"Remember Resurrection." Easter Sunrise Sermon 2019, Jerusalem

Easter Sunrise Sermon 2019

Mt of Olives, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

Luke 24:1-12

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

“Do you remember?” I asked.

“Do you remember how crowded it was that night in Grant Park? Do you remember how we had to cross a picket line so we could reprint our tickets? Do you remember how I told you that we don’t believe in crossing picket lines because we support workers’ rights, but this had to be an exception?

Do you remember?”

“Mom” said my son with exasperation. “I’ve heard this story. A lot of times.”

This was how the conversation was going around the dinner table after the Maundy Thursday service a few days ago. We had been talking politics (specifically, who we might support in the next US election) and I was suddenly moved to remind my teenage son of how we were in Chicago the night our country elected its first black president—who also happened to live in our neighborhood. It’s true, I have told the story a few times (OK, maybe a few hundred) but it’s only because I really want him to remember. He was only 7 years old, after all, and I worry he might forget! “Do you remember?” I want to know. But more importantly: “Will you remember, when you need to remember?”

On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women came to the tomb, and they did not remember.

They brought spices with them, because what they did remember was the sight of Jesus on the cross. They remembered the sound of his cries. They remembered the brutality of the soldiers. They remembered the agony of his last breaths. They remembered how his body was laid in the tomb, and how the stone sealed the entrance completely.

The women remembered all of that clearly, which is why they were perplexed to find the stone rolled away and no body there at all. But then, while they were still in the tomb, while they were still trying to understand what they were seeing (or not seeing), two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them.

(Side note – have you ever wondered what those “dazzling clothes” looked like? I’m envisioning sequins, sparkles, maybe some fabulous hats. Amen?)

In any case, whatever the men were wearing, now the women were not only perplexed but also terrified. But the men said:

 “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

“Remember!” they said. Remember how Jesus told you. Remember the story.

Remember resurrection.

Of course, it’s terribly easy to forget resurrection.

The suffering and sadness of the world, ongoing occupation and even this seemingly endless winter take up so much space in our lives, in our minds, and in our hearts. It’s easy to forget Jesus’ promise to rise again—and his promise that we will rise with him—when the world (and people) so often disappoint us. What new thing is there to say about New Zealand, the Notre Dame, or Netanyahu? What new thing is there to say about harassment of refugees at the borders, harassment of peace activists at the airport, harassment of friends at checkpoints?

“Haik adeniya”, we might say in Arabic. That’s just life.

But actually, that’s not life, that’s death. 

Like Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them that morning, death is what we see around us. Death is what we’ve come to expect.

So it’s easy to just not notice how the stone is already rolled away.

It’s easy to walk past signs that spring has sprung, to disregard the morning sun.

It’s easy to become cynical, to lose hope, to expect more of the same from people, from the world, from life. 

It’s easy to forget resurrection.

And so, sometimes we need to be reminded.

We need to hear the story again. We need to sing. We need to eat with friends and family.

We need to gather around dinner tables, and in churches, and on rainy mountaintops—some of us in dazzling clothes—to remember how Jesus told us the tomb would not be the end of his story, and therefore it’s not the end of ours.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

But friends, just to be clear: this is not a memorial service. We’re not here on the Mt. of Olives, watching the sun rise, to commemorate that once upon a time, resurrection happened in this city. And we’re not here to anoint or bury anything! We’re here to look forward. We’re here to rejoice in the promise of tomorrow. We’re here to gather strength to live the Good News of the resurrection.

Poet, cultural critic, and farmer Wendell Berry wrote a beautiful piece in the 1970’s called “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front”, which I return to every so often when I want to know what it looks like, not only to remember resurrection, but to put it in to practice. The poem is too long to read in its entirety, but these lines especially stick with me. He writes:

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts. 

Practice resurrection.  

(Read the full poem here: Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front)

The words of this poem remind me that Jesus did not die and rise again so that we would hold our breath for 364 days a year, and then exhale only on Easter morning. He did not die and rise again so that we would make our home in tombs and only visit our resurrection hope when the church calendar tells us it’s time.

Jesus died and rose again so that all our tomorrows, all our mornings, would be Easter morning. Because he is risen, all our days are the Day of Resurrection.

Dear siblings in Christ, what does it look like in your life to remember resurrection, and then to practice it?

Maybe it means going to that person in your life who needs to be shown that the stone is already rolled back from the tomb, and help them know the light of God’s love is already with them.

Maybe it means resisting the dreadful pull of despair and cynicism, choosing to hold on to the hope of peace, justice, and liberation in this land—and every land.

Maybe it means learning something new, or letting go of something that needs to be released, or letting yourself love and be loved.

Maybe, for you, practicing resurrection simply means getting out of bed tomorrow morning and embracing the day, remembering that it is written: “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

Dear siblings in Christ, remember how Jesus told us that he would be crucified, and on the third day he would rise again.

Remember resurrection. Practice resurrection.

This is how we defy the powers and principalities that desire to keep us contained in the tomb. 

This is how we resist the forces of injustice, division, and despair.

This is how we bring down walls. This is how we lift up the oppressed.

And this is how we give thanks and praise to God for Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, who by his dying has destroyed death, and by his rising has restored our life.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!