Sermon preached by The Rev’d Neil Fernyhough, Easter Sunday, 2008 (March 23).
Readings: Acts 10:34-43; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-18
“Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him…“Rabbouni!” – Jn 20:16
Well, a lot of people have been mentioning how early Easter is this year. For the record, it is. March 22nd – yesterday – is the earliest date on which Easter can fall, the date being fixed as the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox. Yes, ours is indeed a very primal religion.
The festivals of all major religions are often intimately tied to the seasons of the calendar, reminding us that God was first and elementally discerned in the cycles of life and nature. This primordial insight into how the universe works is now derided by many in our post-Enlightenment society as superstitious, backward, and ignorant – but for me, it was the metaphysical equivalent of the discovery of fire.
It is no accident that today’s festival, celebrating the Christian belief in resurrection – the bringing to life of that thought to be irrevocably dead – is a moveable feast determined by the advent of Spring. There is a reason why primitive pagan symbols of fertility like eggs and rabbits became cultural talismans of the season. Easter is first and foremost a testament of confidence in the power of life; indeed, the emergence of life from death.
It is only relative to our contemporary western society that such a testament is considered quirky, alternative, quaint, or just plain bizarre. Those who claim a spiritual heritage from Burma to Bahrain, from Montreal to Moosonee accept as a commonplace that the dead are not gone. It is why, in post-Enlightenment societies such as ours, the practice of religion by serious-minded individuals is one pursued by those – such as you – with a lively interest in questions of mortality and existence, of how to live a good life, and the effect of our being and our actions on the moral fabric of the universe.
Yes, heady stuff I know for a simple, joyous, festival of frippery. Trust the priest to sound a pedantic tone. So let me bring it down to earth by asking you to imagine the scene John so expertly paints of Jesus’ resurrection. Picture a cave hewn out amidst a sweetly fragrant sunken garden, the air filled with the scent of rosemary, eucalyptus, and almond, birds chirping and insects buzzing. It is no wonder we fill our sanctuary with such glorious flowers on this day, which so evoke that image, as well as symbolise the joy and life we associate with this festival of festivals.
Pondering Jesus’ sepulchre, as I imagine it, I think of my own parents’ grave amidst the Garry oaks of a small veterans’ cemetery planted in the middle of a golf course in Esquimalt. I imagine a Spring morning, the ornamental cherries budding, as they are now on the street where I live, and – dodging the whizzing golf balls – visiting my parents’ final resting place. Now, squeezing my eyes real tight, I try to picture their ashes taking flesh and coming to life, and – well, there my imagination now fails me. It’s a little too much like a science fiction novel for me to grasp.
Yet, the fundamental Christian response about the puzzle of existence is that it persists beyond the bounds of time and space. The dead literally live, but they don’t live literally – if you get my distinction. This is the fundamental challenge of our faith – how to testify to the triumph of life over death in the face of all empirical evidence to the contrary. I believe, however, that the story of Jesus’ resurrection gives us a fundamental insight into answering this challenge.
In order to appreciate that the resurrection has been a challenge to faith from the beginning, we need look no further than the resurrection account of John’s Gospel. Here, we find the author giving substantial attention to how each character came to faith. The Beloved Disciple, whom we are reminded repeatedly “Jesus loved,” is the first to believe, having only seen the empty tomb. Could it be that such immediacy of faith is made possible because of the love between Jesus and this disciple? If so, the message seems to be that love for the Lord gives one the insight to see him present with us.
Similarly, Mary Magdalene. For her, recognition is key – initially, she either cannot believe it is truly Jesus, or he has undergone some change in appearance. Indeed this may be the case. For instance, Paul speaks about the difference between the spiritual and physical bodies, and in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus appears to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus “in another form,” or to use the Greek word, morfh. The idea that the resurrection is a sort of metamorphosis causes us to recall the story of the transfiguration, which seems to foreshadow the resurrection.
But whatever the case, Mary at first does not recognise Jesus. She has consulted the disciples, the angels, and the supposed gardener (Jesus himself), indicating that we may not recognise the risen Lord by reputation or even sight alone, but only through some personal encounter. In Luke, for example, the disciples on the road to Emmaus know him in the breaking of the bread. Here, Mary recognises him when Jesus addresses her by name, “Mary.” And her response, just as eloquent, “Rabbouni” – dear teacher.
The odd thing about John’s account is that this most spiritual of gospel writers, the one most inclined to stress the heavenly glory of the incarnate Word of God, is the one who depicts him in such a human, physical, and earthy way. All John is saying really is that there is no higher exaltation, no brighter glory than that which Christ attained in his own self-offering, since it is the absolute expression of divine love. This is the glory he shared with the Father from the foundation of the world, which is now shared with us.
Love. This is what animates our faith, our fellowship, and our assurance that the Lord is risen indeed. Love is what gives us confidence in our own birth into eternal life, and that of our ancestors and loved ones who have gone before. Love made necessary the crucifixion, love made possible the resurrection, and love is the mystery which makes creation and salvation happen. Peter, seeing the faith of the Gentiles, was amazed and exclaimed, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” To have faith is to love, and to love is to have faith. When it comes to love and to faith, God shows no partiality. Love is the persistence of existence beyond all time and space.
On this day when we welcome Scarlett and Merryk into this household of faith, which is the Body of Christ, we celebrate anew the miracle of resurrection symbolised in baptism. We recognise the gift of the Spirit already working in these children – for baptism is but an outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace of God, raising them to new life. In confidence we pray that one day Scarlett and Merryck will reach out to Jesus with a voice of recognition, “Rabbouni” – dear teacher – responding to the call our Lord issues forth to them, and to all of us, today and every day.
This is the personal encounter, this is the love, which brought the Beloved Disciple and Mary Magdalene to faith. As we celebrate this holy day of joy, let us renew the faith of our own baptism. Let us reach out to the one who calls us by name. We know Jesus lives, and that we live, and that we shall live forever in the light of the one who is life and love. For he is the one who makes life and love itself possible. Amen.
© Richard Neil Fernyhough, 2008
