Holy Week

"Rock Out" – Mark 16:1-8

Mark 16:1-8

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.


Every three years the church gathers on Easter Sunday to hear the resurrection story from the gospel of Mark. As you listened to this text today, did you notice anything that’s different from the story you’ve heard on other Easter celebrations? I’ll give you a hint…the difference has to do with Jesus…

...In today’s story, he’s nowhere to be found!

Today is a day dedicated to celebrating the Lord Jesus, risen from the dead…but he never even makes an appearance in the story!

It would be like going to your first Colts game only to find out Andrew Luck announced his retirement earlier that morning.

It would be like setting up a romantic evening to propose to your girlfriend, but she cancels to hang out with an old friend who unexpectedly returned to town.

It would be like going to the new Avengers movie and finding out they replaced the Incredible Hulk with Gumby.

marvel-avengers.jpg

So, we’re all set to celebrate Jesus risen from the dead but all we have is the empty tomb.

Seems to me that the main subject in Mark’s story isn’t Jesus, but rather, the heavy stone covering the tomb. That’s right, today I’m going to preach about a big rock.

Imagine with me now, to a day 2,000 years ago, as the three women are walking to Jesus’ tomb early that morning, carrying the spices that will be used to anoint his corpse. A few steps into their journey one of them says, “Wait, what are we doing? We’re not going to be able to move the stone to get in there to anoint Jesus’ body!”

They stop in the middle of the road. One of them suggests they turn around and go home. There’s a voice of agreement from another; but the third woman wants to charge ahead with their mission. It’s one against two; but the minority voice wins out. “No, we’re going to do this,” she says. “I don’t know how, but we’ll worry about that when we get there.”

Through their whole journey, the question of how they are going to get on the other side of this heavy stone is all they can think about. It’s contentious. No one is in agreement. There is no clear-cut foolproof solution. Without easy answers ahead of them, they start to distrust one another. One of the women who originally wanted to give up and go home mutters under her breath, “I told you this was a bad idea. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As they begin to see the outline of the cave in the distance, the women decided their best option to to wait outside the tomb until someone comes by to roll away the stone from the entrance to the tomb.

They arrive. They look up. They notice that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.

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“How are we going to get on the other side of this heavy stone?”

On the road, it seems like the most important question in the world.

But it ends up being a red herring, an imaginary problem, something that needlessly fed their fears.

The stone had already been rolled away.

What good news is there in a gospel story about resurrection that fails to locate or describe the risen body of Jesus? The good news is that the obstacles that we think are so important, so monumental, so immovable…have already been taken care of for us.

The heavy stones in our lives–the barriers separating us from the new life, hope, and love we so desperately want to experience–have already been moved aside. That’s what God does. God is in the rock-moving, obstacle-clearing, barrier-busting business.

So, what’s the heavy stone in your life? What is the important, monumental, and seemingly-immovable obstacle that is preventing you from experiencing new life, hope, and love?

It’s my fear that too many of us are frustrated and kicking pebbles down paths that we assume will end in nothing but a tomb: broken relationships, feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, questions we are ashamed to ask, mistakes we are ashamed to admit, ideas we are ashamed to profess. We distrust our fellow travelers on the way. We mutter “I told you so” under our breath. We think about quitting and going home. We spend our time worrying about how we will ever move the heavy stone. But the thing about immovable obstacles is that they are immovable...for us.

Even if the women on the road would have run full speed toward the tomb, confident in their power, faith, and problem-solving, they never would have been able to move that stone away.

So it’s a good thing God already took care of it.

It’s the same story for any barrier that we think is important, monumental, and immovable – from perverted politics to debilitating depression, from keeping up with the Joneses to dead-end jobs. Our mission is not to move heavy stones in order to anoint the dead. Our mission is to live in a way that honors the fact that the stones are already rolled away; new life, hope, and love have been unleashed; and God is among the living.

So much of what is so terribly wrong in our world is a result of our bickering and blindness as we fret about the big challenges that we assume are around the bend. Which is why we need to remember the women who journeyed to the tomb. They stop in the middle of the road. One of them suggests they turn around and go home. There’s a voice of agreement from another; but the third woman wants to charge ahead with their mission. It’s one against two; but the minority voice wins out. “No, we’re going to do this,” she says. “I don’t know how, but we’ll worry about that when we get there.”

Indeed, let’s charge ahead with our mission to live with hope, to forgive our enemies, to serve all in need, to be light in the darkness, and to love one another as Christ loves us, because that is what God unleashed on the world the day God rolled away the heavy stone.

Amen.

"Crosses and Flagpoles" – John 3:16-17

John 3:16-17

For God so loved the world that he gave his only son that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.


I was out to dinner on vacation a couple weeks ago and it didn’t go well. The Indiana Havels were out with the Arizona Havels – my brother and his family – in Phoenix, where they live, and we were dining with some of their extended family, who shall remain nameless.

As you might imagine, oftentimes the fastest way to kill a conversation with someone you’ve just met is to tell them you’re a Pastor. Sometimes, though, that revelation has precisely the opposite effect – it leads to more questions and more conversation and lots of interesting ideas – especially if a particular person has spent the ENTIRE day drinking many beers, in the sun, by the pool, and has also just sucked down a $38.00 glass of bourbon. (Just to be clear, I’m not a fan of bourbon, so I’m not describing myself in this instance.)

The short version of the story is that I was asked several questions about the existence of Hell; about who gets into heaven and how; about forgiveness and salvation and so on. And the others at the table knew enough about me and about my inquisitor so that no one was particularly optimistic about how my responses would be received. Everyone was trying to change the subject to anything but the topic at hand. It was that kind of dinner: when neither the food nor the check could get there fast enough; when, had I driven myself or had another way out, I would have taken a pass on the whole thing.

See, what started out as cordial turned surprisingly ugly, surprisingly quickly. And the straw that broke the camel’s back came when I suggested that, while it was admittedly hard for me to swallow or understand or accept a lot of the time, I am pretty certain that God will make room in heaven for all of us: for bigots and homophobes; for terrorists and murderers; for gay people and straight people; Republicans and Democrats; for conservatives and liberals; for criminals and for cats and dogs, too.

Yeah, the dog thing really got to him. I’m pretty sure that’s what ended the conversation actually. When he asked if dogs went to heaven and I said, “Yes. Even dogs. That God means to redeem and save all of creation – bigots, racists, homophobes and even dogs.” At that, my questioner stood up, threw his napkin on the table, called me something that starts with “a” and rhymes with “flagpole,” grabbed his drink and stumbled away.

And, believe it or not, the more I reflect on that conversation the more I realize that my justification for everything this fellow Christian found so unbelievable, so hard to swallow, so offensive, even, has everything to do with what we’re up to tonight.

See, I don’t pretend to be certain about a lot of things. But the assumption I bring to the foot of this cross – the faith that calls me here – is my belief that God is God; that God, being the God of all things, has the power to do whatever God desires to do; that if God sets God’s divine Mind and Will and Heart to accomplish something, then I’m pretty sure – and my greatest hope lies in the expectation – that God can and will do what God wants to do.

And, as the story goes, God so loved the world that God sent Jesus into it so that everyone would believe and have eternal life. And, as the rest of the story goes, “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

In other words, what God did in Jesus – what God does, in Jesus – is take our capacity to save ourselves out of our hands. We have proven time and again that we are not equal to the task. We have shown, over and over that none of us is worthy or capable of accomplishing it – for ourselves or for anybody else. And what’s more, God loves us so much God doesn’t want us to concern ourselves with this work; God doesn’t want us to be burdened by the weight of something that’s beyond our skill-set or above our pay-grade. God wants us to leave the dirty work and the heavy-lifting of our salvation up to Jesus, so that we can get on with living different, liberated, transformed sorts of lives, as a result.

And this has implications that are as cosmic and other-worldy, as they are common and everyday.

What I mean – and what my friend at dinner wasn’t having – is that this Good Friday cross impacts how we imagine the far reaches of God’s eternity in heaven – whenever and wherever that might be. And this Good Friday cross also means to impact the way we live and love in this world right where we are. And, if we believe this…if we buy this…if we accept and put our faith in the power of God to redeem and to forgive and to save through Jesus Christ – then let’s let God do God’s thing – for us and for others.

Let’s stop asking who’s in and who’s out. Let’s stop worrying about who gets saved and who’s doomed or damned. Let’s stop trying to decide what is forgivable and what just can’t be overlooked. Let’s stop pretending God’s love and grace and mercy can be for “us” and not for “them.” Let’s stop qualifying some sins – like ours – as more forgivable than other sins – like “theirs,” whoever “they” might be.

And I would say we need only to look to the Jesus of Good Friday’s cross for the Truth in all of this. Because on the cross of Good Friday we see the Jesus who had dinner – broke bread and drank wine – with Judas, his betrayer. On the cross of Good Friday, we see the Jesus who promises paradise to the criminal hanging there beside him. On the cross of Good Friday, we see the Jesus who washed the feet of Peter, knowing full-well he would deny him and desert him in his darkest hour.

On the cross of Good Friday we see this Jesus who loved and served all people – saints and sinners, alike – and who, I have to believe then, died to redeem and to save all people, just the same.

Because God so loved – because God so loves – the world, that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him might have eternal life. And because God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

As I was leaving the restaurant after dinner that night in Phoenix a few weeks ago, I vowed to my wife and to my brother and to anyone who would listen that I didn’t care to ever spend another minute with the guy who caused such a scene. (I might have even called him something that rhymes with “flagpole,” I’m not sure.)

What I really believe, though, is that God’s going to have the last laugh somehow. Whether I’m big enough to let it happen in this life or if it will have to wait until the other side of eternity, Good Friday’s cross tells me there’s hope… and potential… and probability, even – because of God’s grace – that, like it or not, reconciliation happens; redemption comes; forgiveness can break through even the hardest of hearts, even the numbest of skulls, even the darkest of sins. Even mine. Even his. Even yours. Even “theirs.”

And if none of that’s true, then Good Friday’s cross was a colossal waste of God’s time.

But the coming of Easter tells me that just can’t be the case.

Amen