Year A Easter Vigil
April 16, 2017
“Dare We Go?”
Usually this sermon happens in the light, but since Foster our beloved
organist (wait, did I say beloved, I meant curmudgeonly organist) missed
so much of Lent this year, I wanted to give his weary soul one more
moment of penitence before we step into the light. Nonetheless, it’s a little
strange to be preaching in the dark staring ahead at something in the
distance.
High-speed cameras exist today that can capture video in excess of 1,000
frames per second. This means the subtleties that we once could not
observe we now have the ability to study with intense scrutiny. We can
properly calculate that a hummingbird flaps its wings 70 times per second.
We can estimate with more precision the blast radius of explosives used to
implode a dilapidated, old building. We can also—painfully sometimes—
see the moment when a wide receiver gets his foot or feet in bounds to
make a thrilling catch—and send our hopes soaring or crashing to the
ground. This technology even gives us the ability to see those precise
moments when even a minute change occurs—maybe even a change that
changes everything.
For us this morning though, we won’t need any of that fancy equipment
the naked eye will do just fine. As we look ahead, we also look back
carefully at these stories of creation, love, and salvation. There we see
precipitous moments right before it became clear that God would indeed
act. In the beginning there was “a formless void and darkness covering the
face of the deep” and then (Genesis 1:2). Abraham took Isaac on a walk
with fire and the wood but no lamb and then (Genesis 22:7). An oppressed
people wandered and wondered if dying in the wilderness was any better
than being worked to death and then (Exodus 14:11). A valley of dry bones
felt lost and completely cut off from God and then (Ezekiel 37:11). We
observe these moments before the moments that we truly remember.
Sometimes though we still remember the moments before the moments.
1
I remember being six or seven years old and having one of the best nights
of my childhood. On a Thursday night my dad took me to go see a liveaction Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles production. It was to borrow some of
their phrases, “RADICAL”, “EXCELLENT,” and “BODACIOUS”! As my
father knew one of the tech guys we got to sit in this cool booth. The A/V
guy would point out right before something awesome was to happen, so
that I would pay particularly close attention. I can still see the
choreographed flipping and fighting in my mind now.
When the show concluded my dad took me to go pick up my mom and
sister who had been at church. At the time I definitely thought I had gotten
the good end of that deal—no church and Ninja Turtles—Seth 2-Life 0. Still
I can recall that moment of walking into the church. Everything was dark.
All the normal liturgical hangings were missing, the candles were
extinguished, and even the crosses were either gone or covered. I saw my
mother weeping and wanted to say to her, “Don’t worry the Turtles show
will come back and next time you can take me,” but something stopped me
from saying anything. That was my first memory of a Maundy Thursday
liturgy—a service that is all about the moment before the moment. For it is
when we remember the night before Jesus died when he shared
communion, washed feet, and commanded us to love one another. That
service is the beginning of the Triduum (our holy service of three days) that
we conclude this morning!
Typically we like to rush through the moments before the good stuff, or
what we perceive will be the good stuff. We fast forward through
commercials. We order ahead to avoid the lines at restaurants and even
grocery stores now. Hey, I’m all about efficiency—I’m the kettle calling out
the pot. Sometimes though all this rushing ahead distracts us from paying
attention to what God is doing right in front of us, how God is sitting right
here with us. We push ourselves or others into moving beyond the moment
so often that I fear we are not like those cameras that record a thousand
frames per second, but instead like a TiVo or DVR that is ready to skip
ahead (bebop).
2
Even in the midst of what we call a crisis, a dilemma, or our lives ripping at
the seams God is present right in the thick of it with us. This is as true for
us as it was for a group of women long ago.
There was a small group of dedicated disciples a long time ago who sat
anxiously awaiting the Passover Sabbath to end, so that they may go to
tend to the dead body of their beloved Jesus. Their reality felt broken. Their
savior had not only been killed, but betrayed by friends, tortured, and then
crucified. Their lives had been sideswiped by the cruel forces of the world.
I cannot imagine how much grief they bore and how difficult it must have
been to take the first step out the door from their bleak homes. Somehow
though they stared that moment—the one before the moment we
remember—dead in the eye and they did not blink.
We are called to be like Mary Magdalene and the other Mary. We are
charged with paying attention to what God is doing in this world. Just like
in the story of creation, the story of Abraham and Isaac, the story of Israel’s
deliverance, and the story of the Valley of the Dry Bones when in each
there was a moment before the moment. We are called to see that
sometimes before we hear the Good News we have to hear the bad. And,
that even then God is with us.
Do not mistakenly think that God’s creative, life-giving, salvific love is
locked in the past, so that we may never taste it, never feel it, never
experience it. That’s just not true. The Truth is we always sit on the cusp of
divine transformation, we’re always on the brink of celestial brightness,
even at this moment we rest on the edge of Resurrection. Dare we go with
the women to look into the tomb?
3