Saturday, April 20, 2019

If for this life only. . . Easter, 1 Corinthians 15.19-26, John 20.1-18


Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Risen Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.  Amen
The burdens of this life had weighed heavily upon her, and the veil of death hung heavily over her.
As she walked toward the garden tomb that morning, every step was a challenge, as though she carried on her shoulders and enormous load, which she did.
She could not get the image of Jesus, hanging from the cross out of her mind.  His agonizing pain.  The labored breathing.  Blood oozing from the welts on his skin, the horrific reminder of the lashes that ripped at him one by one.
Father, into thy hands I commend my Spirit!
And then silence.  A deafening silence.  His body now hanging limp from the cross.  His head resting upon his breast.
Darkness covered the land.
And though the sun would set and rise again, the darkness remained.
Jesus.
Now lifeless flesh, laid in a tomb, and a bittersweet memory of a love cut short.
Mary had hoped.
Mary, together with all the disciples had hoped.
Jesus had talked about the kingdom.  He promised they would see it.  That it was very near.
Purple robes had been draped over him in cruel mockery.  A crown of thorns placed upon his brow.
“This is the King of the Jews”, the inscription that hung over him.
What went wrong?
How could love, that love that had so touched Mary, have been so fleeting?
“Jesus.  My Jesus.  I cannot let go.  My soul grieves.  My heart aches.”
Step by step, she inched closer to the tomb.  Fear and foreboding overwhelmed her.
And then.  And then.
Nothing.  Emptiness.  
They had taken him from the tomb.
Where had they laid him?  Where had he gone?
Mary had been robbed of the love of her life, this Jesus.  Now it seemed, that they had added salt to the wound, not even allowing her proper grief.
All that she had hoped for was now gone with Jesus.  Even his body, taken from her.
One word changed everything.
“Mary!”

If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

We hope for many things.
A child is conceived.  Hope abounds.
One wonders if it will be a boy or a girl.
What will he or she do?  Who will they become?
But then there is silence.
Listening for the heart beat, there is silence.
“Come back next week, and we’ll try again."  Still silence.
On a rainy day, we gathered under a tree to bury that unborn child.
My Bible’s pages still are wrinkled by the drops of water that fell as I read from Psalm 139 that day.
13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
all the days that were formed for me,
when none of them as yet existed.
And then Bill, the dad, gently laid the small box containing the lifeless body of their unborn child into the earth.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
If there is one thing above all else that I regret about my years of ministry, it is that I buried far too many children.
William Clark Benton born too early to survive.  They took him early, before his lungs were adequately developed, to save the life of his mother.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
Spencer and Andrew Petrina.
Two brothers, both who were born with Spinal Muscular Atrophy.  SMA
Slowly from birth they began the process of dying.  About a year each one lived.  And then finally the muscles simply did not work anymore. 
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
There was Paul, a nine year old boy, killed while playing with his brothers in a cemetery.  They had been swinging on the rope that hung from the flag pole when the pole collapsed and crushed Paul’s skull.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
Alison and Jazz, young girls, about fifteen, sixteen years old. 
Alison in Thompson Falls.
Jazz in Plevna.
Automobile accidents cut short their lifes.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
And on the list goes.
I remember Gary, the young father whom cancer claimed.
He left behind two wonderful kids, and a beautiful wife.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
In short order, over the course of the first few years of my ministry, I had buried someone in every decade of life, from birth till a hundred years old.
One by one.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

What does it mean to be a Christian?
What is the hope we claim?
We speak about things like new life, and living in the Kingdom now.
We hope that the love of Christ might transform this world.
We pray for ourselves, our families, for one another, and for the world.
Oh how we pray.
One of my vocations as a pastor has been to pray.
In worship, in your homes, in hospital rooms, and in the silence of my own soul, I pray.
That we pray is a confirmation of our hope.
And yet so often, the hopes we have for this life fade with the passing of each day.
The final prayer I offer is this:
“Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant.  Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.  Receive him/her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.  Amen”
Ministry has been for me, walking hand in hand with my parishioners through the trials and fears of this world, to the gates of heaven.  And then, letting go, and saying those words “Into your hands, O merciful Savior.”
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
Easter.
Flowers.
Bunnies.
Hunting for eggs.  (I truly have never figured out what that is about.  I have no clue what it has to do with Easter.)
We have brunch.  (Can you smell it now?)
Easter is a celebration of the coming of Spring.
Or not.  .  .

If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
“Mary!”
I’m increasingly aware that I’ve lived more years already, than I have left to live.
And on numerous occasions, I’ve faced heath issues that might have claimed my life.
Death looms.
If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
“Mary!”
That one word, spoken by the Risen Christ, declared to the universe itself that death was not the final word on life.
Eventually, death will call our name, and we will go.
But that is not the final word.
“Mary!”
Or John.  Or Kathryn.  Karl or Rebecca.
Or Spencer, or Andrew, or Gary, or Alison, or Jazz.

If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.
But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.  Amen

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