholar and former bishop of Durham England, N. T. Wright, said in his book “Surprised by Hope”, “Those of you who are going to preach on Easter Day, please note that the resurrection stories of the Gospels do not say Jesus is raised, therefore we’re going to heaven or therefore we’re going to be raised. They say Jesus is raised, therefore, God’s new creation has begun and we’ve got a job to do.” We can surely say, then, that Easter is not just an historical event, or a future hope; but a profound reality for us now in the present. Oh yes, many of us have had grief and hurt as our companion, like those going to the tomb. But our promise is that we can let go of past hurts and can have a new life. Right here, right now, we can overcome our fear of death and trust in the Lord of life and love. Right here, right now, wherever we are, we can claim new life in our marriages and partnerships, and families, in our jobs, in our relationships, in our churches, in this broken but beautiful world. We can be new here and now by the power of the Resurrection. We can joyfully participate in the great adventure of God’s new life for us. We can let Easter get into us; let Easter come and live where we live; let Easter permeate our souls.
By letting go of what we thought we knew we are free to discover what is truly meaningful and how that meaning empowers us to live justly and compassionately. Even if we don’t at first recognize Jesus in the garden, we have to at least be there looking for Him. The Risen One is there; He awaits us on many occasions and meets us now. The Risen One waits for us in Scripture and Sacrament, in prayer and music, in community and service. The Risen One waits for us in the faces of those who love us both in this life and the next, and in the faces of those who need our love. The Risen One waits for us in the complexity and texture of our lives: in the dreams and in the broken dreams; in the pain and broken hearts; and in the joy.
Today we Christians accept that our world means something, that life is not just a freak coincidence in the universe. We believe that our lives are not random events lost among the dust and debris of history, footnotes in a book of no meaning or consequence. In the single event of the Resurrection everything is changed for all time. The risen Christ is unrestrained in the world today with power to raise us up from whatever is attempting to pull us down – power to complete what we cannot complete in ourselves – to lift us who now see through a glass darkly to then see face to face, to bring us who now know in part to then know as we are known. Until we discover a new vision of the Savior, a savior who has risen out of heartache and disappointment, we will never understand Easter.
After the Resurrection, things do not return to normal. Mary and the Disciples were not the same and after encountering the risen Christ; neither are we. There is no more “normal.” We can’t even count on the darkness. All we know for sure is that the risen Savior is on the loose. And He knows our names…
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