Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

When my husband needed heart surgery almost 20 years ago, I did my best to prepare myself for it. I was very attentive to the doctor’s explanations. I studied the hospital brochures describing the procedure. I took note of how the recovery would go. John and I discussed the scary scenarios we’d meet in the unlikely case that things didn’t go as predicted. And I prayed, prayed, prayed.

As much as I thought I understood what to expect, I faced that day with both confidence and terror. I sat in the surgical waiting room with my sister Sara. Pastor Susan and various friends dropped by to sit with me, and we fretted like women mixing spices to attend to the body.

A few long hours into the procedure, the nurse called from the operating room to update me. “Everything is going well,” she explained, “We’ve connected him to the heart and lung machine, which will keep his body functioning while we work on the heart.” Gulp.

For a moment there, I felt like the floor had opened up beneath me, and I had to trust the inconceivable: that the medical community could carry my beloved one through this ordeal and bring him back to me safely. They did. But I’ve never forgotten the feeling of having to believe something that made no sense to me, and of trusting that love would remain no matter what.

It’s not just heart surgery. Think about the unimaginable things we choose to accept. We board airplanes weighing 40 tons, that somehow soar above the clouds. Come on. We speak to people half-way across the country, face-to-face in real time, because an extremely long sequence of 0s and 1s travels along satellite and fiber optics.

It feels like an idle tale, but I love that it works.

The women’s report of dazzling messengers and an empty tomb seems too inconceivable to the disciples, but Peter runs back to the grave anyway, stoops down, and catches the hope of those abandoned linens. (Luke 24:1-12)

I wonder how many of us arrived here this morning, feeling like he must have. This all seems like an idle tale, but we show up, regardless. Easter invites us to imagine news we can’t really accept as trustworthy and live as if it is.

There are all kinds of idle tales we act upon.

It’s probably just an idle tale that art can change the world. But sure enough, poets string together surprising combinations of words. Violinists pull their bows across strings. Knitters cast on another row of stitches. Photographers find just the right angle to frame their shot, and all around the world, people drop little brushes into pots of color and draw a line on a fresh sheet of paper, making the world a sweeter place.

It’s probably foolish to believe that individual efforts can turn back climate change, but day after day, we carry our canvas bags to the grocery store, rinse out our milk cartons for recycling, hang up our laundry, and compost the vegetable scraps.

There are people who let themselves fall in love, knowing that it risks inevitable heartbreak, and compromise, and watching TV shows you don’t even like, and guessing that one day you will say goodbye to half of your heart, but it will feel like the whole thing.

Parents decide that even though the world is falling apart, icebergs are melting and wildfires raging, the hope of welcoming a newborn into their lives is an absolutely perfect idea. They begin to work for a future they don’t even trust is going to happen.

People carry signs and smile at strangers, advocate for justice, prepare legal briefs, and write letters to their representatives, not positive any of it will make a difference, but willing to try.

Idle tales have never stopped those who love and hope and pursue a new day.

I don’t know what type of death you’ve experienced in your lives this year. Maybe you’ve lost a job, or a pregnancy. Maybe you’ve lost a parent, or a beloved spouse, or God forbid, a child who lost their way. Maybe your family has rejected you, or your marriage is falling apart. Maybe you’ve been given a rough diagnosis. Maybe you’ve been horrified by the news. Maybe you’ve lost your faith in your government or lost your faith. Maybe you’ve become so anxious that you can’t sleep, or breathe, or take care of yourself.

But you came today. You got yourself here even though you knew that someone would dare to proclaim that Christ is risen, and in spite of every death you’re dealing with, you’d somehow still find the breath to whisper, “Christ is Risen indeed.”

You’d say it, not because it doesn’t sound like an idle tale, because of course it does. You’d claim it because if by any chance there is a way in which your body can be kept functioning while your heart is being healed, then maybe the sun will come up tomorrow.

If by any sort of miracle love can outlive death, and sins can be forgiven, then maybe one day things will feel a little less awful, and you’ll notice something dazzlingly beautiful, and maybe something or someone will be worthy of your song, of your curiosity, or your love, and you’ll no longer need to look for the living among the dead.

Dear Friends in Christ, maybe it’s an idle tale, but I see a lot of dazzlingly bright smiles in this room. Maybe it’s absurd to hope for it, but I still witness love in this broken world. Maybe it makes no sense, but I dare to proclaim once again, Alleluia! Christ is Risen. Christ is Risen Indeed. Alleluia!