sermon excerpts: "Filled by Emptiness"

(Matthew 28: 1-10)
It turns out the morning was also dangerous, what with earthquakes and heavenly agents rendering soldiers almost dead. And like so many times in the Bible, the witnesses to God’s greatness are greeted with the words: “Do not be afraid.” Which is always a backhanded comfort because the implication is that there is good and legitimate reasons for being afraid.

In this case, Mary and Mary receive the angelic message of unbelievable good news then meet the risen Christ, who offers his greetings and the same message: “do not be afraid.” Afraid of what? More earthquakes? Of telling what they had seen? Of the Pharisees or Roman Empire? Of death? These are all practical considerations that would benefit from some reassurance.

Do not be afraid of appears to be empty. For in such absence is also opportunity. For into such space, the spirit may flow. There is a Buddhist saying that cryptically asserts that a bowl is most useful where the clay is not. It is for the empty space that we have bowls in the first place; we can fill them with whatever we choose. That is also our life – we fill it with whatever we choose.

Let us look to emptiness as a sign of something better to come, something that defies description, going beyond meaning and logic. This morning the bread will be broken, the chalice will be drained, and we carry the substance and mark of grace and resurrection with us into the world. Communion is a time that we are filled and fed so that we might in turn also be emptied as we give of ourselves to those around us.

Easter is to reject the emptiness of the world’s hollow promises, seeking instead the fullness of God’s grace and mercy, Christ’s passion and justice and the Holy Spirit’s inspiration and comfort. After the earthquake, the angel invites us into the grave. (Yes, here’s where the words “do not be afraid” come in very handy).

The stone was not rolled away so that Jesus might be set free, that has already happened. The stone was rolled away so that we might enter into the place where he was and see that the grave no longer has a hold on us. Filled with life and possibility at the realization that death’s threat over us is an empty one, we can know that we do not ever end, but thrive and live eternally.

Such is the promise of Easter, of spring, and the comforting words of the angel and the rise Saviour. Do not be afraid to believe. Dare to dream. Don’t be afraid of getting your hopes up. Don’t be afraid of looking into the darkness of a tomb as morning breaks, for it is this empty void that gives shapes to the dreams of possibility and promise. In Christ’s resurrected life, we know this is true. All praise and glory to God, alleluia, amen.

for Easter, Mar. 23 -- Matthew 28.1-10

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.

But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you."

So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

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What feelings, questions, thoughts and prompts to personal action arise from this scripture? What about hymn suggestions or ideas for Children's Time? Share them as Comments below or in an email, and help shape Sunday's worship service.

Seeking Lilies

We forgot to mention in church at Trinity this morning: anyone who has an Easter Lily they'd like to offer as a decoration for the church is invited to bring it next Sunday.

sermon excerpts: "A Donkey's Tale"

...Given the agricultural, nomadic history of the Israelites and what we know of society at the time, ownership of a donkey was a sign of wealth. Where common people walked everywhere, riding on a donkey was akin to a cruising in a luxury car, a sign of wealth and importance.

So maybe the disciples were lowjacking a limousine for the occasion of Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. If not a limo, certainly a sports convertible. So it was not as backwards a procession as we tend to think that riding a donkey would be.

Sure, a conquering king would enter the city with a great display of power and might: trotting out impressive warhorses, Arabian stallions, chariots thundering, trumpets blaring and banners flying in a way that is expected of royalty. Jesus continues to turn the tables by resisting worldly glory and fame. His arrival is of a humble leader, very aware that he puts his sandals on, one foot at a time, like everyone else.
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Again, the donkey is an important part of the story, but is overlooked in the hubbub and commotion. It wasn’t the donkey’s idea of a typical afternoon. One minute maybe sunning herself, thinking about a snack, itching herself against a wall, or swishing flies; the next minute surrounded by a throng of deliriously crazed people waving palm branches in the air. Stepping on coats, navigating through a crowd that is shouting “Hosanna!” and singing praises to the man on the donkeys.

Donkeys don’t do this every day. Or do they? After all, she was a beast of burden, expected to do simple menial chores of transporting and hauling. She was a blue collar worker with a reputation for stubbornness. Donkey scientists think this is due to a highly-developed sense of self-preservation: you can’t force or frighten a donkey into doing something it sees as contrary to its best interest.

The Palm Sunday donkey does offer some valuable theological insight to our identity as people of faith. Here, we have the ordinary called to extraordinary things, but nothing required extreme effort or hardship. The donkey did something that ended up being wonderful and powerfully significant, but what she actually did in the moment was simple and unremarkable. She walked. And carried someone. That was it.

She didn’t known enough to put on airs, to pretend to be something other than what she was, a pack animal. She didn’t know what an important task she had, what effect her journey that day would have on a nation of people and a future of a faith. All she knew was, one foot in front of the other.

So maybe it’s worth remembering as a church community, as well as an individual person of faith, that we’re not being asked to be something we’re not. Despite all the calls to repentance and change and turning over a new leaf that the season of Lent tends to focus on, we are not called to abandon who we are and become someone totally different.

We are to be our best selves. To do what we do well, what comes naturally for us, in a way that carries Christ’s message with us. That is how we in our small, seemingly insignificant way will take the presence of Christ into the crowded world. We do not have to radically reinvent ourselves, to aspire to be a successful church or a legitimate Christian.

The donkey wasn’t asked to do anything beyond what she is called to do: to walk, to carry, to be herself. We are good enough as we are, simple hardworking donkeys: jacks and jennies, all of us. We can’t all be thoroughbred champions at the Kentucky Derby, nor should we try.

When the rush of the world overwhelms and we’re just trying to get through the clamour and crowd, doing what we do best isn’t a bad strategy. We’re never going to have the big picture make sense for us, all we have is our small snapshot of what is around us. All we can see is the needs and opportunities around us as well as the companions for the journey. We carry the glorious arrival of Christ, not as a burden, but as gift and grace, as a reminder that we are not alone.