March 27, 2016 - Easter Day
One of the alfombras in Antigua, Guatemala. After the procession. |
Luke 24:1-35
24 But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to
the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. 2 They found the
stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they went in, they did not find
the body. 4 While they were
perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. 5 The women were
terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why
do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. 6 Remember how he
told you, while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Son of Man must be handed over
to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” 8 Then they
remembered his words, 9 and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven
and to all the rest. 10 Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James,
and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. 11 But these words
seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. 12 But Peter got up
and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by
themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.
28 As they came near the village to which they were going, he
walked ahead as if he were going on. 29 But they urged him strongly, saying,
“Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So
he went in to stay with them. 30 When he was at the table with them, he
took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31 Then their eyes
were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. 32 They said to
each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us
on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” 33 That same hour
they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their
companions gathered together. 34 They were saying, “The Lord has risen
indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” 35 Then they told what had happened on the
road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
Sermon:
“Resurrection Dust”
Easter is celebrated in some
very curious ways throughout the world.
If you lived in Bermuda,
you’d fly a colorful, cross-shaped kite to symbolize Jesus’ resurrection and
ascension.
If you lived in Hungary,
you’d throw buckets of cold water on women to keep them “fresh.” Hmm.
If you lived in Corfu,
Greece, you’d smash pottery by flinging it from your windows onto the street
below at exactly 11 a.m., symbolizing getting rid of old things in preparation for
the new. (A good incentive to be indoors
in church at 11 a.m., so as not to get knocked out, I’d say!)
If you lived in Norway, you’d
embrace the mystery and intrigue of Jesus’ sentencing, crucifixion and
resurrection by reading a crime novel.
My favorite tradition I
discovered comes from Antigua, Guatemala.
If you lived in that small
town, surrounded by volcanoes, you would make intricately beautiful, mile-long
carpets out of colored sawdust and local plants.
People in Antigua, Guatemala
work tirelessly making these alfombras,
covering the old cobblestoned streets with a solid layer of sawdust and then
topping that with vibrant patterns of Mayan and Christian symbols. Whole neighborhoods work together to make
mile-long carpets, while families make smaller carpets. The carpets are regularly sprayed with water
to keep the colored sawdust from being swept away by the wind before the right
moment. That moment comes at 4 a.m. on
Good Friday.
What has taken days and days
of painstaking labor disappears in a matter of minutes, as a great procession
tramples all over the makeshift carpets, leaving nothing but piles of sawdust
in their wake. Come Easter morning, all
that remains are remnants of sawdust scattered between old cobblestones. What was beautiful and brilliant was also
fleeting and fragile. Which is why this
is my favorite Holy Week tradition I came across.
Because that’s what Easter –
today – is, isn’t it? Beautiful and brilliant resurrection in the
midst of feeling and fragile life.
We hear this in Luke, where
the resurrection was a beautiful sight: with dazzling angels and bold words, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not
here, but has risen.” The women went
to tell the disciples this amazing news, but it was as if they had trampled the
beautiful carpets on their way: these men didn’t see for themselves, so they
didn’t believe it. Except Peter, who,
ever the eager beaver, ran to check out that tomb himself.
We
then encounter two disciples walking to Emmaus. They walk away from the place
of the resurrection, but, as Gerhard Von Rad put it, “they are turning away
from Jesus, but they are still talking about him.” It seems the dust of the resurrection still
clings to their sandals. Jesus comes,
and they are kept from recognizing him.
After all, there’s no leftover dazzle at this point in our story – it’s
trampled away into folklore. All that
remains is a dusty travel companion, a stranger, in the Greek, an “alien.” The dust of that resurrection scandal swirls
around them as they tell the story to this stranger, not knowing it’s his story,
saying they wish they could believe it.
Jesus,
irritated by their persistent doubt, weaves that resurrection story into the
story of all of scripture, like crafting a beautiful alfombra. Still, they don’t
see him for who he is. But they do a
remarkable thing anyway: they ask him to
stay, ‘because it is almost evening.’
You see, just a touch of that resurrection dust is a powerful
thing. It can make grieving, worried
people invite a foreigner into their home.
It can make people who think evil has won defeat it with the simple act
of welcoming a wanderer instead of leaving him alone in the dark.
And
then the guest becomes the host, as Jesus takes bread, blesses it and breaks
it, as he’s done with them so many times before. For a beautiful, fleeting moment, they see
him as he is. Their risen Lord! But just as quickly as that resurrection
recognition comes, it is gone. Jesus
disappears. Beautiful and brilliant resurrection in
the midst of fleeting and fragile life.
It
turns out, just a taste of resurrection is all it took. That Easter table became a sending table, and
out they went, presumably right into the dark night, no longer fearing it, to
tell the good news, “The Lord is risen indeed!”
Sometimes,
we long for a resurrection that will last.
An Easter that will be burned into our hearts in such a way that we
never fear darkness again. But it seems
Easter comes to us in less constant ways, like those beautiful alfombras in Antigua. We are surprised with vibrantly-colored,
radiant life and then, almost as soon as we’ve seen it, that life seems to
disappear before our eyes. So it has
always been, from the very first Easter.
This is not because God is impatient or indifferent or inconstant.
This
is because Easter is such a powerful thing – the resurrection of Jesus to raise
us all with him – is such a powerful thing, that even the tiniest taste of it
can change a life. Like the cracks
between those weathered cobblestones in Antigua, our lives hold remnants of
this resurrection, and often, we don’t even notice them. Our eyes are kept from recognizing Jesus,
just like those disciples. Grief will do
that. Fear will do that. Hatred will most definitely do that.
And
so, we do what those doubting disciples did: we come to a table, where bread is
broken and shared, where all the strangers are welcomed in from the dark, and we
find that our hearts have been burning within us all along (it’s just we’ve
been too distracted and afraid to notice).
And then we go, into the fearful night, flinging resurrection dust all
the way and proclaim that most wonderful of news: “the Lord is risen! He is risen indeed!” Alleluia!
Amen.