St. David's United Church

St. David’s United Church
Rev. Dan Chambers
April 4, 2010
Easter Sunday
John 20:10-18

Walking By Jesus

…[Mary] turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” 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).
John 20:14-16

“Don’t hold me!” Jesus said to Mary and perhaps says the same to us all. We can’t pin him down. Neither nails on the cross nor a large stone sealing a tomb could get him to stay put, let alone all our dogmas and well formulated theological dissertations. It makes you wonder if as a baby he was always trying to climb out of his crib.
Now it’s Mary who wants to hold him down, and understandably so. The one you thought was dead and gone forever somehow makes a return appearance. The one you loved dearly, the one who seemed to understand you better than anyone else, the one who treated you with incredible respect when all others put you down, suddenly stands before you, speaking your name, of course your whole body wants to hold him in a deep embrace.
“He’s not dead! He’s back with us!” Rabbi! she says. But no. That was his Friday name. This is Sunday; a new day; a new life. You can’t hold on to what was.
There’s something about the Christ that refuses to be pinned down, even by those who love him dearly. Not even death could contain that great Spirit. He slipped the tomb. Where did he go?
I remember finding a snakeskin on my way to school when I was in Jr. High. I’d seen snake skins before, but this one was perfect and whole, fragile as the skeleton of a leaf. If you looked closely, you could still see the transparent pattern of the snake’s skin before he made this deposit in the grass by the side of the road. For an eleven year old boy, this was a prize, a jewel, a treasure to be shared.
I showed my friends outside the school. We stood in a small huddle examining this fragile, amazing shell of a snake. When some girls asked what we were doing, our very natural response was to thrust the snake skin in their face. Of course. To our great satisfaction, they squealed, of course. This was the age when tormenting girls was the best way to communicate that you quite liked them.
No one on earth knows what happened in the tomb on the first Easter morning. The resurrection is entirely between Jesus and God. There were no witnesses whatsoever. All we know is that Jesus slipped the grave, just as the snake slipped out of his old skin, leaving it behind as if it were a pile of old clothes.
That’s what Mary saw in the tomb that morning, just a pile of old clothes. It makes you wonder what Jesus was wearing when he found her in the garden. Was she talking to a naked gardener? Or had Jesus found some work clothes down by the compost and shovels? If he was going to make an appearance, why didn’t he just stay in the tomb sitting there all pink and healthy so that everyone could come in and see him but that’s not what he did.
He had outgrown his tomb, which was too small a focus for the resurrection. It’s impossible to pin Jesus down. The Risen One had people to see and things to do. The Living One’s business was among the living, and every time he made an appearance his friends became wiser, stronger, more daring. Every time he came to them, they became more like him. (I appreciated an article by Barbara Brown Taylor, Escape from the Tomb, The Christian Century, 1998, p.339.)
In most of the resurrection stories, no one recognizes Jesus right away. They might have a long conversation with the Risen One and not have a clue who they’re talking to. It makes you wonder: If even the disciples who knew and loved Jesus of Nazareth had difficulty recognizing the Resurrection when it was right in front of them, then how often do we encounter the Risen One and remain equally clueless?
The Washington Post conducted an experiment a couple of years ago, not with the Resurrected Christ, but with Joshua Bell, the violinist who some believe is close to divine. The experiment was to see if beauty could transcend a banal setting, at an inconvenient time. So they asked Joshua Bell, a world-class violinist, to busk in a subway station at 7:50am, on a Friday morning. They set up a camera and you can watch the video on YouTube. It’s an amazing sight. You see a renowned violinist playing some of the world’s greatest classical music on a priceless violin. He insisted on playing his violin, worth three and a half million dollars, made in 1713 by Antonio Stradivari. Of his music, one magazine put it this way: “His playing does nothing less than tell human beings why they live.” People usually pay $100.00 a ticket for a mediocre seat to hear Joshua Bell play.
But on this day, in the 45 minutes he played, 1,095 people walked by without stopping. As he made the instrument sing and soar, perhaps 5 people stopped. A man who lingered for a few minutes; a child who wanted to stop and listen, but after a few seconds her mother pulled her along, a young woman who had recently seen Bell play a free concert at the Library of Congress, and a couple of others. Everyone else rushed by the great musician playing great music on a great violin. That day, Joshua Bell made $32.17 for his music.
How often do we rush by the Risen One and assume it’s just the gardener? How often do we rush by a great soul and not even notice because we’re too caught by our own concern? Jesus has slipped the tomb and is on the loose, ready to meet us in the garden, on the beach, on the dusty road, in the subway station. Do we notice? Or do we just walk by the One who is walking beside us?
Rachel Naomi Remen writes of an ancient Jewish story that goes back to the prophet Isaiah, about 600 years before Jesus was born. It’s a legend she first heard as a little girl from her grandfather, the legend of the Lamed-vov. In this story, God tells us that the world will continue as long as there are 36 good people in the human race. People who are capable of responding to the suffering that is a part of the human condition. These 36 are called the Lamed-vov. If at any time there are fewer than 36 such people alive, the world will collapse into nothingness.
She asked her grandfather, who seemed to know an awful lot, “Do you know who these people are, grandfather?” To her surprise, he shook his head. “No, Neshume-le, only God knows who the Lamed-vovniks are. Even the Lamed-vovniks themselves don’t know for sure the role they have in the continuation of the world, and no one else knows it either. They respond to suffering, not in order to save the world but simply because the suffering of others touches them and matters to them.”
As you might guess, Lamed-vovniks could be anyone: male, female, professors, paupers, powerful leaders or powerful victims. What matters is only their capacity to feel the collective suffering of the human race, and to respond to the suffering around them.
Her grandfather continued, “And because no one knows who they are, Neshume-le, anyone you meet might be one of the 36 who save the world from oblivion. It’s important to treat everyone as if this might be so.” (My Grandfather’s Blessings, Rachel Naomi Remen, p.8-9). It makes you wonder: how many times have we sat next to or talked with or walked by a Lamed-vovnik and not known?
If we heard that George Clooney or Meryl Streep, or fill-in-the-blank for your favourite actor was shooting a film right down the street from where you live, most people would walk around wide-eyed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the great actor getting out of a car or talking to stage-hands between a shoot.
Maybe we can be wide-eyed in our expectation of meeting a Lamed-vovnik? Right now, this Easter morning, you may very well be sitting beside a great, spiritual celebrity, a Lamed-vovnik. I know this congregation pretty well, and I’d say it’s a distinct possibility. Be careful how you treat that person. Their compassion may be the glue that holds this fragile world together.
Joshua Bell in a subway station. A Lamed-vovnik next door. The Risen Christ in a garden. Who knows what you’ll encounter this morning? The thing is, they’re not easy to recognize because they look just like your butcher, your colleague, the teenager next door…you. It’s possible, of course, that having slipped the tomb on Easter morning, the Risen One has slipped into your heart, giving you the eyes to see resurrection living wherever you are. Having ditched the empty tomb and walked into your heart, you may now recognize in others what dwells in you: compassion, wisdom, fortitude: the very presence of Christ.
May we all have the eyes and the heart to see. It might be enough to save the world.
Amen.