Woody Allen, in his movie “Annie Hall” tells the story of a man who goes to a psychiatrist, complaining that his brother-in-law, who lives with him, thinks he is a chicken. “Describe his symptoms,” the doctor says. “Maybe I can help.” “Well,” replies the man, “he cackles a lot, he pecks at the rug and the furniture, and he makes nests in the corners.” The doctor thinks for a moment, then says, “It sounds like a simple neurosis to me. Bring your brother-in-law in and I think I can cure him completely.”
“Oh, no, Doc,” says the man, “we wouldn’t want that. We need the eggs!”
Here is a man who finds his brother-in-law’s neurosis so useful that he wants to preserve at least a part of it. Sometimes we do that to ourselves, clinging to our pathologies because they are perversely useful to us. Sometimes we prefer these little deaths to liberating health because “we need the eggs.” Deep down we are threatened by health, life, and resurrection.
A similar point is made by an apocryphal story about the apostle Peter related by Parker Palmer whose insights form the basis for this sermon. After the resurrection of Jesus, Peter sees a blind beggar crouched in the dust beside the gate of the city. Overcome with compassion, Peter rushes to the man, places his hands over the blind eyes, and says, “In the name of the resurrected Christ, may your sight be restored.”
The beggar leaps to his feet, eyes wide open and healed. But in rage he screams at Peter, “You fool! You have destroyed my way of making a living!” And with one swift and violent motion the beggar gouges out his eyes with his own thumbs and collapses into the street. As Palmer says, this story has a powerful message. We sometimes know how to make a living from our blindness but are afraid that we would starve to death if our sight were restored. You see, sometimes life and resurrection are more threatening than death and resignation. When resignation and death, in all of their forms, are the horizon facing us, not much is expected of us. It is life that is demanding, not death. In fact, death in its various forms can even be comforting. We humans have a fearful side to life and are strangely attracted to death. As Palmer says, perhaps we are afraid of life, of its challenges and demands for change. Perhaps we perversely prefer the safe and predictable confines of the grave.
You see, every human life is lived toward a horizon, a distant vision of what’s ahead. And how we live depends on whether that horizon is dark with death or full of light and life. If our horizon is darkness and death, then there is not much to look forward to–but there is also very little expected of us. If the forces of death and evil have the last word, then why bother to risk ourselves for love and justice, for reconciliation and peace?
But if the horizon we are living toward is resurrection and life, then we are challenged in dynamic and exciting ways. We are free to act without fear. We are free to live and risk on the side of truth, love, and justice. But such freedom is scary because it is so daring. If we live as if resurrection is the horizon facing us and creation, then what might we be called to do? What strange and difficult tasks might be laid upon us? What risks might we be summoned to take? How might our lives be changed? What deaths may we be called to endure for the sake of God’s new creation? And if we really lived as if the horizon facing us and the world is resurrection, would we still have “the eggs” and would we still be able to make a living? That first Easter morning the women came to anoint a dead body and to express their grief. They came to say goodbye, to share memories, to bring a solemn closure to what had apparently been a pipe dream. They came to mourn an ending so they could return to their old, predictable ways of life. In that culture, as in all cultures, women knew what to do with dead bodies. Grief was a familiar emotion. They had been down this road before.
But at the tomb that morning, rather than being allowed closure by death and burial, they were threatened by life and resurrection. As sad as grief may be, they knew how to handle it. They knew what was expected of them. What they could not handle was the angel’s message of resurrection. What does Jesus’ resurrection mean? What does it mean for them? What now is expected of them? They know that something is up, for they have been told that Jesus will meet them and the other disciples in Galilee. What they thought was the end of a drama proved to be only the end of act one. The drama was to continue, and they were to be among the actors. In some ways a dead hero is easier to deal with than a resurrected Lord. Death expects nothing of us but resignation and perhaps nostalgia. Resurrection calls us to risky freedom and vulnerable love.
And so we are told that the women who came to the tomb that morning to anoint a dead body fled in terror. They were scared speechless. They were threatened with resurrection. What now was expected of them? And of us?
Julia Esquivel was an elementary-school teacher in Guatemala, her native land. Because of her commitment to justice among her people, she was forced into exile from the land she loves. In her collection of poems entitled Threatened with Resurrection, Esquivel speaks from personal experience of many kinds of oppression: as a citizen of the third world, a Latin American, a woman, an advocate for children. The hope found in her poetry is not sugar-coated. She has no time or patience with Pollyanna dribble. Her hope is hard-won, but it is there–powerfully there.
She (along with so many of her other Latin American sisters in Christ) knows what it’s like to stare death in the face–to see it suck the life out of her people through grinding poverty and gnawing hunger–through excruciating torture and brutal oppression. She lives with death daily in ways we cannot even begin to imagine.
But she knows that more powerful than the sting and fear of death are the power and threat of resurrection. She dares to believe that love shall triumph over hate–that justice shall prevail over oppression–that sharing shall replace greed–that life shall overcome death. She and her people dare to live their lives toward the horizon of hope. But they understand fully the risk involved in such hope. If they dare speak the truth in their country, they may be ground up by the brutality of a lying regime. If they dare seek justice, they may be soaked in their own blood. If they dare to work for a better future for their children, they may never live to see the results of their labors. They know the risks of hope. They know how real the threat of resurrection is for those who take it seriously. But they dare to believe that love, life, and light have the last word. And thus they are free to live the resurrection in their own time and space.
Do we know what it is like to be threatened with resurrection? Are we willing to live our lives toward the horizon of God’s new creation? Are we ready to risk our lives as they are for the sake of God’s Kingdom as it shall be? To put it bluntly, do we really believe in the resurrection? We who take food and housing for granted–who are gifted with education, work, and income–who have a vested interest in the status quo–are threatened speechless by resurrection. To live toward that horizon in our kind of world involves risks and sacrifices we would prefer to avoid. If our death dealing fear should be replaced by life-giving faith, we might be called to do God-knows-what for God-knows-who.
Our Lord said, “Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.” We are so tempted to cling to our lives as they are. And such clinging leads to paralyzing fear and crippling idolatry. But when we are willing to let go of life as we have it and allow Jesus to live in and through us, then in our dying we come alive. We experience resurrection. We are liberated to dance in the dawn of God’s new creation instead of being weighted down by the chains of death and fear.
It is awesome to confess that we believe in the resurrection. And it is daring to live as though the horizon before us is one of love, life, and light. Julia Esquivel and her sisters and brothers know what it’s like to be threatened with resurrection–to dare to risk themselves for the sake of God’s will in this world.
That first Easter morning the women came to anoint a dead body and were instead threatened with resurrection–so much so that they were scared speechless and fled in terror. The resurrection of Jesus is not about Easter eggs, cute bunnies, spring outfits, and sappy sentiments. And it certainly is not about pie in the sky when we die. The resurrection is about God’s affirmation of life offered in trust and love. We too might run for our lives if we had a clue as to what Jesus’ resurrection really means for us and our world. This Easter shall we dare be threatened with resurrection? Amen.
Gracious God, we pause on this joyous day to praise you for your great deed of love offered in Christ Jesus. For his coming into our world in humility and peace, for his teachings which illuminate our way, for his life lived with integrity and compassion, for his faithfulness even unto death, and most of all today for his victory over death and sin and for the reign that is his now and forever–for all this we give you thanks.
We are inspired and empowered by Easter to scale new heights in our walk with you. We are comforted to know that his victory over death and sin is our victory. And we find uncommon serenity and courage for ourselves and those we have loved in the knowledge that nothing can separate us from your pursuing love.
We are also challenged by Jesus’ presence in our midst. He lives and comes to us as he came to those by the shores of Galilee with those same words:
“Fo11ow me.” And we know deep down that without that following, regardless of what we say, there is no real believing. We are strengthened by his triumph over wrong and the cruel circumstances of his life as we face day by day our own little bouts wi th evil and our own encounters with conditions not of our choosing. Help us to know in the fiber of our being that all the defeats and pains, all the failures and losses of our lives have been swallowed up in the victory of Christ.
Grant that in our living and in our commitments, Christ has not been raised in vain. Let him live through us and move us day by day and step by step in the newness of life his victory brings. In the midst of our celebration and joy, we pause to pray for those who are in pain–those who grieve–those for whom memories rend the heart–those for whom life has no joy or vitality –those who suffer because of others’ greed, pride, and prejudice. May the victory of Easter spill over into their lives and where possible may we be the channels for that movement of grace. May each be strengthened by the sure knowledge that though heaven and earth may pass away, you are the Solid Rock–the Sure Foundation who authors life, inspires hope, and keeps us in your love. For this certainty–for this victory we give you thanks in the name of Jesus who is the resurrection and the life. Amen.
