"Easter Meditation"
A sermon by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett for Easter Sunday
Preached at Pleasantville United Church of Christ, April 4, 2010
John 20:1-18
“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.’  Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’
(which means Teacher).”

Ever since I was a little girl, I have always loved cemeteries.  I know, it probably sounds strange – but I expect you’re used to that from me by now.  I don’t love every cemetery.  I’m not fond of the huge, usually flat, particularly modern-type cemetery that you sometimes see.  And I definitely don’t care for the kind of cemetery that appears in scary movies.  You know the kind I mean – they’re the ones where the teenage kids always end up in the middle of the night…after their car breaks down…when it’s really really dark….and usually pouring down rain…oh yeah, and there’s some kind of “Psycho” scary music in the background.  I definitely don’t like those kinds of cemeteries. 

What I do like are old cemeteries – cemeteries that have old monuments with angels, and old head stones with moss and lichen growing on them; cemeteries where you can walk around and read the names and study the dates and wonder about the people who are there and the ones they left behind. 

What I do like are cemeteries where someone I love is laid to rest, particularly if I have been the one to bear witness to that journey.

What I love are cemeteries that are carefully tended by people who know that, no matter how much time has past, they will never ever forget.

One of the things I love about Pleasantville is our cemetery.  Pastor Amelie and I got to see the new building last week.  The Builder and the Building Committee took us on a little tour.  We got to stand in the new Sanctuary and feel what a remarkable and already hallowed space it is.  And we got to stand in our new offices and look out the windows – though there aren’t any walls yet or any panes of glass.  But our windows look out onto the cemetery, and that is a beautiful thing.

There are some customs of our life together as Christians that are remarkable in their power and holiness -- customs that, so often, are beyond words to convey.  The funeral procession which is made out of the Sanctuary, down the ramp, and across the church yard is one of the most powerful among these customs.  Here at Pleasantville, that journey is made in prayerful silence with only the sound of the church bell tolling until the very last person has made their way to the gravesite.  Accompanying them from the church to the cemetery is one of the ways we show our love for people.  It’s the way we go the distance with them.

Early in the morning on that first Easter Day, Mary arose before dawn to make her way to the cemetery.  It was time to go to the place where the body of her beloved Jesus lay.  Mary had lost people before; she knew what grief was like.  She knew how it lingered; how it burned; she knew how heavy it was and she knew she would feel this way for a long time.  Finding her way in those pre-dawn hours, she came to stand beside his grave and weep.  It’s what she needed to do.  It’s what all mourners need to do.

Early in the morning, when it was still dark, Mary came to the cemetery expecting to find only the pain and loss that she left there on Friday.  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 had once protected Jesus’ lifeless body were there, but His body was nowhere to be found. 

At first she thought it was the work of grave robbers.  The sight of the empty tomb by itself only made her think that more harm had come to her Lord.  But then she heard the sound of her name.  Then she heard the voice of Jesus speak to her heart as only He could.  And when she did, something impossible happened.  When the Lord spoke to her, she was given a new heart of joy – the kind of joy she thought she would never know again.  The kind of joy that she believed was dead to her and always would be.

Mary had gone to the cemetery expecting to do what she had always done; expecting to grieve as she had always grieved.  But Mary had not counted upon what God would do.  Mary had not figured God into the equation.  She believed, as most of us would, that death was the one constant to which all of us must bow.  But Mary did not yet know that “what stops us does not stop God [emphasis mine].”  Death could not contain the Prince of Peace.  The grave could not hold the Lord of Life.   Mary did not yet know that “[our] extremity is God’s opportunity” and that “miracle is as much a part of the end as of the beginning.”[1]

You know, I am always grateful for the gift of music in worship.  But on Easter, in particular, I am so grateful for the sounds of trumpets and the peal of bells, for the singing of choirs and the beauty of flowers in abundant bloom – because so much of what we mean to proclaim this day can’t be, adequately, put into words.  The gospel writers knew this to be true.  Why else would their accounts of the Resurrection be so brief?  They are filled with beauty and holy power, to be sure, but they waste no words trying to conjure up the glory of that first Easter morn.  What we know of Easter is beyond words.  It’s our soaring “Alleluias” that express Easter’s joy better than anything else.  Because Easter is the last thing we are expecting.

Into a world that is full of sorrow and acquainted with grief, Easter comes with Resurrection power to turn our expectations upside down.

Into a world where hearts are heavy because of hurt and uncertainty and fear about the future, Easter brushes past our lives and renews our trust in God’s good future.

Into a world where we wonder whether hope is worth having and justice is worth longing for, Easter comes to resurrect our hope and renew our faith, to strengthen our ability to love those who need us and to build up Christian lives for purposeful ministry in the world.

On every other day we process from the church to the cemetery and from the cemetery to the grave because we know that such customs express our love and our hope.

But on Easter Day God turns the tables on what we have come to know and expect.  On Easter we process not from the church to the cemetery, but from the cemetery to the church. 

On Easter we process from the darkness of the tomb, to proclaim like Mary that we “have seen the Lord.” 

On Easter we are called to go out and share the miracle with others: that death does not have the last word; that Christ is victorious o’er the grave; that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord; and that “love is the most durable power in the world.”[2] 

Christ the Lord is Risen Today!  Alleluia!  Amen.