A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, April 4, 2010
Luke 24:1-12
“What do the Christians believe?” In an article that appeared this week, a Hindu dared to ask this question. What is it that Christians believe? “On any given day,” this Hindu observed, “Christianity is invoked to justify pacifism, violent uprising, both opposition and support for government healthcare, even support and opposition to genres of music.”* So, the question has to be asked: What do the Christians believe?
Because something happened to the body. The stone is rolled away, but the body is not there. That’s not supposed to happen. The body is supposed to be there. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and some other nameless women go to the tomb. They bring the spices they’ve prepared. They find the stone rolled away, but that’s not the weird part. The stone should be rolled away. How else would they get inside to prepare the body? That was their job. The weird thing is that the body isn’t there. And so, they are terrified. But, why shouldn’t they be? Why shouldn’t these women be absolutely terrified?
Because it just doesn’t make sense. In our world, two thousand years after this strange event that none of the four gospels actually explain, we’re not so sure about this at all. We’re not so sure about women with weird stories to tell. We didn’t see it. We weren’t there. Some of us will concede that weird things happen, but we know for certain that when someone we love dies, the body goes in the ground. That’s it. There’s no second chance. And so, like the women, on that first day of the week at early dawn, we’re perplexed. We’re terrified. This doesn’t make any sense at all.
But… maybe we need to be pushed. But… maybe we need a Hindu’s perplexing questions to really understand what it is that we believe. But… maybe it’s a really good question to ask not just today, but on any given day. But… But… But… The gospel author repeats again. In this “orderly account,” the gospel author interrupts the narrative again and again with this conjunction. Over and over again, the gospel author repeats:
But on the first day of the week…
But when they went in…
But has risen…
In each moment that the story might start to flow smoothly, the gospel author interrupts. But… But… But… This “defiant conjunction” refuses to let the story be simply told. This little word insists that this isn’t going to be an easy story. But, we knew that already, didn’t we?
But… They are perplexed. They are terrified. Strange, men in dazzling clothes try to explain it. “But, these words seemed like an idle tale.” They don’t believe it. It seemed like “wild talk.” It doesn’t make any sense. And so, whoever might have the nerve to try to explain what had happened to Jesus’ body must be delirious. But… you can feel them stammer. But… this isn’t supposed to happen. But… it doesn’t make any sense. But… But… But…
But… we try to explain what the disciples think is nonsense. But… it doesn’t matter how perplexed and terrified they were. But… there must be joy. But… this must be a happy ending. Barbara Ehrenreich says it best in her most recent book: Americans want “more smiles, more laughter, more hugs, more happiness, and better, yet, joy.” But… But… But…
Stoop and look. Get on your knees beside Peter. Stoop and look. Arch your back. Kern your neck. Peer through the dark. Stoop and look. What do you see?
Someone should start laughing. Nervously. You know when that happens? When someone starts laughing at the exact moment when they certainly should not be laughing? That’s what I feel like here. It’s not a happy ending, but… Someone should start laughing, because we can’t make sense of what Peter saw. We can’t really make sense of what we see. When the world doesn’t make sense, and we don’t know how we’ll go on, it seems that all we can do is laugh. It’s the only way that we can possibly hold onto the overwhelming tension we’re facing. You know that laughter, right? It’s insistent. It erupts from deep within you. It ripples through your core. It makes you feel totally ridiculous. It explodes out of nowhere is entirely contagious – and when it finally stops, no one is quite sure why or where or how it started. But, it has changed us.
It doesn’t deny the reality of what has happened. It doesn’t insist on a positive outcome, but it interrupts our reality. But, it shifts our attention. But, it heightens our awareness of what is happening in our own lives. But… But… But… “Easter is not about an afterlife or about happy endings.” It’s about how we continue. Easter is about how we find amazement when it seems impossible. It’s about how we continue to experience Jesus long, long, long after his body disappeared from that tomb. But… But… But…
Peter stoops and looks. He gets on his knees. He arches his back. He kerns his neck. He peers through the dark. He tries to see something, but it doesn’t say what he saw. It doesn’t say that he found faith. It only says that he was amazed.
We only know that Peter was amazed. He goes home amazed. In the story we’re told, he just goes home like this is any other day. But… But… But…
That word appears elsewhere. It appears all over the place. This annoyingly “defiant conjunction” repeats again and again in our own lives. It’s the very word that the Hindu trips over when he asks, “What do the Christians believe?” But… the scandals in the Catholic Church say one thing. But… there are radical differences about how Christians approach health and care. But… the “noun (Christian) doesn’t really tell us anything about individuals and communities.” But… this annoying conjunction insists. But… Peter runs to the tomb. But… stoop and look. Arch your back. Kern your neck. Peer through the dark.
Stoop and look because the power of the story is in this posture. Stoop and look because it is in this awkward pose that we carry our faith. Stoop and look because this is how the community that followed Jesus then and how the community that follows Jesus now continues to be amazed. It might not easily answer the questions of a Hindu, it might not be “orderly” but it insists that in each interruption, in each conjunction, in each detail that isn’t explained that another ending is possible. Even when the body is missing, even when we can’t make sense of what has happened, even when we can’t agree, we profess a faith that asks us every time life offers a “defiant conjunction” to stoop and look.
We arch our backs. We peer into the dark. We look for amazement. Like Peter, we need to be prepared to assume that posture. The “defiant conjunctions” will appear again and again. There will be more “wild talk.” There will be things that we can’t explain to Hindus and Christians, but we can always stoop and look. Arch your back. Kern your neck. Peer through the dark. Stoop and look. Look for amazement. Always. Look for amazement. This is the good news!
*The article referenced here appeared on April 1 on Religion Dispatches. You can read it here: http://www.religiondispatches.org/archive/religionandtheology/2414/what_do_%E2%80%98the_christians%E2%80%99_believe_easter_reflections_from_a_non-christian/.