Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] Easter – April 17, 2022 “What Difference Does It Make?” Luke 24: 1-12 – Common English Bible Jesus Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing. 5 The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Human One[a] must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” 8 Then they remembered his words. 9 When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others. 10 It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles. 11 Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women. 12 But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and all the other women who had been following Jesus since Galilee… they came at dawn on Sunday morning to properly prepare the body of Jesus who had been executed on Friday, but he had to be quickly laid in Joseph’s tomb before sundown. I’m sure they hadn’t slept as they waited for the end of the Sabbath at dawn on Sunday. If they had, it would have only been nightmares replaying in their heads. Just imagine the horrific violence they had just witnessed. So, when morning finally came, these women were ready. But Rome had ordered everyone to stay away. They had even posted soldiers to guard the tomb. Well, no soldier was going to stop these women. They marched to the tomb filled with grief… and rebellion. I think sometimes when we visualize the women who went to the tomb, we imagine them as meek and mild. But these were not submissive, subservient women. They were subversive. For the sake of their loved one, they would not be timid but determined to disobey the soldiers if necessary. I think they’re like the fearless and bold women throughout history who have fought for their communities and loved ones. For example, I can picture Gloria Richardson. During the civil rights movement of the 1960s, very few women were allowed to lead. They had to endure a similar scent of paternalism like the disciples who thought the women were only telling fairy tales, nonsense about Jesus’ resurrection. But Gloria, a force to be reckoned with, led the 1960s movement in Cambridge, Maryland. There’s a famous, iconic, photo of an officer pointing a bayonet at her head. The photo is snapped just as she pushed it away and walked past him, giving him a look of disdain, like “just try it.” I can see her do the same thing to a Roman soldier. Get out of my way. Or women like Prathia Hall who worked for SNCC (Snick), the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. She and her fellow Snick workers were doing voter education in Southwest Georgia in 1962. They were very much an unwelcome presence. She described one hazy day in the town of Sasser. While she and some freedom workers were walking down a dirt road, a pickup truck screeched to a halt in front of them. An extremely agitated man wearing a little tin badge with a bright red face jumped out of his truck and screamed at them: “I’m a deputy marshal. What are you doing?” Prathia answered that they were teaching people about voting. He began screaming curses at the top of his lungs until he was literally foaming at the mouth. Trembling with rage he pulled out his gun and began firing at the ground around their feet. Eventually the group was shoved into a two-room jail, only a little larger than an outhouse, but which smelled just as bad. She said, “We didn’t know if we would be eaten first by the rats and monstrous bugs in this vermin-infested slime pit or taken out in the dark of night and murdered in the woods.” But there was nothing with which they could be charged, so after this intimidation, they were let go. Back to continue their work. Prathia and her colleagues knew they were in danger just talking to people. In fact, the people they were trying to help often shooed them away. They didn’t want any trouble. Only a few churches were willing to allow movement workers to use their buildings for meetings. Too many were burned down shortly after. It was dangerous, life-threatening work. Why, or how, did anyone do it? Freedom-faith, she called it. She was the daughter of a Baptist preacher and she became one herself – one of the first women ordained by the northern Baptists. She worked for SNCC three more years and then enrolled in Princeton where she earned her Master of Divinity, Master of Theology, and PhD. Freedom-faith fired and fueled her fight. The now Rev. Dr. Prathia Hall described how the power of faith was expressed in the songs and prayers of the movement. It transcended the violent reality of our situation, she said – fashioning fear into faith, cringing into courage, despair into defiance, and pain into protest. In 2002 she said, even today “when I am going through a storm, I breathe those hymns and prayers.”[1] Just like the women who witnessed the empty tomb. With their fear fashioned into faith and their pain into protest, they transcended the violent reality of their situation. And experienced resurrection. Of all the difficult beliefs to believe in the Christian faith, resurrection is about the most difficult. But that’s only if we focus on trying to explain the mechanics or focusing on things like whether it was literal or not. I don’t care whether we “believe” it or how it happened. But I do know it’s still happening today. One of the most inspiring stories I heard this Lent comes from First United Church in Oak Park, Illinois – a church that looks a lot like ours. In the tradition of giving something up for Lent, the church decided to give up whiteness, which meant they were abstaining from hymns and music composed or written by white musicians and in its place used only music written by African American and non-white musicians from around the globe. Among the daffodils on the church lawn, they put up a sign that said “Fasting from Whiteness.” It’s a small, symbolic gesture but part of the church’s broader anti-racist mission, meant to make people think. The pastor said, the work of anti-racism in this country is to take whiteness out of the center for other perspectives to have space. It’s not the hatred of white people, it’s not forever banishing Bach and Beethoven. It’s a symbolic act of inclusion for all people. And then all hell broke loose. This benign and simple act was noticed by some in the national media. Online and cable news went apoplectic. In the tradition of the red-faced marshal with his tin badge frothing at the mouth and trembling with anger, this church was seen as a serious threat to white supremacy. The church was slammed with hundreds of hateful and vulgar letters and emails and voicemails a day, including threats against the pastor’s life. Threats of violence against the church meant that while local and federal law enforcement could investigate and secure the church, their Palm Sunday service was only online to ensure the safety of the congregation. This is 2022! Not 1962. Last week! The church members have had only one complaint. Their message should have been bolder.[2] Well, resurrection is God’s answer to that kind of hatred and violence. It’s God’s “no” to the powers of crucifixion. But resurrection wasn’t “accomplished” on what we call Easter morning. Resurrection was begun. Resurrection was unleashed. You get that? Resurrection began that day. God didn’t stop violence or grieving or suffering. God invites us to take the violence and grieving and suffering that happens every day and transform it. As Dr. Hall described it – to fashion fear into faith, cringing into courage, despair into defiance, and pain into protest. That’s resurrection.
And what does that have to do us with? Whenever we care for one another and engage in social justice or direct service, it is God still raising. Resurrection. Our acts of compassion and justice are rooted in this story that refuses to die. A story that has been told on Easter mornings for 2,000 years. A story that doesn’t allow hate to be the last word. It starts there. A story that doesn’t end in despair. It simply starts there. That’s why we keep coming back not as a rehearsal of the past but a very present help in times of trouble. All who yearn for social justice need stories like this so we can remain vigilant and resilient, and a community, a place to root our work because this work is life-long. These women who willing to witness the violence on Friday were the first witnesses to resurrection on Sunday. They were the first preachers of the gospel. They watched his rejection, betrayal, suffering, and crucifixion, and then proclaimed the good news. He lives. And Jesus still lives through his resurrected body. You! The Body of Christ in the world today. Called to act with justice, called to love tenderly, called to serve one another, and called to walk humbly with God. [1] From Hands on the Freedom Plow: Personal Accounts by Women in SNCC, University of Illinois Press, 2012 [2] https://chicago.suntimes.com/news/2022/4/8/23016850/oak-park-pastor-fasting-whiteness-lent-race-diversity
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