Sermon for Easter Sunday, Year A, "Dos and Don'ts," John 20:1-18, Matthew 28:1-10

 Sermon 4/9/23

John 20:1-18, Matthew 28:1-10

Dos and Don’ts

I’ve been telling you, on Palm Sunday, and again on Maundy Thursday, that our best strategy for being disciples is to stay close to Jesus. “Stay with me,” Jesus was asking us. But today, this Easter morning, Jesus’s message is strikingly different: “Don’t hold on to me.” - “Go!” How do we get from one to the other? Why does Jesus tell Mary not to hold on to him, to stay with him? And what do his words mean for our discipleship? 

Today we’ve heard the Easter stories from two gospels - John’s gospel - the most well known version - and Matthew’s account. This phrase - “don’t hold on to me” - occurs only in John’s version, although I think the meaning of the phrase is in Matthew’s account too. At first brush, Jesus’s words sound kind of dismissive to me, as if Mary is somehow being too clingy. And I don’t know about you, but if I thought that my dearest loved one, my teacher, who I’d devoted my life to, had died, been put to death, and then suddenly they seemed to somehow be alive after all, resurrected: well, I’d be clingy. I wouldn’t want to let them out of my sight for a second. Instead, the first thing, nearly the only thing Jesus really says to Mary, aside from getting her to recognize who he is, is this “Do not hold on to me.” Jesus says that he is “ascending to God,” as if that explains everything, and while he tells Mary what not to do, he does also tell her what she should do: “Go and tell.” Go and tell the disciples what she’s seen. She does. “I have seen the Lord.” Mary is the first preacher of the resurrection news. 

Still, why the “don’t hold on to me?” I’ve been trying to think about where I’ve heard this phrase in my life - it was sort of striking at my memories. “Don’t hold on to me.” When do we say that? And it struck me: My 8 year old niece Siggy says this to me all the time, whenever she is trying to do something daring, some trick she’s working out, some gymnastic maneuver, some tumbling feat, some wild antic she has a vision of in her head, and I, Aunt Beth, have visions of broken bones and the potential for head injuries, and I just want her to be safe, and so I want to hold on to her - steady her, make her more secure, make her take a bit less of risk. “Aunt Beth, don’t hold on to me,” said with a little exasperation, and a little thrill at whatever feat of daring she’s about to try. And so I try - I try to let go enough for her to be the brave and bold person she wants to be. 

I can only imagine that Mary, that others, seeing Jesus, who they thought they had lost, would want to “keep” him. They failed to protect him before - but now that they have a second chance, they will protect him from harm. They won’t let him out of their sight. This time, they will stand up to his enemies, they won’t fall away, they will get it right, and they will stick to Jesus like glue. But things have changed. Now, if they want to stay with Jesus, they have to let go, because Jesus is on the move. Jesus has things to do. Jesus is going to God, and the best way to be with Jesus now will be to let him go, so that they can get to work sharing the good news of resurrection and life. It’s a big shift to make. I can only imagine how Mary must have felt, leaving Jesus at the tomb. But whatever hesitation she might have been feeling, and however much she worried, however much her impulse was to resist the “don’t hold on to me,” she does just what Jesus asks. 

Matthew’s Easter story is a bit different, but I think it actually mirrors John’s gospel well. In Matthew, Mary Magdalene is accompanied by another Mary - Jesus’s mother perhaps, or one of the other women with this common name. They first find an angel, a messenger of God at the empty tomb. Matthew also starts with a “don’t” - don’t be afraid. “Don’t be afraid,” the messenger says. “You’re looking for Jesus, but he has been raised.” And, as in Matthew, the messenger doesn’t want the women to linger. They get to “come and see,” but then they have a task: “Go - quickly - and tell.” The women obey, both full of joy, but still full of fear, despite instructions. But before they can get to the disciples, they see Jesus himself. Perhaps sensing that they haven’t yet listened fully to the messenger’s “don’t,” Jesus repeats it and their task. “Don’t be afraid. Go and tell.” We don’t know if the women remained afraid or not, but we don’t hear about it again. So perhaps, from Jesus’s own mouth, they could let those words sink in. “Don’t be afraid.”

It isn’t that Jesus doesn’t want us to stay close to him once Easter hits, once the resurrection happens. It’s that we have to make sure we’re staying close to Jesus for the best reasons. Are we holding on to Jesus because of his risk-taking that makes us uncomfortable? Is it that we want Jesus to be safe - so we can be safe? Does Jesus and his way of confronting, and breaking boundaries, and making a stir scare us? Do we want to hold on, to stay close, to keep an eye on Jesus? There’s a deep connection between “Don’t hold on to me” and “don’t be afraid.” Jesus knows our default mode is to be afraid. As much as we long for new life, new life is actually pretty scary too. It is so unknown. New life changes everything. And as much as we might be ready for change, the lives we know are comfortable. Safe. “Don’t be afraid.” Again and again in the scriptures, and again right here - “don’t be afraid.” 

One of my favorite theologians, Walter Brueggemann, writes: “Being unafraid is an odd vocation; but it is the vocation of all those who have been baptized. We are different when baptized. The Acts account of the early church says that the Spirit of God came upon Jesus in baptism …. What the Spirit does is visit our lives … with the freedom of God, so that we are unafraid in the world, able to live differently, not needing to control, not needing to dominate, not needing to accumulate, not driven by anxiety.” The disciples, he says, were “known, named, and unafraid people,” who “turned the world upside down.” “Or better to say, they turned the world right side up.” He continues: “The truth is that frightened people will never turn the world, because they use too much energy on protection of self. It is the vocation of the baptized, the known and named and unafraid, to make the world whole.” (1) 

“Don’t hold on to me, Aunt Beth.” Maybe I’ll never read John’s Easter account again without Siggy’s voice ringing in my ear. And oh, I want to hold on! I want my girl to be safe, and sometimes, her antics leave me full of fear! But more than I want to hold on, I want her to experience life to the full. I want her to be brave, to take big risks so that she finds great joy. 

And that’s what God wants for us, too. “Don’t hold on to me,” says Jesus. Resurrection is risky stuff. And it’s active. New life means being on the move. Jesus has things to do. And as resurrection people, staying with Jesus means letting him go, so he can go ahead of us into the world, and we can follow. Don’t hold on, but don’t be afraid. Instead, come and see, and then go and tell, and go and tell, and go and tell. 

Amen. 

 

1. A Way Other than Our Own, 60-61. 

Sermon for Maundy Thursday, Year A, "Staying or Leaving," Matthew 26:20-29, 36-46

 Sermon 4/6/23

Matthew 26:20-29, Matthew 26:36-46

Staying or Leaving

You’ve probably heard that when animals feel like they are on high alert, under stress, or under attack, they have a “fight or flight” response. Some animals, when in danger, will do everything they can to get away as fast as possible. Some, when cornered, will lash out, ready to fight, ready to harm in order to get free. There’s actually another option - “freeze” - some animals freeze, like the proverbial deer caught in the glare of headlights, immobilized with fear. Of course, we are animals too, we humans, and we sometimes find ourselves deeply driven by fight, flight, and freeze responses too.  Sometimes we are in genuine danger - and we must figure out if we need to flee or fight or freeze in response to a threat, to abuse, to something or someone that can do harm to us. 

But sometimes, we react like we’re responding to a threat, to danger, but our minds are confusing danger and discomfort. Here’s what I mean: Those of you who’ve known me for some time now might remember that I will admit that my default mode is to be a conflict-avoider. I think that mostly falls into the “flight” response category to stress, but I also manage to try to pretend a conflict just isn’t happening sometimes too. I do not like conflict. I don’t like it when people are arguing, when people are being unkind and hurtful. I don’t like it when people’s feelings are hurt - the emotional pain of others really bothers me. And when I see that happening as a result of conflict, my impulse is to try to fix, to smooth things over, to do anything I can to suppress the sense of conflict. 

My conflict-avoidant response is something I’ve had to work on a lot over the years, particularly because leadership roles and the flight response or the “pretend this isn’t happening” response don’t work so well together! In fact, a lot of leadership guidebooks will tell you that a good technique for leaders is knowing when to “turn up the heat” on tense, conflict-ridden situations. Conflict, when handled thoughtfully, can actually be an ingredient for new life in an organization, in a community, in a congregation. Staying committed and attentive and ready to work through things during a conflict in healthy relationships can lead to meaningful transformation. One of my favorite scholars, Donna Haraway, calls this “staying with the trouble.” If you can work past the fight, flight, and freeze responses of conflict, if you can “stay with the trouble,” stay committed to the work, something really transformative might happen. 

I mentioned in my sermon on Sunday that the events of Palm Sunday are the start of this pressure-cooker intensity where Jesus is pretty consistently confrontational, taking actions and making statements that require a response. Jesus is “turning up the heat.” And all of those who have been following Jesus - the crowds, the women who supported his ministry with time and money, the disciples - they are all confronted with a decision in response to the increasing pressure: fight, flight, freeze. Or… or, another way. Staying with the trouble. Staying with Jesus. A path that might lead to transformation. 

I’ve read the gospel accounts of the passion narrative, the last days of Jesus’ pre-resurrection life, so many times, preached on them, taught about them so many times. And yet somehow I never noticed until this week that in Matthew’s account - our focus today - and in Mark’s account, Jesus, while dining with the disciples at what we call The Last Supper, brings up Judas’ betrayal and Peter’s denial before he says the words that have become our sacrament of communion. In other words, Jesus says: I know that among you, my closest followers who I have spent years with, one of you will deny ever knowing me, and one of you will betray me into the hands of those who want to execute me - and then he shares with them the bread and cup, signs of his body, his blood, his life given for those very disciples. In Luke’s account, it’s the other way around - Jesus shares the new covenant of communion, and then, as things are wrapping up, talks about Peter’s pending denial. So Jesus is sitting with the knowledge of what will unfold, but the disciples are (mostly) blissfully ignorant. But here in Matthew, everyone has to stay at the table together with this painful, awful truth Jesus has just lobbed into their midst. Denial and betrayal are about to unfold - but right now they have to sit together still. Right now, they have to accept the unfathomable grace of God poured out literally and figuratively by Jesus, as he breaks the bread, as he passes the wine. Jesus turns up the pressure - and they just have to sit there. 

Somehow, they made it through that meal, a meal that I can only imagine was so fraught with unspoken questions, accusations, explanations. But eventually, the pressure, the confrontation, the truth Jesus speaks to them - the disciples fall away. Judas departs, returning only to see Jesus handed over to the authorities. Peter will deny Jesus, just as Jesus said. But even before that, he and James and John escape into sleep, finding a way, perhaps like my technique, of pretending the conflict around them just isn’t happening. Maybe they can just sleep through it, and Jesus - and his words - will be easier to take the next day. The next day, though, only has more heartache in store. 

I said on Sunday that we need to stay close to Jesus - but staying with Jesus is pretty hard on a night like this, isn’t it? Jesus always stays close to us. But can we stay close to Jesus? On this holy night, I wonder: how have we - how are we putting distance between ourselves and Jesus? When the path of discipleship gets to be too much, how do we try to turn down the heat, avoid the conflict, deflect the responsibility and work and risk and sacrifice that discipleship entails? And on this holy night, I wonder: how can we draw closer to Jesus? How can we stay? Stay with the trouble. Stay through the crisis. Stay through our doubts and fears. Stay through our failures. Stay through the discomfort. Stay even when staying means Jesus shining a light on everything we don’t want to examine in our lives and world. Jesus asks us: Will we stay? 

Let’s linger, a little, in the garden, in the dark, in the midst of heartache, in the grieving. Even though we want to get to Easter, where it’s bright and sunny and pastel and joyful, let’s stay. Because our task, our purpose, the very meaning of discipleship is to be where Jesus is. We have to stay with him. And tonight, Jesus is at his most vulnerable, and asking if we can stay, if we can share with him and in him even though it is so hard, and so uncomfortable, and so demanding, and so full of grief and pain. Let’s stay. Amen.  

Sermon for Palm/Passion Sunday, Year A, "Verse Twelve," Matthew 21:1-11

Sermon 4/2/23

Matthew 21:1-11

Verse Twelve

I don’t usually give a message on Palm/Passion Sunday. My preaching professor in seminary, the late Dr. Charles Rice, always said that the combined events of celebrating the Triumphant Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem with palms and Hosannas and of remembering the Passion of Jesus Christ by concluding with the telling of Jesus’ arrest, trial, and crucifixion was enough. The text preaches itself, he said. We don’t need to add more words. Over the years, I’ve found his words to ring true, and because of the vividness of the readings, and the juxtaposition of the crowds yelling, “Hosanna, God save us!” at the start of the worship service and then yelling, “Crucify, Crucify him!” by the end, I’ve found Palm/Passion Sunday to be one of the most meaningful worship services of the year. And so I’m not really giving a lengthy sermon today either, I promise! Just a little contextualizing, I think. The events of Palm Sunday and of the Passion of Jesus are as compelling as ever, but I want to help focus our attention just a bit. 

Have any of you seen the TV show How I Met Your Mother? Really, the content of the show doesn’t matter - but I wanted to talk about a technique they use in one episode. In one episode, it begins with the whole gang at a restaurant, out to brunch, pausing for a photo that looks perfect - everyone is dressed up, everyone is smiling, and it seems to capture a happy moment. But then in the rest of the episode, we find out everything that has led up to that moment of the photo, and everything that happens afterwards, and let’s just say, it isn’t all so happy and lovely as the freeze-frame photo will look. 

I’ve had that episode in my mind - that “freeze frame” image in my mind as I’ve read Matthew’s account of Palm Sunday. Imagine that the photo, the freeze frame of Palm Sunday is Jesus, riding into Jerusalem, crowds spreading their cloaks on the ground, or spreading branches out before him, a sign of honor, or shouting the greeting that is also a plea: Hosanna - God save us - blessed is the one who comes in God’s name - familiar lines of scripture that also signified that this crowd at least saw Jesus as a king, a savior, a messiah - an anointed one who would fix things, maybe work for the overthrow of Rome. It makes a vibrant, exciting image, and it has always left me feeling like I wanted to be part of that parade, part of that crowd, welcoming Jesus, crying, “Hosanna!” 

But if we “zoom out” on the freeze frame photo of Palm Sunday, we find a more complicated story. The beginning several verses of our text from Matthew show Jesus and the disciples finalizing details for entering Jerusalem. Matthew’s account seems to involve a complicated arrangement of both a colt and a donkey, and Jesus inexplicably riding on both, because Matthew, God bless him, didn’t really understand the repetitive nature of Hebrew poetry, the scripture he is trying so hard to show Jesus fulfilling. But however he gets there, eventually Jesus is on a donkey - or two - headed into Jerusalem. It isn’t in Jerusalem, though, that the crowds are cheering him. It’s on the road heading into the city that Jesus and the disciples are accompanied by a crowd. Who are these people? We don’t really know. Were they Jesus followers already? Had they been listening to his teaching and preaching? Had they been healed by Jesus? Where are they coming from? Did some come from Jerusalem to meet and escort him in, or are these all out-of-towners? Whoever they are, it is this crowd who seems excited about Jesus, anxious for his saving power to be at work in their lives, even if we might wonder if they had the same idea as Jesus about what it meant to be saved. 

But once Jesus gets into Jerusalem, the joyous parade changes in tone. In verse 10 we read that “the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’” The word “turmoil” there has some interesting definitions. Turmoil means  shaken to and fro like a poised spear, shaken to the foundation. It is a word that describes earthquakes. It is concussion-causing agitation or disturbance. It’s a word used with accusation, spite, extortion, and blackmail. (1) The Jerusalem crowd is in turmoil - shaken to their core - when Jesus comes into town. They know him to be a prophet, and they don’t seem excited to greet him. When the parade hits Jerusalem, everything is different. 

That’s where our text for today ends. But of course, that’s not where the story ends. Next comes verse 12. The Jerusalem crowds are shaken, and they should be, because in verse 12, a newly-arrived-to-town Jesus heads straight to the temple, and drives out all of those who are buying and selling in the temple, implying that those partaking in the long-established temple are nothing better than robbers in a house of prayer. Some - those with little standing in society - come to Jesus - the blind and lame come for healing, and children in the temple are still honoring Jesus with Hosannas. But those who “counted” in temple life - the chief priests and scribes - are less excited. Jesus “cleansing the temple”  - as these events are called - happens on Palm Sunday too. It’s not part of the perfect parade picture - but it’s still the same day. 

Palm Sunday sets up the contrasts - between who is with Jesus on the road, and who encounters Jesus in the city; between those on the margins of society who embrace Jesus, and those in the center of things who feel like they’ve been through an earthquake when they’re in his presence; between those who have little access to power structures, and those who are wielding great power at the expense of others. And Palm Sunday starts this sequence of events that just increases in intensity. After the cleansing of the temple, Jesus spends the next day teaching in parables and continuing to fight with the religious leaders. These parables are “lighter” parables about seed and forgiveness and the lost and found. They’re about preparedness, judgment, and people who miss Jesus’s message, miss what God is trying to say. Palm Sunday is the day that the pressure cooker of Holy Week starts to increase the temperature. Jesus is confrontational with everyone, even a fig tree that isn’t bearing fruit! Always confronting. 

This Palm Sunday, this Holy Week, can we look beyond the freeze frame photo of the Palm parade? As always, our best strategy is to stick as close to Jesus as possible - on the margins, instead of at the center, in the places where power is shared insead of gathered up. Stick close to Jesus. In Holy Week, from Verse Twelve on, we see that sticking with Jesus is no easy task. Judas, Peter, the rest of the twelve, the religious leaders, others who are condemned by the same system of oppression that condemns Jesus - so many find it difficult to continue following Jesus when the palms stop waving. We might find it difficult too. And sometimes Jesus is confronting us - calling us out, calling us to accountability, calling us to repentance. Even so - stick close. Search the stories for those who stay with Jesus. Search for those who find their way back again. Search out the ways God keeps calling us. After the parade, then what? We’ve shouted our hosannas. Where will Jesus us find us next? 

Amen.  

1. Henry George Liddell. Robert Scott. A Greek-English Lexicon. revised and augmented throughout by. Sir Henry Stuart Jones. with the assistance of. Roderick McKenzie. Oxford. Clarendon Press. 1940.,

http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=e%29sei%2Fsqh&la=greek&can=e%29sei%2Fsqh0&prior=*)ieroso/luma&d=Perseus:text:1999.01.0155:book=Matthew:chapter=21:verse=10&i=1#lexicon