“Until It Dawns On You”

John 20:1-18

April 16, 2006 (Easter)

St. Paul United Methodist Church of Little Rock

Rev. John Andrew Fleming

 

Reverend Jeanie Burton, your former pastor, my friend, and the pastor that I worked with for four years before I came to St. Paul gave me permission to tell a story that she shared in an Easter sermon a few years ago.  The story had to do with the last Easter sunrise service that she was in charge of.  Writing about, Jeanie said that it could only be described as pitiful.  Looking back on it, she realized what the problem was.  That year, with all of the hustle and the bustle of planning meaningful Holy Week worship services, complete with Holy Communion and a dramatic reading of the arrest, trial, and crucifixion of Jesus, and with the planning for what some people have come to call “Big Church”, the sunrise service did not get a lot of time and attention.  Jeanie tells that the service was almost an afterthought, as in, “Oh yeah, we always have an Easter sunrise service.”

 

Those who were helping her when that point came up, helped her to decide that given the lateness of it, maybe they should just do a carbon copy of the service that they had had the previous year.  As for a location, the front lawn of their church was as good as any place.  Someone helping suggested that they move a few of their folding chairs from fellowship hall to the front lawn.  They also suggested that they take a portable lectern for Jeanie’s sermon notes.  Someone asked, “How many chairs should we set out?”  Someone else answered, “Thirty should be enough.  If we need more, we can always go inside and get more.  A few of us will be ready to do that.”  They also decided that they would bring out some of the Cokesbury  hymnals and sing a capella; there was no real need for a keyboard.  That was the extent of the planning that went into that Easter sunrise service.  Jeanie says that she worked up a little something for the sermon time.  She also confessed that most of her time and energy went into the later worship service that would bring a larger crowd.

 

Unfortunately, in their haste to get the planning and the details out of the way, no one stopped to remember that the previous weekend, the time had changed.  Day light saving’s time had caused them to spring forward.  Perhaps you can see where this story is going.

 

Jeanie tells that at the appointed time, it was pitch black outside.  Thirty chairs were set up, but only twelve people showed up.  Jeanie confessed that four out of the twelve were Burtons.  She says that she started that worship service with a flashlight in her hand.  As she did, it occurred to her that the sun, most likely, was still somewhere near China and wouldn’t make its way to Pine Bluff, Arkansas for several hours.  It was a sunrise service.  The sun was supposed to be the star of the show, by so far the sun was nothing more than a no-show!

 

So she weighed her options.  She thought that she could preach a longer sermon.  If you know Jeanie, she’s famous for shorter, powerful sermons.  In four years, I never heard one of her sermons last more than twelve minutes.  Another option was to opt for a slower and more dramatic singing of the hymn Up from the Grave He Arose.  That hymn is usually known for its fast tempo.  It is supposed to sing like this: “Up  from the grave he arose, with a mighty fortress o’er his foes; he arose a victor from the dark domain, and he lives forever with his saints to reign.  He arose.  He arose.  Hallelujah  Christ arose.”  Jeanie slowed it down and that was the worst rendition of the song in its history!  Jeanie thought about other options.  She considered reading more scripture lessons.  She thought about inviting personal testimonies, but then thought better of it.  After all, she thought, these people had been up less than thirty minutes and had not had their morning coffee.  If I was there, I might have suggested finding the Christmas eve candles and firing them up again.

 

Jeanie says that the worship service was sad.  When it was over, the sun still hadn’t made its way to Arkansas.  So the twelve worshipers picked up the thirty chairs, went inside the church, to the fellowship hall, where hot coffee and donuts were waiting for them, and where there was at least artificial light.  Jeanie preached, “The service may have been a disaster, but we did get one thing right: Easter begins in darkness.”

 

For some reason I have missed that.  In all my years of preaching on Easter Sunday morning, in eight or so Easter Sunday sermons, in my haste to get the crux of the matter, to the meat of the story I have missed that.  In my rush to run with the two disciples once Mary Magdalene comes back with the news that Jesus is not where he is supposed to be, in my hurry to look in the tomb, again this year, to see, if like the other disciple, I will see and believe, I have missed that Easter begins in darkness.  In my rush to understand how it is that Mary didn’t marvel at the angels who were sitting one where Jesus’ head had been and the other at his feet; in my speed to understand how it is that Mary, who knew Jesus so well, did not recognize him when she saw him and mistook him for a gardener, I missed it.  In my rush to do all of those things, for all of these years, I have missed the power of the first line of John’s Easter story.  John writes, “Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalen came to the tomb.”

 

While it was still dark.  I know why Mary went to the tomb.  She went because of the hour of Jesus’ death corresponded with the Passover celebration.  There was not time to properly prepare and bury Jesus’ body.  There were oils that needed to be used on his body.  That is why she went; she went to give Jesus a proper burial.  That’s why she went.  I know the reason.  I also can think of several reasons why she shouldn’t have gone at that hour.  After all, it was still dark; this is the world before flashlights.  Mary could have tripped over something and fell on the oils that she was carrying.  Besides that, there are things that lurk in the dark.  We all know that.  Not to mention that it is downright scary to think about going to a cemetery when the sun is not up!  These are the things that make for good Halloween movies.  These are the subjects of Stephen King thrillers.  The thought has crossed my mind, “Why not wait, Mary, until the sun comes up?”

 

While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene made her way to the tomb.  Her going, then, doesn’t make sense.  And yet, at the same time, it makes perfect sense.  For sure it is the perfect backdrop for this story.  After all, darkness is a pretty good description of the world that Mary woke up to that first Easter morning.  Maybe she found sleep tough.  For sure her hope was gone; because she knew the kinds of things that you do to get ready for a memorial service, she just figured that she’d get up and tend to the details.

I know this, too, a little better this Easter than I did last Easter.  This year, some four short months ago (though in a lot of ways it seems like a lifetime ago), my sister died.  She was my just thirteenth months older than me, now I am the same age as she was when she died, believes in me no matter what sister.  When shed died, my family wanted to make sure that the arrangements were properly made and her memorial service planned.  I miss her.  It is our first Easter not being together.  To be honest with you, grief sometimes feels like darkness in many ways.  Some have called it a personal darkness.

 

We all know the feeling of a personal darkness.  There is more than a hint of it in the life of the woman who was called to her supervisor’s office.  She sits and hears that times are tough for the company; they cannot keep her.  The supervisor is sorry.  As she cleans out her desk and office,  she wonders what she’ll tell her children.  The man goes to the doctor to have a little something checked out, it turns out it’s not a little something and there are tests to run.  The child, who in a moment of rage, worries that he has lost a friend for a lifetime.  He did not mean it when he said, “I’ll never forgive you!”  Now his friend will not talk to him.  It is the death of hopes and dreams.  It is the death of relationships.  It is the death of loved ones.  As Easter begins, we stumble with Mary to the place of death, a tomb.  We know a little bit of her despair.

 

Now if I had the chance to be in charge of the lighting for this first Easter Sunday morning.  If God had given me that task, I would have it remain dark while Mary runs to get Peter and the other disciple.  It would be so dark that Peter and the other disciple would have to carry lanterns to find their way and to look into the tomb.  In fact, I would keep the feeling of night going while Mary weeps and pours out her heart and her sorrow to the angels sitting inside the tomb.  If God gave me the task of being in charge of the rising of the sun that first Easter morning, I would allow it to break, ever so slightly.  Only when Mary goes up to the man she supposes to be a gardener, would there be any light at all.  that is when I’d turn up the lights, gradually and gently, little by little.  When Jesus calls out Mary’s name, that is when I would have the angelic chorus ready with the Hallelujah chorus!  That is when the sun would rise.  I am told that there is a point in the sunrise that can best be described as liminal.  At that moment, it is neither night nor day.  It is somewhere between the two.  It is neither here nor there.  After that moment, Mary realizes that Jesus cannot be held by darkness.

 

How does the scripture put this?  Each year, on Christmas eve, we read Isaiah’s words, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.  Those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined.”  The Bible talks about darkness and light.  You know that.  But did you know that the word darkness appears one hundred and seventy four times?  The word light appears two hundred and thirty-six times.  That means that the light wins!

 

The Easter Story’s message of life arising out of death has hope in it.  The ultimate testimony of that comes in the first part of John’s gospel.  You will remember his famous words, “In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it!”  You might say that it was Jesus’ job to bring us an experience of life and a light that cannot be extinguished.  So just pick any darkness; any old darkness and watch Jesus as she brings light into it.  His light shines wherever love and healing are experienced.

 

Some of you know that on Wednesdays, at noon, a small group of preacher friends of mine come to St. Paul for lunch, conversation, and Bible study.  We often talk about what we’ll be preaching the following Sunday morning.  One of my preacher friends asked last Wednesday, “How do we keep Easter from being cliche?”  He said, “Christmas Eve has a sense of majesty and mystery and familiarity surrounding it.  People expect to hear the same story on Christmas Eve.”  He believes that people come expecting something different on Easter morning.  He thinks that it is our job to find some thought that no one has ever thought of before.  Good luck with that!  Both days, Christmas eve or day and Easter are about hope.  I told him and the group, “This year, Easter will be different.  It has been a hard year for a lot of different reasons.  Some are more obvious than others.  Like Mary, I have been holding on to a lot of things.  Letting go of Emily doesn’t mean that I love her any less.  It just means that I trust the resurrection of Jesus.  This year, I just need a personal resurrection experience and a renewed life.”

 

Adam Hamilton, our pastor at The Church of the Resurrection concludes his Easter sermon the same way every year.  I would like to do the same thing here, at St. Paul, this morning.  Adam always says, “People ask me if I believe in the resurrection.  I say to them, not only do I believe in it, I’m counting on it!”  How about you?  Let us pray.

 

(Special thanks to Rev. Jeanie Burton who helped me in several ways to see how the morning light is important.  I cherish the years at First Church with her.  I thank her for the opening story and for several thoughts in it.  I thank the lectionary Bible study group who has been a source of strength for me this year.  I also dedicate this sermon to my sister, Emily Ann Fleming Castle.  May God be beside you this morning, dear sister!).