"In the Garden"
A Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett for Easter Sunday
Preached at Pleasantville United Church of Christ, April 12, 2009|
John 20:1-18

“[Mary]…turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus.  Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?  Whom are you looking for?’  Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”
(John 20:14-15)

Begin with recording of Ann Miller singing, “In the Garden.”

The first garden I can remember belonged to the house where I spent the first eight years of my life: 2913 Regent Street in Berkeley, California.  The garden sat in front and in back of a two-story house.  There were two flats in the house -- one on the first floor and one on the second.  My sister and Mom and I lived in the downstairs flat.  Two elderly sisters who owned the house lived upstairs.  They had one of those chair-lifts, and every once in a while they would let us ride up and down the stairs on it.  But most of the time, they just scared the daylights out of us.

Everything in their house was a certain shade of green that I have only ever seen in very old funeral homes.  Their house smelled like dust and mothballs.  And whenever we made too much noise downstairs, they would pound the floor with their canes to let us know we were being too loud.  My sister and I lived in fear of the pound, pound, pounding of their warning.  We never knew exactly what might happen if we didn’t quiet down, but we knew it would be bad.

            The house was magical for lots of reasons – the chair lift being only one.  But the most magical thing about the house was its garden.  It had a wonderful garden, tended with great faithfulness by a wonderful gardener.  There were beautifully thriving roses in the front yard and enormous blue hydrangeas in the back.  There were tall Calla Lilies along the side, mixed with great fuchsia bushes of various shades of pink and magenta.  And standing as tall as I was a beautiful purple plant called Cineraria that grows very well in California gardens, but I only see from time to time as a small potted plant here.  There was nothing wild about this garden.  Everything was carefully tended and meticulously pruned, and everything was always beautiful.

            Now Rosemary Green’s garden was something else entirely.  She lived in the Berkeley Hills – a region of low coastal mountains overlooking the San Francisco Bay – and her garden was about as wild as a place could be and still be called a garden – as opposed to, say, a small woodland area.  Rosemary tended her garden just one season a year – in the brief weeks leading up to the great Rosemary Green Easter Egg Hunt.

            My Dad would always go up and help her.  It would be a fierce battle with time and nature to rediscover the overgrown paths and find the outlines of hidden flower gardens.  But by the time Easter rolled around, the ivy would be just barely restrained, the flowers would be in bloom, and more Easter candy would be hidden than would ever be found. 

            It always seemed very important to my Dad to bring Rosemary’s garden back from the brink of extinction.  He wasn’t a religious man, but tending that small patch of earth each year in time for Rosemary Green’s Easter Egg Hunt became a kind of pilgrimage for him.

            The gardens of my childhood -- whether wild or tame -- were full of beauty and wonder.

The story we hear this morning; the story from John’s gospel, describes yet another garden -- only this time, there is a tomb in it.  John’s is the only gospel that situates Jesus’ tomb in a garden – or at least we assume that it’s a garden because Mary mistakes her risen Lord for a gardener. 

Early in the morning on that first Easter Day, Mary Magdalene arose before dawn.  And when she had awoken sufficiently to realize that what had happened those past few days was really true – that it wasn’t just some awful nightmare, she roused herself from sleep and came to the place where the body of her beloved Jesus had been placed in the tomb.  It was still dark when she arrived at the garden, and finding her way carefully in those pre-dawn hours, she came to stand and weep beside his grave.  She came with a heart shattered by grief.  She came to stand and weep as those who mourn do, when they have lost someone they love.

But when she arrived at the place of death, what she found was different than she expected.  The closer she got to the tomb, the more clearly she could see.  It was open.  It was empty.  The shrouds of death that once had protected Jesus’ lifeless body were now folded on the place where he had lain.  But the body was nowhere to be found.

At first she thought it was the work of grave robbers.  At first she expected more pain and sorrow.  But then she encounters the Gardener; the One who speaks her name as only Jesus could – and she recognizes her Risen Lord and Savior.

Early in the morning, when it was still dark, Mary comes to the garden expecting to find only pain and loss.  But when she hears the voice of the Gardener, all her hopelessness, all her fear, all her sorrow lift away and she is not only at peace, she is given joy in her heart once again – so much joy that she is able to go and share it with others. 

That’s how it is in the garden of the Resurrection.

The gardens of my childhood were full of beauty and natural wonders, but the garden of the Resurrection is full of grace and truth. 

Because in the garden of the Resurrection, we can look in the tomb and see angels. 

And in the garden of the Resurrection, we can face the pain of loss, and even the pain of death, and we can see the presence of God in the midst of that place.

In the garden of the Resurrection, we can look in the tomb and behold a Mystery – the kind of Mystery where we know that, in spite of all that breaks our hearts in this world, God is even now making all things new.

In the garden of the Resurrection, we can see the Savior face to face, a Gardener who leads the way to life Eternal.

            I began my sermon by sharing with you a recording of an old and beloved hymn called, “In the Garden,” a hymn based upon this very Easter story from John’s gospel.

The woman singing on the tape was a member of Pleasantville Church named Ann Miller.  At the time of this recording, Ann was quite ill and her illness had progressed so far that she could no longer talk.  Her son had flown in from California to see her before she died.  He wanted to get a tape of her singing her favorite hymn with him accompanying her on his guitar.  But she was unable to pronounce the words. 

Later that day, her son left the nursing home to run an errand.  While he was away, Ann rallied and told her daughter that she thought she would be able to sing.  So her daughter started running the tape.  What we hear is Ann Miller singing her favorite hymn, clearly pronouncing every word, perfectly in tune.  Her son was able to add his guitar part later.

Ann made this recording and passed away the very next day.

In the garden of the Resurrection, miracles happen every day.

Ann knew that she was going to that garden.  She knew that when she got there she would be welcomed by the Gardener, who’d tell her that she was His own.  You can tell she believes this with her whole heart; you can tell by the way she sings it.  You can tell – because if you listen very carefully, all the way to the end -- you will hear her giggle.

End with the recording of Ann Miller singing, “In the Garden.”

“Lo, I tell you a mystery: we shall not all sleep. But we shall all be changed!”

Thanks be to God, who gives us the Victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!  Amen.