What the Lord Needs (Easter Sermon)

Mark16:1-8

The Easter story began a week ago with Palm Sunday. Yes, technically it began four months ago at Christmas, but the particular part of the life of Christ we celebrate today starts with Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. He rides in on a donkey because the donkey is the transport of kings in ancient Israel. (We will not explore that rabbit trail today.) Some of you may remember that Jesus rides a borrowed donkey. 

In the Mark passage we read last week, Jesus sends a couple disciples out to obtain the donkey. If they are questioned, he tells them, say, “The Lord needs it.” Find a donkey and that the owner will understand what it means that “the Lord needs it” are assumed. This will happen. And so, it does. Jesus enters Jerusalem on a young donkey, with many people celebrating him by waving branches and throwing their cloaks down in front of him. He has what he needed. 

In the week since then, many in that cheering crowd have fallen away. His disciples were overwhelmed by the events, including that one of their own was the betrayer. By the time Jesus’ body is taken down from the cross, the only people who remain are the women who had supported his ministry with their own resources and a couple of wealthy men who were able to secure Jesus’ body. 

With all of that in mind, I think of Mary Magdalene, Mary (the mother of James), and Salome going to the tomb to care for Jesus’ broken and bruised body. The two men who had been able to bury Jesus had poured a significant amount of nard, a fragrant ointment or oil, over his body before it went into the tomb. This was done in the effort to forestall the body beginning to smell before they could come back after the sabbath and care for Jesus’ body gently by cleaning, anointing, and wrapping it with care. 

The women may have brought cinnamon, lavender, and more nard, as well as frankincense and myrrh. Picture them with a few bags between them- dried flowers poking out of this one, small clay pots clinking in that one. As they walk, they are worried about the stone and whether they will be able to move it together. If a Roman guard is still at the tomb, would the guard move it for them or possibly prevent them from going in. 

In this time of grief, they are focused on what they expect to be in their way. The stone is not merely an obstacle; it is in the way of these women being able to do what they believe Jesus needs. Everything they are bringing, their every intention is because, in their understanding, the Lord has need of it. The body of the Lord has need of it. 

When they arrive at the tomb, though, the stone is already moved. Furthermore, the body of the Lord is not there. In Mark’s account, the two Marys and Salome are met by a white-robed young man who tells them that Jesus has been raised. Lest there be any confusion, the young man tells the women he knows they are looking for Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified. There has not been a tomb mix up; the women are in the right place. 

The young man goes on, “But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” 

Mark’s gospel ends abruptly with the women fleeing from the tomb in terror and amazement. Mark writes that they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid. While this seems confusing to us, at the time Mark was written, it is likely that there were still living witnesses to the risen Christ. While maybe not these three women, probably Rufus and Alexander, sons of Simon of Cyrene, as well as some of Jesus’ close followers.

 The first people to hear or read Mark’s account would know that the women had found courage and shared the good news. And not only these women, but many other people saw and experienced the risen Christ. Spelling out the accounting wasn’t as necessary while there were still eyewitnesses to pick up the story. 

On this first Easter morning, however, we have the women, fleeing in terror and amazement. They need to find the other disciples and Peter and tell them that Jesus has gone ahead of them. Ahead of them in death, ahead of them in resurrection, ahead of them to Galilee. 

When we last saw Peter, he denied knowing Jesus. He is singled out in this resurrection announcement to make it clear that Jesus will not deny Peter. The joy of resurrection is for even the ones who make the worst mistakes. 

The women hurry away from the tomb, temporarily stunned into silence. Back home they go. Back home with the cinnamon and the lavender and the nard and the frankincense and the myrrh. Back home with the strips of cloth and lengths of woven fabric. Apparently, the Lord did not have need of it. 

Which brings me to one of the points I want us to take away on this Easter Sunday. How often are we still carrying around things that the Lord does not need? I don’t mean ointments or traditions or even our questions and doubts. 

I mean, how often are we carrying judgment of others, reluctance to change, hesitation to welcome, slowness to be hospitable, griefs and frustrations about minor issues, fear of being wrong in mercy and love? How often are we carrying things because we think the body of Christ needs us to hold on to these things, but all they do is keep us from getting to where the Lord has gone ahead of us. We do not need to carry these things. The Lord does not have need of them. 

What would have happened to all the things the women carried, the spices and flowers and balms? They would have been used to anoint other bodies in death, but with an entirely different sentiment. Each body would have been prepared knowing that death as we perceive it was not the end. Each tomb was closed knowing that Jesus’ words, “It is finished” were followed by the Holy Parent’s words, “But it’s not over”.

The Lord no longer had need of those spices, but the body of Christ- the people in community, the people of hope, the Easter people would and did. The spices would have been used even as those same women, the ones who had initially said nothing, spoke the truth of the resurrection over the bodies for which they tenderly cared. That was what the Lord needed them to do. Their trust in the resurrection, their hope in heaven, their willingness to seem foolish in the eyes of the world in the imitation of Christ- those were what the Lord needed then. 

Our trust in the resurrection, our hope in heaven, our willingness to seem foolish in the eyes of the world because of how we imitate Christ- those are what the Lord has need of now. Not for his own sake, but in joyful response to amazing grace for the sake of the people and the creation that God so loved. Loved. Loves. 

There is nowhere we can go, from Galilee to Libby to the moon, that Jesus is not ahead of us, waiting, welcoming, and guiding us through the Spirit into the accomplishing of the will of God. This is the good news- the purpose of our life in faith. We are useful to the Lord. The Lord has need of us- as his hands of healing, as his words of compassion, as his presence of mercy, and his table-turners for justice and righteousness. 

We must, then, stop carrying what is unnecessary, harmful, dead- so that our hands are open to receive and to give. To let go and let come. 

On this day, on this holy resurrection day, hear these words, beloved: The tomb is empty. Christ is risen. He is with you and has gone ahead of you. You are blessed to be a blessing to others, in a world that needs to know of the triumph of a loving and living God. Go forth in joy and amazement. The Lord has need of you.  

 

Amen. 

Would I Do?

Palm Sunday

Mark 11:1-11

One of my core memories is of a parishioner who said, "I don't think I would have been as brave as the three in the fiery furnace. I think I would have just bowed to the king. I would have bowed and known in my heart that I still loved God. I admire them, but I can tell the truth that I wouldn't have done it." (Daniel 3)

To me, this man's honesty was just as brave. In front of his fellow Christians, in front of his pastor, he owned up to his own facts: he did not believe he would have had the courage to resist the pressures of the king. He would have rather continued to live, being faithful in secret, than risk dying painfully and prematurely for open obedience to God. 

I can respect that kind of truth-telling. None of us want to be weighed in the balance and found wanting. For some of us, that's our greatest fear. The truth is, however, that I suspect most of us are not as brave as we think we are. The right side of history seems clear when we have a viewpoint from years into the future, but it can be harder to discern when we are in the middle of things and decisions have to be made. 

Speaking for myself, I want to believe I would have encouraged my spouse to side with Martin Luther and embrace scripture in the vernacular. I hope I would have been willing to stand with Quakers in the early colonial days, resisting the concept of chattel slavery among people who claimed to be pursuing their own freedom. 

Would I have walked with other suffragettes, trying to get votes for women? I hope I would have been there, mentioning how we needed to be sure women of color should be able to vote too. Would I have been part of a Resistance, hiding Jews in an attic or basement or in a barn? Would I have been willing to travel to register black Americans to vote? 

Or in any of these cases, would I have been more likely to seek safety, to argue for waiting or more time, would I have looked to my own oppressions, whatever they might have been, and just expected others to fight for themselves, while I criticized their actions? 

Holy Week, the days preceding Easter, brings up the same questions. Would I really have stayed with Jesus? 

I can imagine that if I'd been following him, I would have waved a branch as he rode a young donkey into Jerusalem. Who doesn't like a parade? And he's a good guy, doing kind things for all sorts of people. 

But what about when he upends the temple marketplace, yelling at vendors and causing chaos? Would I have been on his side then? Or would I have suggested that he should have been following the rules? 

How about when the chief priests and elders question him and he refuses to play their game? Would I have cheered him on? Or would I have said he should just cooperate and not make trouble? 

Would I have been horrified at his treatment by Pilate and the Roman guards or would I have sadly shaken my head, saying it never would have happened if he had just surrendered quietly and told them what they wanted to know. 

Would I have protected myself, like Peter, by denying any relationship with Jesus or would I have been with other women at the foot of the cross? Or maybe I would have just left town, wanting to stay out of any trouble. 

How can we know what we would have done at another time in history? 

One way is to look at what we do now in similar situations. 

What am I doing when I hear about oppression, injustice, or inequity? 

What am I doing when I hear of someone being unjustly accused? 

What am I doing in the face of intentionally divisive words and actions? 

What am I doing to counter false narratives and lies? 

What am I doing to discern and participate in the doing of God's will on earth as in heaven? 

Jesus befriended outcasts, restored folks to community, spoke boldly about the closeness of God, and brought hope to the poor, oppressed, and isolated. To follow him means to be willing to do those same things in my own time. 

All those realities, listed above, have happened in history, just as they are happening today. 

I can know what I would have done then by taking a hard look at what I am doing...

(or not),...

in the same situations,...

right now. 

Chapter, Verse, and Jesus

John 3:14-21

Let’s talk for a moment about chapter and verse. None of the books of the Bible were written with chapters and verses, neither the epistles (letters), the histories, the prophets, or the gospels. Each work was a scroll or set of papyri that flowed. Not only were there not chapters and verses, but neither biblical Hebrew nor biblical Greek have capital letters or punctuation. Better still, biblical Hebrew doesn’t have vowels. 

No capital letters, no punctuation, and sometimes no vowels. This means that when the Holy Spirit guided the first person who wrote down the stories that were circulating orally, they knew what they meant. And the people around them did as well, but after 2-3 generations translators, readers, and copiers are making their best educated guess. Line breaks were used after the scriptures were codified to make reading easier, but a line break was still a guide and an interpretation.

Chapter separations that we would recognize came into being in the very early 1200s, with the purposes being to set the passages to be read aloud to gatherings of monks and nuns (and others). This is why the informal gathering space (as opposed to the sanctuary) in many European cathedrals is called the chapter house. 

The Wycliffe Bible of 1382 used these chapter divisions and so did most Bible afterward. This means that the Bibles of Martin Luther’s childhood, in the late 1400s and early 1500s, most likely had chapter divisions. (These Bibles were, of course, still written in Latin.) 

In the mid-1400s, a rabbi named Nathan created verse divisions for the Hebrew Bible, or what we sometimes call the Old Testament. In the 1550s, a Swiss printer named Robert Estienne created a numbering system for the New Testament. In Estienne’s printed Bibles, both in Latin and in the local languages, the rabbi’s numbering system and his own were combined to produce scriptures with chapter and verse divisions. 

You all know that I like to give you a little history, but you would be entirely within your rights to be wondering why I’m telling you all this. Why does this matter? Why should you care? You ask such good questions. 

The reason this matters is because, if we consider Christianity to be almost two thousand years old, not only did it take a long time for the scriptures to be translated into common language, but chapters and verses happened even after that. This means that no one who we consider critical to the formation of the early church, or the spread of the gospel had any concept of John 3:16. While they were adept at quoting parts of scripture, they had a strong sense of that quote being part of a whole larger point, as opposed to one small point that stood on its own. Drawing a tiny scriptural point away from its context would not have made sense as a tool for evangelism, debate perhaps, but not as a way to draw people to the love and presence of God. 

Thus, for most of Christian history, what we consider one of the most famous verses in scripture didn’t stand alone. For God so loved the world that He gave the only begotten Son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life was part of a whole story. This line comes in the middle of a conversation Jesus is having with a Pharisee. Nicodemus, the Jewish leader, comes to Jesus at night, under cover of the shadows, to ask questions about what Jesus is teaching. 

Jesus explains the concept of the Holy Spirit and of a spiritual rebirth. He speaks of how we see the movement of the wind and its work, even when we don’t see the wind itself. (This is a concept easily understood by people in Montana.) As Nicodemus continues to ask questions, Jesus draws Nicodemus’s attention away from his internal confusion and concern to a view beyond himself. He will never understand enough if he keeps looking inside, but must let his eyes be drawn to the One in front of him, the one who whose very life, and then resurrection and ascension, drew eyes toward God. 

Jesus reminds Nicodemus when people in the desert were being bitten by snakes. God instructed Moses to wrap a snake on a pole. When people were bitten, they were to look up from their wounds, their pain, and their confusion to this sign- sent from the One who had brought them into freedom and was leading them with promise. Looking up, with hope and trust, gave them healing. 

While chapters and verses are helpful for references, they come with the same dangers as the biting snakes and paralyzing doubts. (Not all doubts are paralyzing, just some.) Chapters and verses draw our attention down, to small points, taken out of context, with very little to no sense of the whole story. And the whole story matters because it is the story of God. The story of God and creation. The story of God and other spiritual beings. The story of God and people. The story of God in Jesus. The story of what God has done, is doing, and will do. The whole of the story matters. 

Part of the reason that John 3:16 is popular is because, for many people, it gives an essence of the whole story. I get that. You probably understand that. John 3:16 is meaningful to us because we already have a sense of the whole story, but for the person seeing a John 3:16 sign at a football game or on a billboard or a bumper sticker, if they don’t know what it means already, looking it up doesn’t actually give them any information. 

Almost all of you have been in church for years and yet I know most of you are hesitant to ask questions. And you’re for sure hesitant to answer questions because you don’t like to feel or appear like you don’t know the answer. How much more do you think that applies to someone who finally decides to look up John 3:16? 

For God so loved the world- who is this God? Where is this God from? What does this God’s love look like? What world? Just the people? Everything I can see? What about space? 

He sent his Son- Where did this Son come from? Is he like a comic book hero? What are the Son’s powers? 

That whoever believes in him- What does it mean to believe? What if I have more questions? What if I can’t believe? Does God wait until I believe to do the God-things? Is God’s love dependent on me believing? 

Shall not perish but have everlasting life- Does that mean “not die”? Doesn’t everyone die? What is everlasting life? Would I wander the planet getting older and older? 

Those are all the questions that only come from one verse, if you are a person who has truly never encountered the verse before. And let me be clear, there is not a flaw in a that verse. The flaw is in the idea of a single verse as an evangelism strategy. Even worse, the flaw is in the idea of a single verse, without context or relationship, as an evangelism strategy. 

Jesus doesn’t leave Nicodemus in the dark with a notecard with a verse citation. He talks with him. He listens to his questions. He uses references from the natural world and recalls stories that Nicodemus knows. An understanding of the saving love of God comes not from the specific words, but from the Living Word in the person of Jesus. 

This is exactly how we are called to share the love God has for the world, the love that is so great that it brought the Son into the world, not for condemnation, but so the world might be preserved, might have hope, might flourish through him. 

We don’t draw people from the ways of shadows, as described in this passage, by threats of hell. The Spirit draws them into the brightness of living in God through the light of God’s love shining within the people who are actively choosing daily trust in Christ. 

Perishing, in the context of John, isn’t about death the way we think of it. John’s most common phrase, used in 16/21 chapters, is “abide”- to remain or stay. Jesus, in John, is constantly inviting people into the brightness of God by asking them to abide with him, to stay with him, to remain with him- trusting his words, following his commandments, living according to his teaching. Perishing, then, is the opposite of abiding. It is the reality of feeling separated from the brightness of God, to feel a cloud between oneself and heavenly sunshine. 

The reality of this whole section of John is Jesus explaining to Nicodemus, and then John explaining to us, that perishing is not required. It does not have to be. If we are willing to look up, look to the One who is guiding us, who made us, who so loves the world- we will not perish. We will abide. Forever. 

Looking for that answer within ourselves, trying to make it happen for ourselves, will never work. Single verses and words give us an illusion of control- of the word and of God. The human desire for control makes us addicted to perishing, not because we love the idea of separation, but because we do not trust what we cannot see or prove. 

But you, like Nicodemus, can see what the wind can do. 

How much more can God, the source of all good things, the one who is revealed in the Son, the one who so loves the world, … How much more can God save us from perishing, providing with a place of abiding peace, consolation, and strength that we might be a part of the Divine will for healing the world? 

You know God will do it. You know God has done it. You know God is doing it. 

Psalm 107 says, “Let the redeemed of the Lord say so!” 

(This is your chance to call out a hearty “Amen”.)

Let the redeemed of the Lord say so. 

And how do we know we’re in that number? How do we know that God does indeed so love? How do we trust in such mercy, such grace, and such redemption. 

We trust it is so, beloved, because we’ve been told it. Again, and again. Chapter and verse and beyond. Amen.