Easter's Last Word(s) - John 20:1-18

John 20:1-18

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” 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). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

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One of my boys came home from school on the last day before we started cancelling everything for the sake of “social distancing,” thanks to the Corona Virus pandemic (we weren’t even calling it a pandemic then, yet) and said one of his teachers told his class this would be something their generation would always remember – that every generation has something like it – which sparked a conversation about other historical events that are critical to the collective memory … the collective identity of every generation.

For me, there are a few that stand out… One was the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding in the sky in January, 1986, while, it seemed, everyone in the country was watching, because there was a civilian school teacher on board.

I was just coming back from lunch in 6th grade, in Novi Middle School, and one of my teachers, Mrs. Wainwright, had tears in her eyes as she corralled a handful of us into her classroom and let us watch the aftermath of that on the news.

Another life-changer was the massacre at Columbine High School, in April of 1999.

It’s hard to imagine now that there was a first time for something that is far so sadly and frighteningly common-place these days.

Of course 9/11 was huge, just about two-and-a-half years later.

Christa and I had lived in Indiana, for just over a month. Cross of Grace didn’t exist yet, technically. Our headquarters was in my guest room, so I was working in my boxer shorts (kind of like I did every day last week), and I called Debbie Searfoss to ask her something trivial, I’m sure, about the bulletin for the coming Sunday. And she told me I better stop working on the bulletin and go turn on the news. Most of you know the rest of that story.

Before all of that, for my parents’ generation, it was the assassination of John F. Kennedy, in Dallas, November 22, 1963.

I grew up hearing that “everyone” remembers where they were when they heard that news. I believe the same is true – or should be – about the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., outside the Lorraine Motel, in Memphis, in April, 1968.

My grandmother talked about the attack on Pearl Harbor, in December of 1941, in the same way – with a wistful sense of nostalgia, full of emotions and memories deep and overflowing with patriotism and pride and sadness and regret.

So it’s strange to be living in the midst of something that has been likened to all of that, something a generation will remember for all kinds of reasons: for missing a spring season of sports; for missing a final quarter of school; for missing proms, perhaps, and graduation ceremonies, maybe; for missing Easter worship and dinner with the family; for all that this isolation and social distancing entails; and for missing the chance to be at the bedside of a loved one who’s sick, if not dying, from this disease.

And all of it – from the bombing of Pearl Harbor to the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., to this year’s COVID-19 pandemic to the Spanish Flu of 1918 – all of it marks us and motivates us with the fear of dying and the need to keep death at bay.

And we should do that, don’t get me wrong. God doesn’t wish for us to live our lives as though we’re on a Kamikaze mission for Jesus – like we should just throw caution to the wind and let the chips – and our own lives – fall where they may. So we should keep our distance. And we should wash our hands. We should wear our masks. We should do what the scientists suggest because they know more than most of us about why we should keep our germs to ourselves.

But Easter’s good news is a reminder that we don’t need to do any of this just because we’re afraid. Jesus showed up – was crucified, died, was buried and then raised, again – to show us that, no matter how strange and uncertain and scary things get, death never gets the last word.

Even when it comes by way of an assassin or a terrorist or military foe, death never gets the last word.

Even when it comes by way of cancer or heart disease or COVID-19, death never gets the last word.

Even when it comes to a police officer, killed in the line of duty, like did for Breann Leath in Indianapolis this week, death never gets the last word.

Even when it comes by way of a car accident, or an overdose, or by suicide, death never gets the last word.

It may change everything for some of us on this side of the grave. It may rearrange our lives. It may reorganize our priorities. It may hurt like hell and break our hearts into a million little pieces and we may never be the same again, because of it. But death never, ever gets the last word.

And I think the problem is, we haven’t really had a chance to say that to one another yet, where this virus is concerned, because we haven’t been able to be together as we would like – and as we’re used to and as we expect to be – in times of struggle, suffering, and sadness. That’s what makes this viral pandemic and all of this “social distancing” so strange and new and hard so much of the time.

See, I think the thing about all those other, historical, generational time-stamps that make them so memorable, so connective, so transforming was the unified response of the generation that experienced them. Like I said, I remember being very carefully herded into a classroom with some friends when the Space Shuttle exploded. I remember gathering in the grass on the lawn of the seminary to talk about what was happening at Columbine High School with some friends. Christa and I went to a community prayer service at the Methodist Church on the night of 9/11. Everyone who lived through it remembers JFK’s funeral processional. We know about our nation’s response and shared sacrifice in the war after Pearl Harbor.

But here we are, trapped in our homes – unto ourselves – separated from each other, thanks to a virus … this small, microscopic, invisible, threat – which is technically and potentially deadlier than any of the events that stick into our collective, historical memories.

We can’t gather en masse for prayer vigils. We can’t light candles at the spot of this tragedy. We can’t build a memorial to a germ. And that’s hard. It may even be unfair.

But I think we are right where we need to be this morning, because we are very much right where the disciples and the first followers and friends of Jesus found themselves when death came calling, way back when. They were hunkered down. Locked behind closed doors. Not sure about what was coming… for whom… next… and under the impression that death was winning.

Winning, that is, until the mighty Mary Magdalene heard that one word … her own name … in the fullness of her despair and sadness … “Mary.” And she knew everything that we’re called to remember.

In that moment, Mary realized that what gets the last word because of the God we know in Jesus is love. Love gets the last word because God’s love is as fierce as death and the grave.

And grace gets the last word, because we have seen God’s glory, the glory of a Father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

And mercy … mercy gets the last word, because our God is so rich in mercy, even though we were dead through our sins, God’s mercy makes us alive in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

And peace gets the last word … blessed are the peacemakers.

And forgiveness … forgiveness of sins, proclaimed to all the nations.

And hope … hope does not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts by the power of the Holy Spirit.

And really … finally … what gets the last word – “who” gets the last word – in the face of whatever death threatens us – is Jesus. Jesus Christ, who knows my name and your name, too. Jesus, the son of God, crucified and risen from the dead, for the sake of the world.

Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

Blindness, Viruses, Sins, and Grace

John 9:1-41

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.  His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”  Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.  We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work.  As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”  When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.  The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?”  Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?”  He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.”  They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind.  Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes.  Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.”  Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath.” But others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided.  So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.”

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?”  His parents answered, “We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.”  His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue.  Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.”  He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”  They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?”  He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?”  Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses.  We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.”  The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes.  We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will.  Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind.  If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.”  They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”  He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.”  Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.”  He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him.  Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.”  Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?”  Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.

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I thought it was comical that the lectionary (the assigned list of weekly readings for worship) worked out to have a “healing miracle” on tap for the second week of our world-wide COVID-19 pandemic. It’s not surprising, really, but comical. It’s not surprising, because there are lots of healing stories in scripture to choose from. There’s this one, from John’s gospel, where Jesus spits in the dirt, makes a mud pie and uses it to give this guy – who’d been blind his whole life – his eyesight back.

And there’s the one where he heals a little girl. There’s the one where he heals Peter’s mother-in-law, who’s in bed with a fever. There’s the one where he casts out the demon from that guy in the synagogue. There’s the woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years, the one about the leper who’s made clean, and the one about the lame guy who gets up from his mat and walks again. And there are others.

But, when I think about all of that, I wonder, too, about all those people – in Jesus’ day and in ours, especially at times like this – who never get healed: the demon that never leaves; the fever that never breaks; the blindness that never goes away; the leprosy, the deafness, this damned virus, for crying out loud.

Which is why, I have to say, right out of the gate, that I think Jesus is up to something much more profound than giving this blind man his sight back. So if you hear this Gospel reading at a time when the world is running scared from the pandemic that currently plagues us, and expect me to suggest we make a mud-pie, rub some dirt on it, say a prayer, and wait for a miracle, I’m not your guy. (I think there’s a church in Louisiana open for business today, selling miracles, if that’s your thing.)

And don’t get me wrong. We should pray our hearts out. We should believe that the power of God can do some miraculous, amazing things. And we should also do what the scientists, doctors, and nurses tell us to do. We should employ and empower the full force of our common sense and our common humanity and we should take our medicines. We should follow doctors’ orders. We should wash our hands. We should keep our distance. And we should trust and hope and pray that God can work a miracle through all of this if God chooses to do that.

But, again, I think Jesus is up to something even more profound and hopeful than that this morning.

But we miss it sometimes, because, just like the Pharisees, we get caught up in the “who, what, how, when and where” of what Jesus did for this blind man and we ignore – or we don’t care, so much – about what Jesus tells us – right at the beginning of it all – about the WHY of what he had done that day.

This guy had been born blind, remember. And to his parents, to his neighbors, to the Pharisees, certainly, and even to the blind man himself, perhaps, that meant he was sinful in some way. And we know, medical science back in the day wasn’t what it is for us now. When someone was sick or flawed or broken or a-typical or differently-abled in some way – whether it was leprosy, leukemia or whatever it is that makes a lame person unable to walk – their ailment was understood to be proof that they were being judged by God and punished for their sinfulness, whether they could name those sins or not.

You can hear it in the disciples’ question to Jesus, even before the healing occurs: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” (Apparently, your physical diseases could also be the result of someone else’s sins, not just your own. What a racket!) But Jesus doesn’t break out the medical books or unroll the scientific scrolls or give the blind man an eye exam, either. Because he knows better. He says, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.”

And then Jesus gets to the business of doing “God’s work.” And if “miracle” means supernatural, irrational, unexpected, unexplainable – or something like that – here… to me… is where the real miracle of this morning’s Gospel occurs. Jesus pulls that stunt with the mud and the spit, yes. But what he accomplishes in the process – the miracle, here – is to restore this poor soul to his family and to his community and to his God in way no one thought possible.

And the miracle of what God accomplishes through Jesus, not just for the blind man on the roadside that day, but for every one of us – and our neighbors out there in the world, too – is that God forgives sins and gives us eternal life, in spite of them.

Because, what the disciples, the Pharisees, the blind man and his family, friends and neighbors were meant to witness that day wasn’t just a healing. The real joy for this man who once was blind but now could see, wasn’t that he could throw away his walking stick or fire his guide dog or read the last line on the chart for the ophthalmologist. The real miracle and true joy for the blind man who received his sight was that God transformed what had been considered sinful, into forgiveness; God turned judgment into freedom; God made what was thought to be broken, whole; God made one who was unworthy to the world around him, worthy… and loved… and liberated… and allowed into the Kingdom, just like the rest of them.

And that’s a miracle. And it’s our miracle, just the same. 

The miracle of Jesus Christ is that God’s grace is big enough for the whole lot of us – sick, sinful, broken and needy as we can be. That which the world can’t overlook, God forgives. That which the world calls worthless, God claims and cherishes. That which the world considers to be unlovable, God loves. That which the world nails to a cross, God raises from the dead. That which the world calls a sin, sometimes, God declares otherwise. Did you hear that? THAT WHICH THE WORLD CALLS A SIN, SOMETIMES, GOD DECLARES OTHERWISE. (Do you know anyone who needs to hear that little bit of good news today?)

See, God’s greatest gift – God’s most amazing miracle – comes in the healing of our souls and in the salvation of our spirits. No matter what happens to our bodies – to our lives, in this life and in the world as we know it – Jesus’ healing reminds us that none of it will last forever; not this virus, not that cancer, not that addiction, not any of it.

Jesus’ ultimate healing comes in the promise and in the realization that mercy and love; forgiveness and grace; resurrection and new life overpower whatever threatens us; whatever pains us; whatever scares us or even ends our lives in this world.

And this is how we are truly healed. This is how we are actually made whole, even in the midst of so much sickness that surrounds and threatens and scares us silly too much of the time. This is how we are made well… through an everlasting, unconditional, undeserved love that flows from the cross, that flows through the tomb that flows into our lives – for our sake, for the sake of this sick and broken, hurting world, and into God’s kingdom that is sure to come.

Amen