An Exceptional Easter Sermon

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

The weather this week in Davis has totally gotten the message that it is Easter, that it is spring, that it is time for new life everywhere. The sky is blue, buds are breaking through on trees, flowers are blooming, grass is impossibly green, seasonal allergies are creeping in, and rain is in the forecast. It is fairly easy to look around at this and understand the feelings of celebration that accompany Easter. The eggs and the rabbits and the butterflies, with their metaphorical significance and their Americanized Easteriness, invite us to perhaps eat a few too many jelly beans.

If you went to church on Sunday—no shade if you didn’t, that’s what we’re here for!—the sermon you heard may have made an April Fools Day joke, because Easter fell on April 1 this year. Thanks be to God, it is now the 4th of April and so we are in no such predicament.

Except Easter is still weird! It’s still kind of unbelievable! Last week, churches all over the world walked through the story of Jesus’ last week alive on earth.

Last Sunday, we celebrated Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, subverting the empire in all its glory. On Thursday, we commemorated the last supper with the disciples, renewed our commitment to loving service, and washed each others’ feet. On Friday, we mourned Jesus’ horrific assassination. On Saturday, we sat vigil with the body of Jesus, dead in the tomb. And then, Sunday morning, we gathered to rejoice in the resurrection hope.

Except none of us, here in this room, did that together. We were in different cities, home for spring break, or visiting congregations around town, or weren’t in church all of those days, anyway. When we left this building, it was Lent. And now we’re back, and it’s Easter! No Holy Week required.

Except Holy Week is so, so required. If we’re just at church on Sundays, we go from Palm Sunday—happily waving palm branches and blowing trumpets and cheering—to Easter—happily shouting HALLELUJAH CHRIST IS RISEN INDEED.

Except, in that case, risen from what? If we skip from Palm Sunday to Easter—which, don’t get me wrong, sounds way nice and way easy—the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection doesn’t make sense. If we do not acknowledge and sit with the day on which Jesus died, how can we truly celebrate the day he was raised from the dead?

The feelings of despair on Good Friday and Holy Saturday—days on which there is, truly, no hope—are feelings we do not want to hold on to. We do not want to sit with grief forever. We do not want to sit with pain forever. We do not want to sit with fear forever. We do not want to want to sit with anguish forever. We do not want to sit with uncertainty forever.

The friends and family of Jesus who were present at his death never expected to be there. They were there, just days before, for the big parade! That was awesome! Jesus was changing the world, and they were right there with him!

And then, he was wrenched from their grasp, and with him, their whole vision of the future. Everything they had hoped for, everything they had worked for, everything they loved...was dead. Sometimes you expect life and find death.

The next day was the Sabbath, the first one of Passover, a very holy day. They spent it in a fog, unsure what to do next. Except for three of the women. Mary the mother of James, Mary Magdalene, and Salome spent that day preparing burial spices and ritual action for the following morning. They did what they knew needed to be done to honor the now lifeless body of their friend and teacher. They prepared the spices for anointing, and set out in the pre-dawn darkness for the tomb. They discussed the practicalities of the situation—a huge stone was between them and their work. “Who will roll away the stone for us?” they wonder. The tomb was sealed when they left it. Jesus was dead, and in the tomb, and that was that.

You don’t have to work very hard to imagine their surprise when they arrive and see that the stone has been rolled away. The Gospel According to Mark puts it very plainly: “As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed.” Alarmed? No kidding. “But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.”

This is wild, y’all. Can you envision this scene? I’m thinking wide eyes, open mouths, cold sweat; the spice jars crashing to the ground, clattering around their feet. This stranger—perhaps an angel?—calmly continues. ‘Go, tell your friends that Jesus is alive, and that you should meet him back home in Galilee.’ Oh, okay, sure. Not unexpectedly, the three terrified women turn on their heels and run. They “fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” They were instructed to go home and relay the message, but they were too afraid.

Until they weren’t! The only reason that we are here in this room tonight is because, at some point, they mustered up the courage to blurt out the biggest secret they’d ever kept. JESUS IS ALIVE! They probably shouted. Or perhaps whispered, and had to be asked to speak up. It’s a story too good to be true, isn’t it? It isn’t April Fools Day, but Easter is only for those of us foolish enough to believe the truth.

Sometimes you expect life and find death; sometimes you expect death and discover life.[1]

This unbelievable Easter story comes to us from the Gospel According to Mark, which ends, controversially, with some verses that scholars believe were added in later. In this version of the story, Jesus does not appear to the women or to the disciples. In this version of the story, “all we get is an empty tomb and some terrified women.” [2] Which works for us, because we have all been afraid. We have all been uncertain. We have all been speechless. This version of the Easter story tells us that it is okay to be afraid. This version of the Easter story also tells us that we no longer have to be afraid. That that Easter morning, and this Easter Wednesday night, Jesus who once was dead is now alive.

And, in the interest of full disclosure, I really needed to be told that this year. There has been a lot of death, and a lot of fear, and a lot of pain, and a lot of misinformation, and a lot of uncertainty, and a lot of sleepless nights, and a lot of asking God a lot of questions.

I struggled during Holy Week and even these past few days to get out of the Lenten and Good Friday darkness and into the bright sun of the Easter dawn. I don’t know if that has been true for you, too, or maybe it was last year, or maybe it will be in the future.

Fear is real. And death is real. Jesus knows that as well as anyone. But what Jesus’ resurrection tells us, every Easter, is that fear and death do not win. Fear and death do not have the final say. The power of God brings life into the world over and over and over again. Every morning is Easter morning.

You may have seen that on my facebook this week, in all capital letters. Every morning is Easter morning, from now on. You are a lucky bunch, because this year I have not chosen to sing the song to you, complete with jazz hands, as I have been known to do. So that you don’t feel entirely left out, please know that a very tacky Easter song from my upbringing includes those words—every morning is Easter morning, from now on—and reminds us that not only is Easter a 50-day-long liturgical season, but it is truly a way of life. We are the Easter people.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen, and we, too, shall rise.

[1] On Facebook, I saw this turn of phrase attributed to my friend and colleague, The Rev. TJ Freeman.

[2] I riffed (and ripped) this whole paragraph from the beautiful sermon by The Rev. Christa Compton, without whose proclamation I am not sure I would have believed, this week.

Great Expectations—A Sermon on Maundy Thursday

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Here we are in our holiest of weeks, on the first day of the triduum, the Three Days: Maundy Thursday. There’s a lot of fancy church words happening right there, but Maundy is just a shortening of the Latin word mandatum, which is how the word “commandment” was translated in the Latin version of the New Testament.

The choice to call this Maundy Thursday, or Commandment Thursday, is to underscore that the core of what Jesus offered his disciples at the Last Supper was that new commandment—love one another.

This is maybe like starting with the punch line, but since we tell this same story every year, and I just read the Gospel lesson to you, I hope it comes as no surprise to you that Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

This is where we get our bumper sticker slogans like “Love Your Neighbor” and our camp songs like “They’ll Know We Are Christians By Our Love.” On a really important night—the last of his life—this is what Jesus wanted his friends to remember him by.

Because of the way each culture keeps its calendar, every once in awhile, our Holy Week coincides with the festival Jesus and his disciples were about to commemorate, Pesach—the Passover. The eight day celebration of the Passover this year began on Monday night of this week, and will last until the Tuesday after we celebrate Easter. At the meals that Jews around the world have been sharing this week, called seders, a question is asked. “What makes this night different from all other nights?” The answers to the question are about the various practices of the seder celebration, and how they are different than regular meals shared throughout the year. To be clear, the Last Supper was probably not a seder, because it took place before the festival began. However, I wonder if we can’t still ask the question, what made this Maundy Thursday night different from other nights?

On this night, Jesus ate a meal with his friends. Not that different from all other nights. On this night, Jesus spoke cryptically about his friends’ behavior and confused them about his impending death. Not that different from all other nights. But during dinner, Jesus did something different. He got up from the table and knelt in front of his friends and began to wash their feet. This sounds like a super weird thing to do, for us, because we do not routinely have our feet washed as part of the hospitality provided by our dinner hosts. In Jesus’ time, however, this was something that people expected, but they expected it from the servant of the household, not the Rabbi. This flipping of expectations is Jesus’ signature move.

To a world that expects isolation and individualism, Jesus says, “love your neighbor.”

To a world that expects its leaders to show strength through military might, Jesus says, “love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.”

To a world that expects illness and suffering, Jesus says, “your faith has made you well.”

To a world that expects death and destruction, Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

And to a room full people who expect to be served rather than to serve, Jesus says, “I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

In our world today, just as in the time of Jesus, there are a lot of competing systems of morality and authority. This week we consider the power of the state and the power of the people. We contrast the reality of death and the reality of life. We ponder the uses of violence and the uses of forgiveness. This is a week of wonder. So on this night, Jesus makes it as simple as possible: love one another.

Amen.

Lent/Borrowed

Six weeks ago, after reading this post, I pledged to spend my Lenten season fasting from white media. This was daunting, because most media is white media. I am white, and so most of what I come into contact with is white. That's the nature of our world, today.

In the past six weeks, I have not stopped learning. And if you know me, you know that learning is my number one love. It has been exhausting and by no means exhaustive, but I have been changed. Here's how:

Reading

You, dear reader, know that reading is so dear to me. This seemed like the obvious foray into my Lenten fast. I decided that I would read only the words of people of color--books, blogs, news, poetry, journalism, you name it.

I started with Saeed Jones' newest poetry collection, Prelude to Bruise. If you're not familiar with Saeed, he used to be Buzzfeed's LGBTQ editor, but was recently crowned their literary editor. He's what's up. This collection was challenging to me--Saeed and I have not lived the same life, you know. Prelude to Bruise is bold and beautiful. If you're thumbing through it, I scribbled the most on "Ketamine & Company" and "Highway 407".

After I ripped through that poetry in a day and a half, I sat down to re-tackle a seminary textbook that I was assigned sections of and struggled with--A Black Theology of Liberation. James Cone does not mince words, y'all. I felt a lot more comfortable being uncomfortable hearing him, this time around. I've been getting better, the last few years, at understanding that the black church does not owe the white church any niceties. If you're a theology student, read this. If you're not, maybe don't start with this. 

Fortunately for my Lenten discipline, the book we read at work in anticipation of this year's St. Augustine lecture was Holy Currencies. The Rev. Dr. Eric Law is an Episcopal priest, the son of Chinese immigrants, and the founder and executive director of the Kaleidoscope Institute--an organization committed to multiculturalism (not lip service to multiculturalism) in congregations and faith-based organizations. If you're a leader or a member or a neighbor, read it. He's also written six others, so check those out, too.

I am really bummed that I only read one book by a woman in this Lenten season, but I somehow only read four books. (Commence eye rolls, I know.) Zadie Smith, fortunately, is no small feat. This collection of essays, Changing My Mind, is appropriately subtitled "occasional essays" because it's an amalgam of things she wrote for a variety of publications on a variety of occasions. Some of them (the literary criticism) are hard to access; some of them (movie reviews) are laugh-out-loud-can't-underline-fast-enough hi-lar-ious. Read it, and her other books, as soon as you can get your hands on 'em.

Tweeting

Yes, twitter. It is its own category, because it is a crazmazing place for racial justice and racism and words and wounds to coalesce. I started the season by going through the list of users I follow (nearly 900 people, yikes) and unfollowing all the white men I couldn't remember why I followed. So. Many. White. Male. Journalists. I consider myself an informed member of the electorate, and so following a zillion political journalists is like, in line with that. But when an overwhelming majority of them are white men who write for the same-ish publications, that's not news. That's an echo chamber. So, goodbye those guys.

Next, I was fortunate to come across a list called something like "the best black journalists you should be following on twitter" or something seriously that specific. So I clicked, and clicked. As the #BlackLivesMatters movement has continued to grow, I have been following more activists and making sure that I get as much info from folks on the ground as I get from folks at 30 Rock. I also looked at who my favorite black voices were lifting up, and followed as instructed. It's been helpful. Do it.

You're expecting some handles, I can tell. My real entry into black twitter has come through the great people at Buzzfeed, so follow these people and everyone they tell you to follow: @theferocity @brokeymcpoverty @heavenrants @hayesbrown @aaronmedwards. Oh, and definitely follow @ismashfizzle even though she doesn't work there anymore. 

Ayesha Sidiqqi is a Muslim woman who is fascinating and relentless in her pursuit of all things just and feminist. Follow her @pushinghoops.

If you scroll through #BlackLivesMatter you'll find some gems; I love following @deray @bdoulaonlongata @ReclaimHolyWeek (which may be less relevant now, but there's one every year, haha) @keenblackgirl, and everyone they interact with. You just have to dive in, I think.

Listening

This Lenten season invited me into the noughties (that's what Zadie Smith calls 2000-2009 and I'm so into it) via the world of podcasts. I tabled my NPR-or-bust lifestyle and sought out black, female voices in particular. [Sidebar that's maybe also the thesis: I noticed that black women's voices in particular were still the hardest to find in "mainstream" media sources.] Y'all, I have found black female excellence in podcast form.

Black Girls Talking is literally four black girls talking to each other. Alesia, Fatima, Aurelia, and Ramou spend an hour or so every couple weeks or so (if there's a rhyme and reason, I haven't figured it out yet) talking about what's happening in the culture around them. They are dedicated fans of black girl excellence on television--their "How to Get Away with Murder" and "Empire" recaps make it so I don't think I have to actually watch. Their takedown of the Jessica Williams imposter syndrome article lady was so informative to me about how white feminism does such a disservice to black women. I learn from them every episode.

On Call Your Girlfriend, Aminatou and Ann (50% black female excellence, 100% fantastic) chat from across the country about their jobs, the state of the world, feminism, and periods. They're long distance BFFs like me and most of my BFFs, which makes me feel great about them. They are unabashed women, which makes me feel great about them. If you like laughing about being an adult but not really being an adult, and learning about awesome feminist documentarians here and there, listen in. 

A late addition to the game, but a new forever favorite is Another Round, hosted by Heben and Tracy, easily my favorite Buzzfeed ladies, easily the greatest combination of things that make black female excellence. They host other rad black women, Tracy tells corny jokes, they drink margaritas, they tell stories about what had happened...it's so good. You have to listen. They're only three episodes in, so you can easily join the club.

Oh, and Conversations about Conversations About Race should be on this list, too, even though it's also not exclusively black female excellence (it includes two dudes, one of whom is white) and is brand new. Their first episode came out last week, so they weren't necessarily part of my Lenten learning experience, but they're part of my lifetime of learning. 

Watching

Tonight, #BlackGirlsRock was on BET. Fortunately, excellent black girls (@iSmashFizzle, for one) live in other time zones and so alerted me to what was going to be on my television a few hours later. I am so glad. 

For the season of Lent, I have been increasing my consumption of media by people of color and black women in particular as best I can, and fasting from the redundant whiteness that appears in front of me. The Black Girls Rock Awards 2015 felt so appropriately like the Easter of that. It reminded and continued to teach me about the voices of black women who are overpowered by white/male voices in my everyday life. 

Thanks be to God and to the amazing women (and men) of color who have carried me through on this journey. Certainly my Lenten discipline has ended, but it has opened my eyes. I have been changed by the experiences I have been privileged to read about and hear about these past six weeks. 

Sure, I have still been immersed in whiteness, but I feel like I am noticing how white my world is in a different way, and intentionally replacing some of it. Not just tabling it until the end of Lent, either. I don't need to "catch up" on the things that I "missed." (Full disclosure, that was my original plan, and I had a handful of articles tabled to my Reading List for this moment. No more.)

This fast gave me an excuse to dive into the rich world of authors, filmmakers, journalists, musicians, politicians, theologians, and human persons who are all around me and yet whose voices I do not hear. I am listening, now. Are you?