"Resurrection Doubt, Resurrection Hope." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on Luke 24:36-48

"Supper at Emmaus." Artist: He Qi

"Resurrection Doubt, Resurrection Hope"

Luke 24:36-48

“While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering…”

            New Testament scholar David Lose says, “If you don’t have serious doubts about the Easter story, you’re not paying attention.”[1]

            Think about it. The different gospel accounts have some interesting variations, but they’re consistent about one thing: nobody believes the good news of Jesus’ resurrection when they first hear it. And that includes Jesus’ own inner circles of disciples, who were closest to him and spent the most time with him.

            Easter Sunday was only two weeks ago, but it feels like longer to me. But the verses we just heard are a continuation of Luke’s account of the first Easter day.

            In the first story, the women went to the tomb, they found the tomb was empty. Heavenly messengers opened the scriptures to them, explaining that Jesus had been raised from the dead. But when the women returned to the Eleven disciples and the others, they dismissed what the women said, calling it “an idle tale.”

            Actually, the word Luke used-- leros-- is the root of our word “delirious.” So, the disciples may have been saying the women were extremely excited and joyful, but also incoherent…irrational…or mentally confused. Delirious.

           

            Well, is it so surprising that the disciples had their doubts? Jesus had died on the cross and been buried. The testimony they heard from the women that Jesus who died has been raised upsets the natural order of things and everything they’ve always believed about how things work in the world.

           

            The story continues. Peter gets up and runs to the tomb to see for himself and he’s amazed.

           

            In the second story, on the same day, Cleopas and another disciple were walking toward Emmaus and talking about what had been happening. Jesus came and started walking with them, but they didn’t recognize him, even as Jesus interprets the scriptures for them. When they invite Jesus to dinner and he took bread and blessed it and broke it and gave it to them, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and Jesus vanished from their sight.

            That same hour, the two got up and returned to Jerusalem, and they found the eleven and other disciples, who were talking about how Jesus was risen and had appeared to Simon Peter. Then Clopas and his companion told about their encounter on the road and how Jesus had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

            The story continues in the verses we heard this morning. While they were all talking, all of a sudden Jesus was standing among them, saying, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought they were seeing a ghost.

            Imagine having to explain to your closest friends, over and over again, that you’re not a ghost or a figment of their imagination, that you are real and alive, approachable, and trustworthy.  What would you say or do to calm their fears?

            Jesus doesn’t scold them or reprove them or shame them. He sees that they’re still struggling, even though he’d predicted all these things three times, and they’ve already heard the testimony of the women, and Cleopas and his companion, and Peter.

            Jesus meets them where they are.  He asks them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet. See that it is I myself. Touch me and see--for a ghost doesn’t have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”  Jesus showed them his hands and feet, which bear unmistakable signs of his crucifixion and vulnerability.

            But that isn’t enough. “In their joy, they were disbelieving and still wondering…”

            So, Jesus says, “Do you have anything to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.

            Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you--that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” Jesus’ whole life, death, and rising were about what God is doing in the world--reconciling the world to God’s self. It has always been about God and God’s purposes and agenda for creation-- repentance that leads to forgiveness and the wholeness of creation.[2]

            Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures.” He said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.”

            He opened their minds to begin to see that death is not the final word. He sets them free from those bonds and commissions them: “You are witnesses of these things.”

            I love how Luke’s account of the resurrection story shows us that joy and disbelief, wonder and understanding, fear and courage are all part of our experience. Apparently, we don’t have to have it all together to be a witness to “all of these things.” Our Christian faith takes root in the tension.  Jesus meets us--all of us-- where we are in order to embrace our wonder, disbelief, and joy and gather us into the amazing, surprising grace and newness of God.

            Today’s gospel lesson brings the work and ministry and teaching of Jesus full circle. At the very beginning of his gospel, Luke tells us that Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s plan to redeem all of creation.

            The power of the resurrection is the power to plant the seeds of transformation and new life. The hope of the resurrection is grounded in the experience of those first disciples, whose closed minds were opened.

            Just when we think the story is over, God has something new to say.  It has always been about God, and it still is. 

            As witnesses, we are called to declare in our words and deeds the presence and power of God in the midst of tragedy, despair, and death. They are not ultimate, because God’s goodness is stronger than evil and death.

            The good news is that we do not witness alone, as we are part of a community of fellow believers. We do not witness alone, as the Spirit is indeed coming. In a broken and fearful world, the same Spirit who inspired the prophets and apostles gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.[3]

           

            Thanks be to God!

           

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[1] http://www.davidlose.net/2015/04/easter-3-b-resurrection-doubts/

  

[2] Barbara J. Essex, in “Homiletical Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2: Lent Through Pentecost. Kindle Edition, Loc 15076/

[3] Brief Statement of Faith of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), 1990.

"Reason to Rejoice": A sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on the Third Sunday of Advent.

"Reason to Rejoice"

Matthew 11:2-11; Isaiah 35:1019

         The third Sunday of Advent has traditionally been known as Joy Sunday.   That’s why we lit the pink candle today  Yet, as I meditated on the scripture passages for this Sunday,  I remember  how painful a season this can be for many people.   Some people are lonely… some are grieving the loss of a loved one, some are struggling with illness and wondering where God is in the midst of it all.  Some are struggling with depression or anxiety.  Some are trying to maintain their sobriety during a season of parties.  Some are too poor to be a part of the festival of extravagance the merchants would have us believe is what Christmas is all about.   

            We grieve that there’s so much wrong in our nation and in the world.  In the midst of all this, a lot of people may be wondering:  where’s the good news?

            I think when we look around our world, it exposes our brokenness as humans and as a society and our need for a Savior.  We live in a broken world.  We’re still waiting for the kingdom of God, and we yearn for it.  We wait and hope for what we can’t yet see.

            In the gospel lesson we just heard, we hear John beginning to doubt his own message.   This is the same John who recognized Jesus from his mother's womb, leaping with joy when her cousin Mary came to visit.  John, who lived in the desert alone, crying out when anyone approached,  "Prepare the way of the Lord!"   John the Baptizer, who was there at Jesus’ baptism, when heaven opened and the spirit of God descended on Jesus like a dove.     

            So what's happened to John--  that he should suddenly doubt Jesus' identity? "Are you the one who is to come--  or shall we look for another? Are you the one, Jesus?

            John had envisioned a mighty and powerful Messiah, who would sweep away all the wickedness of the world and destroy evil.  The Messiah will set the world straight.  Justice and righteousness will rule the day.  The oppressed will be liberated and the hungry will be fed.  Those who resist and continue to sin will be separated from the righteous like chaff from the wheat.  They'll be swept away and cast into the "unquenchable fire."

            That's what John expected and proclaimed.  That's what drew crowds to hear his message and be baptized.  Then Jesus arrived on the scene.  John stepped aside...  and essentially said,  "Go for it, Jesus!  Bring in the Kingdom!  Wipe out the old age, and bring in the new!"  And nothing happened.

            By this time, Jesus has preached the Sermon on the Mount.  He's healed people possessed by demons and raised Jairus' daughter from the dead.  His ministry has taken root, and a crowd of believers around him is growing.

            But nothing was happening the way John had thought it would.  The Messiah was supposed to change things.  He was supposed to fix it so that the wicked no longer prospered and the righteous people, like himself, were saved. 

            Things weren't going well for John.  He was in prison.           Nothing was happening the way he'd envisioned it.  At one word from the Messiah, the very walls of his prison should come tumbling down.  But far from rescuing John--  Jesus was into more and more trouble himself. Jesus wasn't throwing anybody into unquenchable fire.  He wasn’t wiping out sinners. No.  He was visiting them in their homes, and eating with them!

            So...  John finds himself not living in a new era-- but imprisoned in a very old world dungeon, with a lot of questions and doubts.  Sitting in the darkness of Herod's dungeon, John knew he may not have long to live.  He doesn't want to die still wondering about the Messiah, so he sends word to Jesus.  "Are you the one who is to come?  Or are we to wait for another?" 

            Could it be that John's question is our question today as well? By simple virtue of our being here this morning, we make the statement that we-- like John--  have recognized the Messiah in Jesus.  In our different ways, we're trying to prepare the way of the Lord.  Every week, we come together and confess our faith that Jesus is LORD.  Every week, we search for new, more effective ways to teach and preach and live that truth. 

            Along the way, we've acquired some definite ideas about our Lord.  As students of the Bible...  of tradition...  and of our own experience, we have certain expectations of Jesus and what he will do for us his people--  sooner or later.

            But—if we’re honest with ourselves-- who hasn't had DOUBTS?  Who has never--  in anger, hurt, disappointment, or loss-- asked John's question?   Jesus, are you the one?  Or shall we look for another?   Think about it.  When we look to other things for our joy and excitement and security-- haven't we gone off to look for another?   When other things take priority over worshiping God on Sunday mornings or in our lives—haven’t we gone off to look for another?  Are you the one, Jesus?  Or shall we look for another?

            We turn on the evening news, and sometimes it’s hard not to wonder, Jesus, are you the one--are shall we look for another?

            John was the one who had baptized Jesus a year or two before, but now he’s in prison.  Maybe John is wondering if all the preaching and  baptizing he did out in the wilderness meant anything at all, or whether his work for the kingdom of heaven had been for nothing.  Maybe he’d been wrong about Jesus, and he should see if there’s someone else out there who will make this a better world.  "Are you the one, or should we  look for another?”   John’s question gives voice to our doubts and uncertainty, even in the midst of anticipation.  
            John looked around the world and wonder, “If Jesus is the one, where’s the evidence that there’s a transformation underway?  Doesn’t the world look pretty much the same as it was before Jesus, in terms of idolatry, injustice exploitation, and violence?  It doesn’t look like things are getting better. 
            “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” is a question of longing -- longing for what we deeply hope, longing for promises to be fulfilled, even when it seems impossible.
            Jesus tells John’s friends, “Go back and tell my cousin John that things move in fits and starts, but there are always signs of hope. Sometimes when we aren’t seeing the results we’d hoped for,  when our lives aren’t the way we need or want them to be, we need to look a little differently at kingdom signs.  

            We might want to hand Jesus the ax John talked about, to see him chop down all the trees that don't bear good fruit. That might feel  satisfying to us.   But no-- Jesus sends us back into the wilderness of our lives, with words of love on our lips--  to help somebody carry a load of grief... to feed hungry people,   and give warm hats and gloves to those who need them...   or to bring cookies and carols and holiday cheer to a lonely shut-in.

            They seem like such small efforts.  But they are the tasks we have been given to do, while we wait.   And we have promised to try.

             

            During Advent, we're reminded that we wait for the second and final coming of Christ.  It’s a paradox:  Christ has come.  Christ is here with us.  Christ is yet to come.   But in the meantime, we're given the sight to see glimpses of God's Kingdom breaking in.  A kingdom that comes, not by force,  but by the birth of a child who came to life in a humble little stable, behind an inn.  The Kingdom of God was present in that common, yet extraordinary birth, as God was born as a helpless baby who came to live among us, full of grace and truth, to share our suffering and pain, to die for our sakes on the cross, and to be raised from the dead, conquering sin and death.  The mystery we celebrate at Christmas is the mystery of God-with-us. Emmanuel.  

           

            When Jesus sent word back to John—“the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them”—he wasn’t just cataloguing his previous day’s to-do list.  Nor was he simply quoting Isaiah.[1] 

            Most importantly, Jesus was encouraging John to cultivate an eschatological eyesight, to see past what is yet unfinished in our world in order to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of God drawing near.

            A few years ago, near the end of the twentieth century, some people in the Presbyterian denomination pulled out their calculators and assessed things from a certain angle and then went public with a startling prediction.  Influenced by all the literature about the decline of the mainline church, they predicted that if present trends continued, Presbyterians would become virtually non-existent sometime in the twenty-first century. 

            They put this prediction in what they thought was a particularly clever way.  They said that, if present trends continued, Presbyterians would become “the Amish of the twenty-first century.”  It was a way of saying that, for all practical purposes, Presbyterians would be marginalized and irrelevant, as if we were horse-and-buggy people—totally out of date and rendered invisible by our irrelevance in a world that had totally eclipsed us. 

            Ted Wardlaw remembers that prediction was made in print and was repeated at any number of church meetings.  Whenever that prediction was voiced—“the Amish of the twenty-first century”—people laughed at how cleverly the thought was put.

            Then, ten years ago, in the fall of 2006, we watched as an Amish community in West Nickel Mines, in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania grieved over and buried a group of their own children who had been slaughtered in their one-room school house by a rage-filled man with a gun that he finally turned on himself. 

            In the midst of their grieving, this Amish community paused to send a delegation to reach out in forgiveness and compassion to the widow and family of the one who had slaughtered their children, and even to provide financial support for them.  The world watched in disbelief as they summoned a strength that was impossible, humanly speaking, a strength that helped them deal with the sin and tragedy that had penetrated their world by beholding it all with the right kind of eyesight. 

            We watched as they returned love for evil, as they reached out in healing and redemption.  We watched in awe as they directed our gaze, if we had the eyesight ourselves to see it, toward a light shining in the darkness--  a light that the darkness could not overcome.

            What a witness!   In a world that can be dark and threatening and incomplete and full of terror, would that we can have the right kind of eyesight, as we move further into God’s future.

            On this Third Sunday of Advent, the rose-colored candle reminds us that God invites us into joy.  God offers us hope, trusting that the day is coming when that hope will become reality.

            In the meantime, every time we reach out with love, care, forgiveness, and compassion the Kingdom of God grows a little larger   and is that much closer to being fulfilled. 

            So-- in the meantime, let us look toward the light that shines in the darkness--  the light that darkness does not overcome.

            Come, Lord Jesus!

           

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

December 11, 2016

          

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[1] Isaiah 35:5