April 14, 2024
3rd Sunday of Easter, Pastor Jodi Houge
A few years ago, the church I served gathered around ten month old Edie as she was baptized. As the water poured over that sweet child’s head, Jesus promised Edie that she would never ever be alone. That she would be covered in the love of God her entire life. No matter what. Jesus said yes to her that day and will always say yes to her.
About a year later, at the ripe old age of 2, Edie became an assisting minister. (Look out assisting minister, these kids are coming for your job) At the time, I worked as a very part time chaplain at the longterm care facility called Sholom Home on West 7th street, leading protestant services on Monday mornings for a group of seniors who lived there.
Edie started volunteering every Monday morning. (Show pic) That’s her next to me in the pic on the screen.
Nearly single dear soul that gathered in that room was wheelchair bound, some were in the memory care unit. Edie arrived every week and helped light the battery powered altar candles. She brought along her mom who volunteered to play the piano. Edie greeted everyone individually. Church, she was two years old and beamed love and welcome. .
When it was time for Holy Communion, I made my way around the room, bringing wine and bread to every person who wanted it. And Edie went with me from person to person, watching and smiling and wondering. She’d wait and wait for everyone to be served and then finally at the end, she, too would share Communion.
She got it.
She knew that love was in the meal. In that room. In that moment. It was a glimpse of the resurrection and Edie was the one who pointed it out to the rest of us. Even to the resident who did not believe in women pastors and who hated tattoos and here she was, stuck with me. To her credit, she showed up. I suspect in large part to receive a blessing from a wide eyed two year old.
Another Monday regular was Ramona. She was a life-long faithful Christian. She wore gorgeous sweater sets and treated everyone to Hot Cross Buns on Good Friday. Ramona’s room was on the second floor and she could see the houses across the street. She told us that resurrection for her was seeing the flowers planted in yard of the little red house every spring. “Oh they are so beautiful.” Ramona died while I was still there. I got to sit with her in her last hours and read her Psalm 23 and we prayed the Lord’s Prayer. Both of which had carried her through her life. I told her God loved her and says yes to her, even now in this time of death.
Each week, the resurrection was being practiced that nursing home in St Paul on a Monday mornings.
We are in resurrection season here in the church world. It’s always resurrection season, but we go bigger with it during Easter Season. If you are unfamiliar with church culture, you know it by the lilies and the brass sections and we tend to say Alleluia (Alleluia, he is risen) a lot.
The other thing you might notice is that on the Sunday after Easter, church ends with an invitation to be a part of a pop up choir that sings the Hallelujah Chorus. Raise your hand if you sang in the pop up last week? I wasn’t brave enough during first service. But by the the second service, I found my way up there. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hit half of those notes and I haven’t tried to read choral music since undergrad. And I had to ask Dennis where the soprano section was. No matter. Dennis and Tim who lead all our music will let anyone up. I am a testimony. I wanted to be surrounded by that thong of people belting out those words. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. For the lord God omnipotent reigneth! What joy. What assurance. It’s been in my head all week. It’s beautiful.
However, when you turn to the actual resurrection stories in the Gospels, our big joyful Easter practices are odd. The Gospel stories are mostly terrified people huddling together, trying to make sense of they were experiencing. In real time. They crowded together in rooms and in their grief went for long walks. Today they are once again together, hashing things out. And Jesus comes to them and says “Peace” and asks for something to eat. They give him some fish and he took it and ate it in their presence. Don’t you love a God who eats?
The disciples cannot believe what they see (and have to rule out that Jesus might be a ghost). Which makes me wonder if they had had previous experiences with ghosts.
And is clear in these stories that resurrection comes as a surprise. Even though Jesus told them straight out: “Look, I”m going to suffer, die and be raised.”
The Resurrected Jesus still shocked them.
None of it depended upon the disciples being able to understand it. It did not depend upon their participation. Or their feelings.
Which means I can say to you with confidence this morning: resurrection does not depend upon you. Try as you might, you cannot raise the dead. It is the work of God.
We live under the circumstances of Resurrection.
It does not depend upon you wrapping your mind around, believing it, participating in it, noticing it.
But oh. What joy when you train your eyes to see it.
And it is available to you in the place and life that you live. That’s why Jesus eats the fish in this story. In that moment of uncertainty—the disciples knew that a resurrected Jesus that can chew and swallow and lick the crumbs off his fingers is as real as it gets.
Think back through your week. Is there a moment when you felt God’s promise wash over you? Where you caught a glimpse of the risen Christ? Maybe, like the disciples, it was while you were having breakfast with friends. Or when you expected only death and judgment but somehow received life? I’m going to give you a minute to think about your week. (Pause)
As Pastor Lois said in the children’s time on Easter, even empty places have God’s love.
Remember all these accounts of the Risen Christ begin with Jesus bringing peace to terrified people who thought they were in an empty place.
Training our eyes to see death and tombs is easy.
If there is no place that God is not. If there is no place that God is not then every single one of our tombs could be a place of resurrection. Jesus is always working near the hurt. Near your hurt.
Let’s train our eyes to see life. It’s true that it doesn’t depend upon us. But I don’t want to miss any of the new life around us. So we join Edie and Ramona. We all join together to become watchers, noticers, anticipators of new life, of folks who trust that Jesus brings peace to terrified people.
It might look like a 2 year old holding grace in her paddy cake hands. Or an elder settling under the comforting words of a Psalm. It will look differently for each of us because our lives are unique. Each time, it’s as if God has assembled a choir to surround us and bathe us in her promises of rising and mercy and healing. Forever and ever and ever and ever. Hallelujah.