Where There Is Sadness, Where There Is Joy

Sermon

We are so glad you are here this morning, “we” being the pastors and the staff and the leaders of the congregation. Thank you for taking time out of this blessed sunshine to come to church, to hear a good story, to sing and pray and probably laugh. May you know blessings today, ones that you expected and especially blessings that come out of nowhere.

One of the great theological minds of the last century, a man named Karl Barth, once commented that what brings people to worship—on Easter or on any day—is an unspoken question clinging to their hearts and minds: is it true? Is it true, this story of resurrection? Is it true, this story of love? Is it true, this story of the gift of life in the midst of so much death?

This side of the grave, we cannot know if resurrection is true; we can only choose to believe or not. But I will tell you, I believe it is true; I believe resurrection happens, and I believe God brought Jesus out of the tomb into more life. For me—and maybe for some of you—resurrection is like a low, sustained bass note that undergirds the pattern of living. And for me—and maybe for some of you—believing in the resurrection is my way of saying that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Nothing—not a violent death, not confusion and fear when the tomb is found empty, not even our doubt.

To get you to agree with me about these things, I could explain this story to you. I could explain that the gospel writer John is the only one who tells the resurrection story in this particular way, with the footrace between the two disciples, with the poignant scene between Mary Magdalene and Jesus.

I could explain that Peter is often portrayed as being clumsy and not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and it was he that Jesus chose to start his church. I could explain that in John’s gospel there is this other disciple, “the one whom Jesus loved,” whose identity remains a bit of a mystery even today. I could explain that Mary is the first person ever to preach an Easter sermon, and that new scholarship, worthy of a mystery series, suggests that Mary Magdalene was just as important a disciple as Peter.

I could explain that by setting this resurrection story in a garden, John brings us full circle, that just as human beings sinned and were exiled from the garden of Eden, so are human beings redeemed and brought home to God in a garden.

To get you to believe in the resurrection, I could explain this story to you, and possibly that would work but probably not. Perhaps the better thing to do would be to invite you to believe, and to set this story to music, so to speak, to illuminate it, to carbonate it like bubbles in champagne. So let’s go.

What are you feeling at this very moment? What emotion is at play? When I have a hard time pinpointing my feelings, I remember that chart that was in every school counselor’s office with the different sorts of smiley faces that looked sad, glad, mad, bored, surprised, afraid. So what are you feeling this very moment? Where in your body do you feel it?

To bring music to this story is to be very present to it, to know what feelings it evokes in us and then to imagine those characters in that story and how they are present in the garden and what feelings they bring early in the morning. Let’s start with Mary Magdalene.

She must have felt so much sadness and grief when she went to the tomb. She had seen her beloved teacher die a terrible death and with that, an end to all his promises. It’s interesting that she goes by herself before it is light out; this is a woman who wants to be alone and invisible in her grief.

We get that, don’t we? So often we don’t want people to see us cry; we don’t want a kind word because however much we’re holding it together will be undone. Before my father died, I had said goodbye to him for the last time, and then I had to fly home to my family. I was in the San Jose airport and looking for an empty gate where I could cry my eyes out. I held it together for boarding, but the whole flight home, I cried and cried and cried. The flight attendants left me alone, and I was glad for that. But an airport is a terrible place to be alone in your grief.

We might understand Mary then, going by herself when no one would see her, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her shoulders tight, her body exhausted. Then her adrenaline spikes as she sees that the stone, keeping the tomb safe from critters, has been moved. She no longer wants to be alone. Fear does that to us, and being afraid and alone is much worse than being afraid with someone else. So she runs to find friends, and Peter and the other disciple run to the tomb.

They too were grieved at Jesus’ death and afraid because they were known associates of this man whom the authorities executed for being a criminal. They see the stone has been moved, but they look in, being maybe braver or more curious than Mary. They see the same thing—the clothes moved. Then they go home, one believing, one unsure. They go home, leaving Mary alone again.

She is still sad. She is still weeping. But emboldened by the two disciples, she looks in and sees angels. The guys didn’t say anything about angels, but Mary gets to see them.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an angel, or at least an angel like this, all white and glowing, maybe winged. But I bet you’ve experienced an angel, someone or something who shows up just when you need it to offer help, or a word of encouragement, or a word of warning. In the Bible, angels are messengers of God, creatures beyond the earthly realm who carry a word to people in need. In our lives, angels are messengers too, and I might even say they are messengers of God.

When Mary sees the angels, the scene changes. The sun has crossed the horizon. There is more light. The empty tomb is no longer the scene of vandalism or crime, but of mystery. Sadness is joined by wonder and fear and excitement. It must have been so much cognitive and emotional dissonance for Mary. So she turns away from the tomb, the place of death, the place of dissonance. She turns to the garden, glistening in the morning dew, quiet except for the sound of birds singing, as they do whether we are sad or full of joy.

And then Mary sees the gardener, and she doesn’t have a clue. You just want to shout, “Mary! Mary! It’s Jesus! Can’t you see?” but we stay silent and let the scene unfold. She is baffled by this man until he says one word. Mary.

Ah. Sadness gives way to wonder and excitement and hope. In calling her by name, it’s as though Jesus is saying, “I know you. I love you. I am here. The story is true.” Have you ever had someone know you in that way? Someone who really knows you? Maybe a parent or a sibling, maybe a spouse or a friend, but someone who says your name and when they do, you know that you will be okay because they have you, love you, know the best and worst and weirdest of you, and none of that matters.

In calling Mary by her name, Jesus begins healing her of all the grief and terror and doubt she had. In her burgeoning joy, and in response to his words, Mary leaves that extraordinary garden and goes to share her good news, her joy, because joy is something we cannot keep to ourselves. It is the very nature of joy to connect—with others, with God, with nature, or the universe. Joy is about fullness. Joy is a big feeling.

And big feelings are cool and utterly necessary. But what do we do with our big feelings? If the big feeling is grief or sadness, we might go off by ourselves. But joy?

Let me tell you a story which might help. I was utterly delighted recently to learn about what dogs do with their big feelings. We have a ten-pound dog, Max, who is part Yorkie and part miniature poodle and 100% love. And whenever we come home, whether after a quick run to the grocery store or a three-week trip away, Max is beside himself with big feelings. He runs to the door to say hello, then runs back inside to get a toy and comes back to us, toy in mouth. Mind you, he doesn’t give us the toy. I read that this is how Max expresses his big feelings—by showing us his toy.

In her big feeling of sadness, Mary went by herself in the dark to the tomb. In her big feelings of excitement and joy, she ran to tell her fellow disciples that she had seen Jesus, that he was not dead but alive, that the story he told was true.

Is it true? What do you believe? What do you think, feel, want to believe about this story, or if not this story, about God’s love for you and all of us, about God’s hopes for you and all of us, about God’s care for you and all of us?

I hope it is true, and I choose to believe it is, because that changes things. When the story is true, then the worst thing that happens is never the last thing, because God will not let it be. When the story is true, then the worst thing that we ever do is not the thing that will determine God’s care for us. When the story is true, then we are invited into a life that will end in mystery, a good mystery, a mystery that is not about a dead body but an empty tomb.

So thank you for coming today. Your being here means that I have someone to share big feelings with, because joy is always best when shared.

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