April 2021
"Good and Bad"
Based on John 10:11-18 (text is available below)
April 25, 2021
Years ago my father, George Larson, was a farmhand. Dad grew up near Kingston, a small town south of St. Cloud, Minnesota. During the Great Depression, a lot of single men had to find work wherever they could. So, my dad got a job as a hired hand on a farm. He worked side by side with the farmer and a few other laborers like himself.
Dad wasn’t paid much. But he got free meals and a place to sleep. Dad did all sorts of manual labor. He milked cows. Baled hay. Harvested crops.
Back then, a lot of family farms still used horses for plowing and hauling. Tractors were rare. One of my dad’s special skills was training horses. My father was especially critical of bad trainers who used cruel horse-breaking techniques. “Cruel” as defined by dictionaries as someone who intentionally causes pain or distress to others, and often enjoys doing so.*
Breaking a horse is cruel when a trainer uses violent methods like whipping or restraints that cause physical pain or severe anxiety. Breaking a horse is not cruel when a handler uses gentle persuasive techniques to teach new behaviors, like adjusting to being ridden and following commands.
I never saw my father train a horse. He worked as a farmhand long before I was born. But he told me stories about how he would gradually get to know a horse and become its friend. About how they would come to know his voice and trust him, responding positively to his instructions. I like to think my dad was a good horse trainer. I’m sure the farmer he worked for would have called dad a good hired hand.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd. And while training horses is much different than handling sheep, a shepherd needs to know how to teach sheep to follow and obey their commands. Jesus makes a stark comparison between the Good Shepherd and a hired hand. The Greek word for “hired hand” in this passage simply means someone who has been hired for a job.
In this metaphor, the shepherd is good, but the hired hand is bad. But I don’t like that dichotomy. It certainly doesn’t fit my father’s story. And while binary distinctions help us in all sorts of situations to define the differences between individuals and groups, they also can promote stereotypes and simplistic judgements.
But it’s easy to see people in binaries. Like black and white. Queer and straight. Democrats and Republicans. Rich and poor. Christians and atheists. White supremacists and people of color. Good cops and bad cops.
This week, most of us were relieved by the verdict of the Derek Chauvin trial. With a decisive conviction of a police officer who cruelly caused the death of George Floyd by kneeling on his neck for more than nine minutes. Especially since most cases like that have not ruled in favor of people of color. In fact, this was the first time in Minnesota history that a white police officer was convicted of killing a Black civilian on the job.
We as white people might claim that as evidence that courtrooms are becoming more just. That police departments are getting better. That it’s a good ending to a bad story. But when asked what he thought about the verdict, an African American pastor I know smiled and shrugged and said that for people like him nothing really has changed. That one trial does not fix a racist society or get rid of a corrupt police.
A lot of us white people want simple solutions. We want to stop “bad” police brutality and create a “good” justice system. But in reality, good-versus bad binary thinking often leads us to self-delusion. And while self-delusion might make us feel comfortable, when people of color’s lives are on the line, it can be cruel and dangerous.
In her book White Fragility, Robin DiAngelo discusses the good/bad binary as a barrier to seeing the inescapable evidence of white privilege in everyday life. For example, many of us equate the word “racist” with the word “bad.” But few of us see ourselves as “bad” (because deep down I know I am a good person with good intentions even around issues of race.)
Yet that dichotomy can lead us to assume—even argue—that you and I are not really “racist.” And that we can somehow avoid participating in racism. Sort of like a fish swimming in the ocean pretending to be “not wet.” However, white people can’t avoid playing along with racism because racism is continually playing along with us in every aspect of life. A white person who enters a store isn’t usually followed by a security guard. an African America customer, on the other hand, is treated suspiciously simply for being black.
But if, as DiAngelo teaches, we white people can learn to live with the knowledge of our own internalized racism and complicity, we can also teach ourselves not to be satisfied with just wanting to be non-racist. We need to be anti-racist. We need to re-train ourselves with anti-racist attitudes and behaviors. Like not assuming that the white experience is normal and normative. Like seeing our white privilege. Like not expecting comfort in situations that are uncomfortable for people of color. Like not expecting black people to do the work for us.
Like not just complaining about injustice, but taking risky actions and making significant sacrifices for the sake of siblings of color in our Church and world.
This week, I listened to an online interview with Ingrid Rasmussen, the Lead Pastor at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in south Minneapolis. Her church was at the center of the riots that erupted last May after the death of George Floyd. When Pastor Ingrid arrived at her church on the first night of the protests, the front doors were propped open with light flowing into the street. And in the spot where ushers normally stand on Sunday mornings were people she didn’t know—greeting other strangers coming inside looking for help.
During the interview, Pastor Ingrid reflected on how that experience has affected her congregation. She said: “Perhaps, the Kingdom of God is only known… through the particularities of our own shared experiences…. Through the nights of chaos we had our church doors open and people were coming and going into the church as a refuge…. The mutual aid tables [with water and milk and first aid supplies] became our communion tables…. The compassion shared between strangers became our sign of peace…. It certainly has changed our community and the way we see ourselves.” **
Today, I believe Jesus is calling us here at St. Mark’s to look at how this past year has changed what it means to be a faith community. In our Gospel reading, Jesus talks about other sheep that do not belong to the fold. Jesus says, “I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”
Today, I believe Jesus the good shepherd instructs us to open our church doors wide. Our shepherd’s voice tells us there are sheep out there who long for a safe and welcoming community. People of color who long for a faith community willing to address their own racism. Trans youth who long for a place where they don’t have to worry about being excluded. Immigrants and refugees who long for a sanctuary in a strange country.
And together we trust the shepherd’s voice. The one who shows us how to live with our fear when we feel uncomfortable. The one who gently teaches us a new ways to live. The one who gives us faith when everything is in doubt. Hope that lifts you up when you’re weary and worn out. Grace that holds you close when you feel unloved.
No matter what life may bring. Even in the valley of the shadow of death. Even in the presence of cruel-hearted enemies who threaten to take away the rights of the most vulnerable among us.
Here at this table, the risen Christ offers food and drink for the hungry and thirsty, good and bad together. Here, the shepherd’s voice is calling us home. And all you have to do is come, one after another.
Come and receive what our shepherd offers. Love that overcomes division and hatred. Courage that moves us forward beyond our simple dichotomies. Never-ending mercy and kindness, freely given to you and me and every individual sheep of God’s diverse little flock of humanity.
Come, for Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is calling your name. Amen.
-----------------------------------
* https://www.dictionary.com/browse/cruel
**https://churchanew.org/video-resources; Church Anew video series, “Imagining Christian Community Post-Pandemic”, with Dr. Deanna Thompson and Rev. Ingrid Rasmussen.
GOSPEL LESSON: John 10:11-18
Jesus said: “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”
Dad wasn’t paid much. But he got free meals and a place to sleep. Dad did all sorts of manual labor. He milked cows. Baled hay. Harvested crops.
Back then, a lot of family farms still used horses for plowing and hauling. Tractors were rare. One of my dad’s special skills was training horses. My father was especially critical of bad trainers who used cruel horse-breaking techniques. “Cruel” as defined by dictionaries as someone who intentionally causes pain or distress to others, and often enjoys doing so.*
Breaking a horse is cruel when a trainer uses violent methods like whipping or restraints that cause physical pain or severe anxiety. Breaking a horse is not cruel when a handler uses gentle persuasive techniques to teach new behaviors, like adjusting to being ridden and following commands.
I never saw my father train a horse. He worked as a farmhand long before I was born. But he told me stories about how he would gradually get to know a horse and become its friend. About how they would come to know his voice and trust him, responding positively to his instructions. I like to think my dad was a good horse trainer. I’m sure the farmer he worked for would have called dad a good hired hand.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd. And while training horses is much different than handling sheep, a shepherd needs to know how to teach sheep to follow and obey their commands. Jesus makes a stark comparison between the Good Shepherd and a hired hand. The Greek word for “hired hand” in this passage simply means someone who has been hired for a job.
In this metaphor, the shepherd is good, but the hired hand is bad. But I don’t like that dichotomy. It certainly doesn’t fit my father’s story. And while binary distinctions help us in all sorts of situations to define the differences between individuals and groups, they also can promote stereotypes and simplistic judgements.
But it’s easy to see people in binaries. Like black and white. Queer and straight. Democrats and Republicans. Rich and poor. Christians and atheists. White supremacists and people of color. Good cops and bad cops.
This week, most of us were relieved by the verdict of the Derek Chauvin trial. With a decisive conviction of a police officer who cruelly caused the death of George Floyd by kneeling on his neck for more than nine minutes. Especially since most cases like that have not ruled in favor of people of color. In fact, this was the first time in Minnesota history that a white police officer was convicted of killing a Black civilian on the job.
We as white people might claim that as evidence that courtrooms are becoming more just. That police departments are getting better. That it’s a good ending to a bad story. But when asked what he thought about the verdict, an African American pastor I know smiled and shrugged and said that for people like him nothing really has changed. That one trial does not fix a racist society or get rid of a corrupt police.
A lot of us white people want simple solutions. We want to stop “bad” police brutality and create a “good” justice system. But in reality, good-versus bad binary thinking often leads us to self-delusion. And while self-delusion might make us feel comfortable, when people of color’s lives are on the line, it can be cruel and dangerous.
In her book White Fragility, Robin DiAngelo discusses the good/bad binary as a barrier to seeing the inescapable evidence of white privilege in everyday life. For example, many of us equate the word “racist” with the word “bad.” But few of us see ourselves as “bad” (because deep down I know I am a good person with good intentions even around issues of race.)
Yet that dichotomy can lead us to assume—even argue—that you and I are not really “racist.” And that we can somehow avoid participating in racism. Sort of like a fish swimming in the ocean pretending to be “not wet.” However, white people can’t avoid playing along with racism because racism is continually playing along with us in every aspect of life. A white person who enters a store isn’t usually followed by a security guard. an African America customer, on the other hand, is treated suspiciously simply for being black.
But if, as DiAngelo teaches, we white people can learn to live with the knowledge of our own internalized racism and complicity, we can also teach ourselves not to be satisfied with just wanting to be non-racist. We need to be anti-racist. We need to re-train ourselves with anti-racist attitudes and behaviors. Like not assuming that the white experience is normal and normative. Like seeing our white privilege. Like not expecting comfort in situations that are uncomfortable for people of color. Like not expecting black people to do the work for us.
Like not just complaining about injustice, but taking risky actions and making significant sacrifices for the sake of siblings of color in our Church and world.
This week, I listened to an online interview with Ingrid Rasmussen, the Lead Pastor at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in south Minneapolis. Her church was at the center of the riots that erupted last May after the death of George Floyd. When Pastor Ingrid arrived at her church on the first night of the protests, the front doors were propped open with light flowing into the street. And in the spot where ushers normally stand on Sunday mornings were people she didn’t know—greeting other strangers coming inside looking for help.
During the interview, Pastor Ingrid reflected on how that experience has affected her congregation. She said: “Perhaps, the Kingdom of God is only known… through the particularities of our own shared experiences…. Through the nights of chaos we had our church doors open and people were coming and going into the church as a refuge…. The mutual aid tables [with water and milk and first aid supplies] became our communion tables…. The compassion shared between strangers became our sign of peace…. It certainly has changed our community and the way we see ourselves.” **
Today, I believe Jesus is calling us here at St. Mark’s to look at how this past year has changed what it means to be a faith community. In our Gospel reading, Jesus talks about other sheep that do not belong to the fold. Jesus says, “I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”
Today, I believe Jesus the good shepherd instructs us to open our church doors wide. Our shepherd’s voice tells us there are sheep out there who long for a safe and welcoming community. People of color who long for a faith community willing to address their own racism. Trans youth who long for a place where they don’t have to worry about being excluded. Immigrants and refugees who long for a sanctuary in a strange country.
And together we trust the shepherd’s voice. The one who shows us how to live with our fear when we feel uncomfortable. The one who gently teaches us a new ways to live. The one who gives us faith when everything is in doubt. Hope that lifts you up when you’re weary and worn out. Grace that holds you close when you feel unloved.
No matter what life may bring. Even in the valley of the shadow of death. Even in the presence of cruel-hearted enemies who threaten to take away the rights of the most vulnerable among us.
Here at this table, the risen Christ offers food and drink for the hungry and thirsty, good and bad together. Here, the shepherd’s voice is calling us home. And all you have to do is come, one after another.
Come and receive what our shepherd offers. Love that overcomes division and hatred. Courage that moves us forward beyond our simple dichotomies. Never-ending mercy and kindness, freely given to you and me and every individual sheep of God’s diverse little flock of humanity.
Come, for Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is calling your name. Amen.
-----------------------------------
* https://www.dictionary.com/browse/cruel
**https://churchanew.org/video-resources; Church Anew video series, “Imagining Christian Community Post-Pandemic”, with Dr. Deanna Thompson and Rev. Ingrid Rasmussen.
GOSPEL LESSON: John 10:11-18
Jesus said: “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”
"Unexpected"
Based on Luke 24:36b-48 (text is available below)
April 18, 2021
Many years ago, when I was serving on a Lutheran Youth Encounter Team, I got to know a couple young men at a church in Monterrey, a city in northeastern Mexico. It was May 1st, their national Labor Day. So, Miguel and Isaias invited me to go fishing. That morning, we took a bus to the local reservoir and then walk along the shore of a river that flows through the city. As we walk, Miguel points out women washing clothes on rocks, families swimming, even a man peeing into the river. “And this,” Miguel says chuckling, “is where we get our drinking water!”
On the way, we stop to swim in the stream. Eventually we arrive at the fishing hole. But then I notice no one had brought a fishing rod. When I grew up, of course, everybody used rods and poles to catch fish. My dad gave us kids the long bamboo poles, which made it easy to fish for sunnies and crappies.
But Miguel explains that we don’t need a pole. Unexpectedly, he picks up an empty pop can from the ground. Pulling a roll of fishing line from his backpack, he wraps it around the Coke can with the hook and sinker on one end, and another longer line for casting. Then Miguel shows me how to swing the can around your head and then let it fly it into the water. The can served as the bobber. It all worked surprisingly well. We caught several fish.
When we got back to the house, Miguel and Isaias cleaned and fried the fish we had caught. A delicious late afternoon meal of fresh fish and tortillas. A meal I’ll never forget.
In today’s Gospel lesson, it sounds like the resurrected Jesus might have had a craving for a lunch like that. After all, Jesus has had a busy day. For it’s still Easter—although today we’re reading the story in Luke’s Gospel instead of John. That morning, Jesus rose from the dead. And at the tomb, a group of women encounter two unexpected angels in dazzling robes, who tell them Jesus is alive.
Later that afternoon, a couple disciples are walking to Emmaus, a small village seven miles from Jerusalem. And Jesus joins them for their two-hour journey. But Cleopas and the other disciple (probably his wife don’t know who Jesus is.
When they arrive at their home that evening, they invite their companion to eat with them. A simple meal, quickly prepared. As Jesus breaks the bread to say a blessing, they suddenly recognize their guest. But before they can take a bite of their meal, Jesus disappears.
Startled, they hurry back to Jerusalem in the dark. To the house where the other disciples gather. Cleopas and his wife tell them what happened. And how their hearts burned within their chests before that memorable meal. They learn that Jesus also appeared to Simon Peter earlier that day.
Suddenly out of nowhere, Jesus stands among them. At first they’re scared it’s a ghost. Then Jesus shows them the scars on his hands and feet. And asks if they have any food. For Jesus has not eaten anything all day. The risen Christ is famished.
Together, they sit down at a table, while Jesus eats a meal of broiled fish. Just like so many meals they shared around tables during his ministry. Meals of fried fish and bread. Meals prepared by strangers and friends. Meals shared at the end of long days of walking and talking. And that first Easter day ends with discussions that last late into the night. With Jesus talking about Jewish scriptures. About his crucifixion and death. About the meaning of resurrection. About how the disciples will continue to share Jesus’s love. About how they will remember his words. Memories they never forget.
I think it’s significant that today’s Gospel reading revolves not around a tomb, but around a table. Celebrating an Easter Jesus who still gathers with his followers for a meal.
Which makes sense. For meals were central to Jesus’ ministry. With a few loaves of bread and fish from a little boy, Jesus feeds a crowd of thousands. At various towns, Jesus dines at the homes of Jewish leaders and short tax collectors. While seated at a table, Jesus forgives the sins of a woman who anoints his feet.
In the same upper room that Luke describes in today’s lesson, Jesus shares a final supper with his friends before being arrested. In the last chapter of the Gospel of John, the resurrected Jesus prepares a fish breakfast for his disciples along the shore of a lake. And in his parables, Jesus talks about a welcoming table. And offers this advice to every host, “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind”—those who cannot return the favor.
For Jesus, hospitality is central to the Gospel message. It’s also the key to understanding the Easter story. For the risen Christ is revealed to us in unexpected objects and everyday events. In fish and bread and wine. At simple tables with plates and cups.
In my view, I think Easter is not so much about the promise of eternal life, as the risen Jesus’ call to live a resurrected life in this world. It’s about finding unexpected grace in flawed people and on those days that seem unredeemable. For Jesus came into the world for desperate people living at a desperate time—not unlike our present times.
And even though some people expected Jesus to come into the world as a mighty messiah to liberate his people from cruel Roman oppressors, Christ didn’t fulfill those hopes. For Jesus came to love people in the ways they most desperately needed.
The same is true today. Of course, most of us don’t imagine that our most desperate places—the source of our fears and losses and failures—could be places where we might encounter Christ. But the risen Jesus does.
And that’s where Jesus comes to us today. In places where we don’t expect to find him. For we don’t expect to meet the risen Christ in the hospital room of a cancer patient or an elderly woman dying of COVID-19, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus. We don’t expect to meet the risen Christ in a detention center filled with migrant children, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus.
We don’t expect to meet the risen Christ at the site of the shooting of a black man like Daunte Wright—where protesters cry out for justice once again, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus. And we don’t expect to meet the risen Christ as we lie awake in bed at night—overwhelmed with self-doubt or depression or hopelessness, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus.
In those dark places is exactly where the resurrected Jesus finds us in those unexpected moments and fills our souls with his loving presence.
Where the risen Jesus feeds us with his hunger, until we are hungry for the same things. For grace and kindness and compassion. For justice in a broken world. For abundant life in the face of death. For hope even in despair and grief. For memorable meals shared in community—as best we can, even when we are still apart.
Where everyone is fed with living bread. Where all we can do is enjoy the fellowship and faith we share together with the risen Christ. As witnesses of unexpected things. Amen.
-------------------------------------------
GOSPEL LESSON: Luke 24:36b-48
Jesus himself stood among [the disciples] and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence. Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.”
On the way, we stop to swim in the stream. Eventually we arrive at the fishing hole. But then I notice no one had brought a fishing rod. When I grew up, of course, everybody used rods and poles to catch fish. My dad gave us kids the long bamboo poles, which made it easy to fish for sunnies and crappies.
But Miguel explains that we don’t need a pole. Unexpectedly, he picks up an empty pop can from the ground. Pulling a roll of fishing line from his backpack, he wraps it around the Coke can with the hook and sinker on one end, and another longer line for casting. Then Miguel shows me how to swing the can around your head and then let it fly it into the water. The can served as the bobber. It all worked surprisingly well. We caught several fish.
When we got back to the house, Miguel and Isaias cleaned and fried the fish we had caught. A delicious late afternoon meal of fresh fish and tortillas. A meal I’ll never forget.
In today’s Gospel lesson, it sounds like the resurrected Jesus might have had a craving for a lunch like that. After all, Jesus has had a busy day. For it’s still Easter—although today we’re reading the story in Luke’s Gospel instead of John. That morning, Jesus rose from the dead. And at the tomb, a group of women encounter two unexpected angels in dazzling robes, who tell them Jesus is alive.
Later that afternoon, a couple disciples are walking to Emmaus, a small village seven miles from Jerusalem. And Jesus joins them for their two-hour journey. But Cleopas and the other disciple (probably his wife don’t know who Jesus is.
When they arrive at their home that evening, they invite their companion to eat with them. A simple meal, quickly prepared. As Jesus breaks the bread to say a blessing, they suddenly recognize their guest. But before they can take a bite of their meal, Jesus disappears.
Startled, they hurry back to Jerusalem in the dark. To the house where the other disciples gather. Cleopas and his wife tell them what happened. And how their hearts burned within their chests before that memorable meal. They learn that Jesus also appeared to Simon Peter earlier that day.
Suddenly out of nowhere, Jesus stands among them. At first they’re scared it’s a ghost. Then Jesus shows them the scars on his hands and feet. And asks if they have any food. For Jesus has not eaten anything all day. The risen Christ is famished.
Together, they sit down at a table, while Jesus eats a meal of broiled fish. Just like so many meals they shared around tables during his ministry. Meals of fried fish and bread. Meals prepared by strangers and friends. Meals shared at the end of long days of walking and talking. And that first Easter day ends with discussions that last late into the night. With Jesus talking about Jewish scriptures. About his crucifixion and death. About the meaning of resurrection. About how the disciples will continue to share Jesus’s love. About how they will remember his words. Memories they never forget.
I think it’s significant that today’s Gospel reading revolves not around a tomb, but around a table. Celebrating an Easter Jesus who still gathers with his followers for a meal.
Which makes sense. For meals were central to Jesus’ ministry. With a few loaves of bread and fish from a little boy, Jesus feeds a crowd of thousands. At various towns, Jesus dines at the homes of Jewish leaders and short tax collectors. While seated at a table, Jesus forgives the sins of a woman who anoints his feet.
In the same upper room that Luke describes in today’s lesson, Jesus shares a final supper with his friends before being arrested. In the last chapter of the Gospel of John, the resurrected Jesus prepares a fish breakfast for his disciples along the shore of a lake. And in his parables, Jesus talks about a welcoming table. And offers this advice to every host, “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind”—those who cannot return the favor.
For Jesus, hospitality is central to the Gospel message. It’s also the key to understanding the Easter story. For the risen Christ is revealed to us in unexpected objects and everyday events. In fish and bread and wine. At simple tables with plates and cups.
In my view, I think Easter is not so much about the promise of eternal life, as the risen Jesus’ call to live a resurrected life in this world. It’s about finding unexpected grace in flawed people and on those days that seem unredeemable. For Jesus came into the world for desperate people living at a desperate time—not unlike our present times.
And even though some people expected Jesus to come into the world as a mighty messiah to liberate his people from cruel Roman oppressors, Christ didn’t fulfill those hopes. For Jesus came to love people in the ways they most desperately needed.
The same is true today. Of course, most of us don’t imagine that our most desperate places—the source of our fears and losses and failures—could be places where we might encounter Christ. But the risen Jesus does.
And that’s where Jesus comes to us today. In places where we don’t expect to find him. For we don’t expect to meet the risen Christ in the hospital room of a cancer patient or an elderly woman dying of COVID-19, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus. We don’t expect to meet the risen Christ in a detention center filled with migrant children, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus.
We don’t expect to meet the risen Christ at the site of the shooting of a black man like Daunte Wright—where protesters cry out for justice once again, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus. And we don’t expect to meet the risen Christ as we lie awake in bed at night—overwhelmed with self-doubt or depression or hopelessness, yet that’s exactly where we find Jesus.
In those dark places is exactly where the resurrected Jesus finds us in those unexpected moments and fills our souls with his loving presence.
Where the risen Jesus feeds us with his hunger, until we are hungry for the same things. For grace and kindness and compassion. For justice in a broken world. For abundant life in the face of death. For hope even in despair and grief. For memorable meals shared in community—as best we can, even when we are still apart.
Where everyone is fed with living bread. Where all we can do is enjoy the fellowship and faith we share together with the risen Christ. As witnesses of unexpected things. Amen.
-------------------------------------------
GOSPEL LESSON: Luke 24:36b-48
Jesus himself stood among [the disciples] and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence. Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.”
"Ugly Scars"
Based on John 20:19-31 (text is available below)
April 11, 2021
When I was growing up, my family often visited my Uncle Walter and Aunt Lydia. Uncle Walter was a farmer and a unique individual. He didn’t believe in Church and was skeptical of big government. When the first astronauts landed on the moon, Uncle Walter insisted it was a big hoax. Today he’d call it “fake news.”
Walter and his wife never had children, which is maybe why he was a great uncle. He loved to make me and my sister laugh. He told us lots of silly jokes and funny stories. There was one story, however, which he told over and over again, that I later questioned.
Uncle Walter was missing the tip of the index finger on his right hand. Most people would assume it was a farm injury. But Uncle Walter claimed it happened as a boy. His family had a rabbit he took care of. One day, Walter stuck his finger through the wire of the bunny’s cage. “And just like that,” Walter said, “The rabbit bit it right off. Like a carrot.” Then Walter would hold up his finger stump and show us his ugly scar. It was kind of a scary story for a little kid. But years later, I wonder if it was really true. I wonder if Uncle Walter told the story just to get a reaction out of me.
Today’s Gospel lesson is a similar story. There’s no bunny, of course. Even though it’s still Easter. But there is Jesus showing off his scars. And the terrified disciples staring wide-eyed in a dark room with a locked door. Not sure they believe the story Jesus is telling. That he has risen from the dead.
Then there’s Thomas. Who’s always called “doubting Thomas.” For like my Uncle Walter, Thomas doesn’t believe everything people say. After all, it could just be more fake news. Thomas wants to see it for himself.
So a week later, Jesus comes back. To the same room with the same group of fearful disciples. But this time Thomas is there. So the risen Christ shows Thomas his resurrected body, which probably had a lot of ugly scars. After all, Jesus was scourged by a Roman soldier with a whip and crucified on a cross with a crown of thorns. Then a spear pierced his side.
The Shroud of Turin—which some Christians believe is the true burial cloth of Jesus—has evidence of 360 wounds including over 100 whip marks. But instead of pointing out all of those, Jesus focuses on just three scars: the ones on his hands and the one on his side. Of course, only John’s Gospel tells the story about the soldier piercing the chest of Jesus with a spear. So, it makes sense that here in John Jesus also shows that scar.
For Thomas, the scars on Jesus’ side and hands were evidence for how he had died. Just as Dr. Martin Tobin, a pulmonologist who was a witness this week at the Derek Chauvin trial, testified that the low level of oxygen in George Floyd’s lungs was evidence for how he died.
But I don’t think looking for that kind of proof means that the disciple Thomas lacked faith. His friends testified that Jesus was alive because they had seen his ugly scars. Thomas merely asked for the same. Today, “blind faith” is not a virtue for most people. Though of course the popularity of fake news can make us question how many of us simply believe what our own favorite news program or politician tells us.
In many ways, “doubting” Thomas is a patron saint for our times. For we’ve learned to be skeptical. You have to be. Otherwise, you might end up like the elderly woman in Detroit Lakes recently scammed out of $7,000 by a man claiming to be her grandson in trouble in Florida.
You can almost hear the disciple Thomas questioning whether the story about Jesus was a scam. Perhaps instead of talking about feeling the “mark of the nails,” today Thomas might say something like, “You guys are crazy. Is this some kind of sick joke?” Thomas suggests that the Church should not be a community that asks you to check your brain at the door. And I believe Jesus does not call us to intellectual laziness or sloppy theology.
In many Christian circles, “doubt” is a dirty word. Often used by pastors and those in positions of power to put down and humiliate those who ask questions about the elephant in the middle of the room that everyone else wants to ignore.
Questions like some used to ask and still ask, such as: “Why can’t women be pastors or priests or bishops?” Or, “Why are there so few people of color in our Church?” Or, “Why do I have to believe that doctrine (like the creation story, of the virginity of Mary, or the infallibility of Scripture) to be able to call myself Christian?”
But I don’t think Jesus calls us to “blind faith.” Instead I believe respect for God’s creative involvement in our world and for our own integrity and intelligence demand open inquiry. And that belief does not exclude common sense. In our Gospel story, Thomas doubts and questions what others say because it didn’t make sense to him. Yet Thomas sticks with this fearful group of disciples until he, too, has an encounter with Jesus. Until it makes sense for him.
The same is true today. For I believe that it is in community that we encounter Jesus. It is in community that “blind faith” can be transformed into dynamic and living faith. A faith that makes sense to you and to me. Where in communities like St. Mark’s we’re not afraid to address issues that might divide other congregations. Like racism and sexism and homophobia and other ugly scars. Where we’re not afraid to talk about the history of the sins the Church has sometimes hidden from open examination.
Where the risen Christ among us continues to reveal scars related to real life issues and concerns. Where the Church as Body of Christ seeks not uniformity, but healing in our diversity of belief.
The radical Lutheran theologian Nadia Bolz-Weber tells the story about a parishioner who came to her one day after worship. Looking embarrassed, he confessed, “I can’t say the Creed [anymore] because I don’t know if I believe every line in [it].” Then Nadia replies to him with her typical bluntness, “Oh, my God! Nobody believes every line of the Creed. But in a room of people, for each line of the Creed, somebody believes it. So we’re covered, right?”
In a similar way, I believe faith is a communal act of filling in the empty spaces of faith for one another. And during those days in your life when you doubt what you used to believe, when you’re grieving losses that don’t make sense, when you are confronted by ugly words of judgement by so-called believers, that’s exactly when you and I need to remember that our faith is always community endeavor.
On days when you can’t hold the pain or face whatever life is presenting by yourself, you need to feel that faith is not all up to you. On days when like Thomas, you and I can’t see the presence of Jesus by ourselves, the risen Christ appears in the spaces between us as we gather in community.
Where each of us holds our own little pieces of faith, like the different lines of the Creed. Like pieces of a mysterious divine puzzle. And out of all those very human puzzle pieces emerges a clearer picture of life and reality and love than any of us could ever achieve on our own. What emerges out of what some might call doubt, is a genuine encounter with the Body of Jesus.
Which might be just enough to help you and me to believe for a minute or an hour or a week. And then next week, we will come back to this same old room, filled with the same group of fearful disciples, just like Thomas did.
Where, like Jesus, we can share our own scars, no matter how ugly they seem to us. Because in our hearts we know that everybody has scars. In our bodies and souls and minds.
The very same ugly scars the risen Christ carries in his Body when we gather together in faith. Amen.
------------------------------------------
* Nadia Bolz-Weber, “On Being” radio show - Krista Tibbit, October 23, 2014; https://onbeing.org/programs/nadia-bolz-weber-seeing-the-underside-and-seeing-god-tattoos-tradition-and-grace/
Gospel Lesson: John 20:19-31
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.
Walter and his wife never had children, which is maybe why he was a great uncle. He loved to make me and my sister laugh. He told us lots of silly jokes and funny stories. There was one story, however, which he told over and over again, that I later questioned.
Uncle Walter was missing the tip of the index finger on his right hand. Most people would assume it was a farm injury. But Uncle Walter claimed it happened as a boy. His family had a rabbit he took care of. One day, Walter stuck his finger through the wire of the bunny’s cage. “And just like that,” Walter said, “The rabbit bit it right off. Like a carrot.” Then Walter would hold up his finger stump and show us his ugly scar. It was kind of a scary story for a little kid. But years later, I wonder if it was really true. I wonder if Uncle Walter told the story just to get a reaction out of me.
Today’s Gospel lesson is a similar story. There’s no bunny, of course. Even though it’s still Easter. But there is Jesus showing off his scars. And the terrified disciples staring wide-eyed in a dark room with a locked door. Not sure they believe the story Jesus is telling. That he has risen from the dead.
Then there’s Thomas. Who’s always called “doubting Thomas.” For like my Uncle Walter, Thomas doesn’t believe everything people say. After all, it could just be more fake news. Thomas wants to see it for himself.
So a week later, Jesus comes back. To the same room with the same group of fearful disciples. But this time Thomas is there. So the risen Christ shows Thomas his resurrected body, which probably had a lot of ugly scars. After all, Jesus was scourged by a Roman soldier with a whip and crucified on a cross with a crown of thorns. Then a spear pierced his side.
The Shroud of Turin—which some Christians believe is the true burial cloth of Jesus—has evidence of 360 wounds including over 100 whip marks. But instead of pointing out all of those, Jesus focuses on just three scars: the ones on his hands and the one on his side. Of course, only John’s Gospel tells the story about the soldier piercing the chest of Jesus with a spear. So, it makes sense that here in John Jesus also shows that scar.
For Thomas, the scars on Jesus’ side and hands were evidence for how he had died. Just as Dr. Martin Tobin, a pulmonologist who was a witness this week at the Derek Chauvin trial, testified that the low level of oxygen in George Floyd’s lungs was evidence for how he died.
But I don’t think looking for that kind of proof means that the disciple Thomas lacked faith. His friends testified that Jesus was alive because they had seen his ugly scars. Thomas merely asked for the same. Today, “blind faith” is not a virtue for most people. Though of course the popularity of fake news can make us question how many of us simply believe what our own favorite news program or politician tells us.
In many ways, “doubting” Thomas is a patron saint for our times. For we’ve learned to be skeptical. You have to be. Otherwise, you might end up like the elderly woman in Detroit Lakes recently scammed out of $7,000 by a man claiming to be her grandson in trouble in Florida.
You can almost hear the disciple Thomas questioning whether the story about Jesus was a scam. Perhaps instead of talking about feeling the “mark of the nails,” today Thomas might say something like, “You guys are crazy. Is this some kind of sick joke?” Thomas suggests that the Church should not be a community that asks you to check your brain at the door. And I believe Jesus does not call us to intellectual laziness or sloppy theology.
In many Christian circles, “doubt” is a dirty word. Often used by pastors and those in positions of power to put down and humiliate those who ask questions about the elephant in the middle of the room that everyone else wants to ignore.
Questions like some used to ask and still ask, such as: “Why can’t women be pastors or priests or bishops?” Or, “Why are there so few people of color in our Church?” Or, “Why do I have to believe that doctrine (like the creation story, of the virginity of Mary, or the infallibility of Scripture) to be able to call myself Christian?”
But I don’t think Jesus calls us to “blind faith.” Instead I believe respect for God’s creative involvement in our world and for our own integrity and intelligence demand open inquiry. And that belief does not exclude common sense. In our Gospel story, Thomas doubts and questions what others say because it didn’t make sense to him. Yet Thomas sticks with this fearful group of disciples until he, too, has an encounter with Jesus. Until it makes sense for him.
The same is true today. For I believe that it is in community that we encounter Jesus. It is in community that “blind faith” can be transformed into dynamic and living faith. A faith that makes sense to you and to me. Where in communities like St. Mark’s we’re not afraid to address issues that might divide other congregations. Like racism and sexism and homophobia and other ugly scars. Where we’re not afraid to talk about the history of the sins the Church has sometimes hidden from open examination.
Where the risen Christ among us continues to reveal scars related to real life issues and concerns. Where the Church as Body of Christ seeks not uniformity, but healing in our diversity of belief.
The radical Lutheran theologian Nadia Bolz-Weber tells the story about a parishioner who came to her one day after worship. Looking embarrassed, he confessed, “I can’t say the Creed [anymore] because I don’t know if I believe every line in [it].” Then Nadia replies to him with her typical bluntness, “Oh, my God! Nobody believes every line of the Creed. But in a room of people, for each line of the Creed, somebody believes it. So we’re covered, right?”
In a similar way, I believe faith is a communal act of filling in the empty spaces of faith for one another. And during those days in your life when you doubt what you used to believe, when you’re grieving losses that don’t make sense, when you are confronted by ugly words of judgement by so-called believers, that’s exactly when you and I need to remember that our faith is always community endeavor.
On days when you can’t hold the pain or face whatever life is presenting by yourself, you need to feel that faith is not all up to you. On days when like Thomas, you and I can’t see the presence of Jesus by ourselves, the risen Christ appears in the spaces between us as we gather in community.
Where each of us holds our own little pieces of faith, like the different lines of the Creed. Like pieces of a mysterious divine puzzle. And out of all those very human puzzle pieces emerges a clearer picture of life and reality and love than any of us could ever achieve on our own. What emerges out of what some might call doubt, is a genuine encounter with the Body of Jesus.
Which might be just enough to help you and me to believe for a minute or an hour or a week. And then next week, we will come back to this same old room, filled with the same group of fearful disciples, just like Thomas did.
Where, like Jesus, we can share our own scars, no matter how ugly they seem to us. Because in our hearts we know that everybody has scars. In our bodies and souls and minds.
The very same ugly scars the risen Christ carries in his Body when we gather together in faith. Amen.
------------------------------------------
* Nadia Bolz-Weber, “On Being” radio show - Krista Tibbit, October 23, 2014; https://onbeing.org/programs/nadia-bolz-weber-seeing-the-underside-and-seeing-god-tattoos-tradition-and-grace/
Gospel Lesson: John 20:19-31
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.
"The First Witnesses"
Based on Mark 16:1-6 (text is available below)
April 4, 2021
Darnella Frazier is a teenager we will never forget. She was the young African American who filmed the video of the last moments of George Floyd. A video seen by millions. On Tuesday, Darnella shared her emotional story during the second day of the trial of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin.
Darnella was one of a small group of people who became the first eyewitnesses of a deadly encounter. A diverse group of bystanders. Black and white. High school students, a martial arts instructor, a firefighter. During her testimony, Darnella shared how that day changed her life. And how she remains haunted by George Floyd’s cries for help.
Sometimes Darnella lies awake at night, “apologizing to George Floyd” for not doing more to save his life. “When I look at George Floyd,” she said, “I look at my dad. I have a Black father. I have a Black brother. I have Black friends. And I look at… how that could have been one of them.”
In December, Darnella was presented with the PEN/Benenson Courage Award by film director Spike Lee for capturing Floyd's death on video, and to recognize her brave witness.
During the Chauvin trial, I was struck by how many of the witnesses were female. Young women and girls. Who were deeply traumatized by what took place. Most of them just happened to be present there at Cup Foods for mundane reasons—getting a phone cord, buying snacks, taking a walk. Yet they ended up as central players in a story that none of us can ever forget.
Today’s Gospel lesson from Mark tells another story about a group of female witnesses. For in Mark, only women are present when Jesus dies on the cross on Friday. No male disciples are mentioned. And only women come back to the tomb on Sunday. Like a good reporter, Mark tells us the names of the female witnesses. And while Biblical scholars argue about their identities, many suggest the three includes: Mary Magdalene (an early follower of Jesus); Mary, the mother of Jesus and his brother James; and Mary “Salome,” the wife of Cleopas, who was the brother of Jesus’ father. (In other words, she was Jesus’ aunt.)
Unlike the Easter stories in Matthew and Luke, here in Mark these women actually say something. Initially, it sounds like a simple question: “Who will roll the stone away for us?” It was the first step in their task of preparing the body of Jesus for burial. As fate would have it, these unsuspecting women become the first and only witnesses of the empty tomb in Mark. They don’t expect what happens next. And they’re shocked when suddenly they come face-to-face with a stranger in a white robe. The other Gospels call him an angel. But not Mark. Here he’s just a young man.
But this strange teenage witness scares the women. They’re confused about why he opened the tomb. And when the kid tells them that Jesus has risen, they are silent. Maybe they don’t believe him. They just run out of the tomb. Almost like they had seen and heard too much. Almost like they were traumatized. Mark says that they don’t tell anyone what happened. And in the original version of Mark’s story, that’s how this Gospel ends.
Not telling anyone is a normal response for many victims of trauma—whether it be a sexual assault or harassment or a violent incident. Psychologists tell us that many traumatized women don’t tell anyone else for a long time, if ever. And they typically don’t report these experiences to authority figures like police, especially if they are people of color.
The reasons for keeping it a secret from others include internalized shame, the stigma of being seen as a “victim,” previous negative reactions from others, and the fear of being told that the event was somehow their fault. The women at the tomb may have been reacting to the trauma of having recently witnessed the violent death of someone they loved—the cruel crucifixion of an innocent man. Being told by a stranger that now Jesus was risen might have made them think that no one would ever believe their story. Because they are women. Because they are emotional.
Normally, when something bad happens to you or me—whether it be a minor disagreement with a friend, or a mundane flat tire, or disappointing news, we want to tell somebody. We long for affirmation of our perspective. And sometimes for help in problem-solving. It’s especially helpful when that person tells us that this was a crummy experience. And that we’re not to blame for what happened.
But it’s often not easy for those of us who have experienced trauma to feel safe sharing it. Yet often, talking about it is an initial step toward healing. And having someone willing to listen to you—and believe you—can make a world of difference.
For members of the Armed Forces recovering from the trauma of serving in wars, studies have shown that having an open attitude about disclosure is a powerful predictor of a positive outcome. Veterans who can discuss their painful experiences are far more likely to move forward emotionally in constructive ways. But it’s often not easy.
So maybe the women at the tomb were hesitant to tell someone about their trauma. Maybe like the witnesses of the death of George Floyd, they were afraid that no one would listen to what they had to say.
But those three women never forget what happened. Like brave and strong women today who, despite all odds, survive and even transcend horrific life events. Perhaps by sharing them with one another.
And that’s how the Gospel of Mark ends. It really leaves us hanging. Jesus never appears. None of the twelve male disciples are there. We don’t know what happens next. Which is really incredible when you consider that this was the very first Gospel written. In the New Testament, there are a dozen different reports about the risen Christ. St. Paul tells us there were 500 witnesses of the resurrection.
But, what sticks in my head this Easter, are the words spoken by these three women, “Who will roll the stone away for us?” A question any one of us might ask. It’s really a universal human question. Women have asked that question for centuries. “Who will roll away the stone of sexism for us?” LGBTQ individuals, inside and outside our church, ask that question today: “Who will roll away the stone of homophobia and transphobia for us?” African Americans and people of color are traumatized and weary of asking, “Who will roll away the stone of racism and police brutality for us? People throughout the world are asking, “Who will roll away the stone of COVID-19 for us?”
Maybe you have a stone of your own. Maybe it’s related to work or family or personal struggles. Each of us—when faced with unexpected hardship or disease or death, asks the question, “Who will roll away this stone for me?” Maybe you don’t say anything to anybody about it. But deep down, like the women at the tomb, you feel fear, maybe even terror, about what could happen. You wonder if God is there with you.
Some Christians like to celebrate Easter without Good Friday. But I believe that we cannot have an empty tomb without the cross. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor and theologian, who was brutally executed by the Nazis. Bonhoeffer wrote extensively about the theology of the cross. Here’s what he says: “Christ is not gloriously transported from earth into heaven. He must instead go to the cross. And precisely there, where the cross stands, the resurrection is near. Precisely here, where all lose faith in God, where all despair about the power of God, God is fully there, and Christ is alive and near.”*
Like Bonhoeffer, I believe God in Christ can take our weary souls and traumatized minds, and bring rebirth. And restore belief in something we thought was dead or dying. Our hope for the future. Our compassion for fellow humans. Our belief in ourselves and the power of love.
The three women at the tomb knew what that meant. Those first witnesses came with worries about heavy stones and hearts weighed down with grief. Then they saw something unbelievable in a cold, dark cave. And left in silent amazement. Inspired with new faith. Filled with new life.
Christ is risen, my friends! Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!
---------------------------------------
* Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is on the Cross: Reflections on Lent and Easter (Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Kentucky, 2012).
GOSPEL LESSON: Mark 16:1-6
When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint [Jesus’ body]. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Darnella was one of a small group of people who became the first eyewitnesses of a deadly encounter. A diverse group of bystanders. Black and white. High school students, a martial arts instructor, a firefighter. During her testimony, Darnella shared how that day changed her life. And how she remains haunted by George Floyd’s cries for help.
Sometimes Darnella lies awake at night, “apologizing to George Floyd” for not doing more to save his life. “When I look at George Floyd,” she said, “I look at my dad. I have a Black father. I have a Black brother. I have Black friends. And I look at… how that could have been one of them.”
In December, Darnella was presented with the PEN/Benenson Courage Award by film director Spike Lee for capturing Floyd's death on video, and to recognize her brave witness.
During the Chauvin trial, I was struck by how many of the witnesses were female. Young women and girls. Who were deeply traumatized by what took place. Most of them just happened to be present there at Cup Foods for mundane reasons—getting a phone cord, buying snacks, taking a walk. Yet they ended up as central players in a story that none of us can ever forget.
Today’s Gospel lesson from Mark tells another story about a group of female witnesses. For in Mark, only women are present when Jesus dies on the cross on Friday. No male disciples are mentioned. And only women come back to the tomb on Sunday. Like a good reporter, Mark tells us the names of the female witnesses. And while Biblical scholars argue about their identities, many suggest the three includes: Mary Magdalene (an early follower of Jesus); Mary, the mother of Jesus and his brother James; and Mary “Salome,” the wife of Cleopas, who was the brother of Jesus’ father. (In other words, she was Jesus’ aunt.)
Unlike the Easter stories in Matthew and Luke, here in Mark these women actually say something. Initially, it sounds like a simple question: “Who will roll the stone away for us?” It was the first step in their task of preparing the body of Jesus for burial. As fate would have it, these unsuspecting women become the first and only witnesses of the empty tomb in Mark. They don’t expect what happens next. And they’re shocked when suddenly they come face-to-face with a stranger in a white robe. The other Gospels call him an angel. But not Mark. Here he’s just a young man.
But this strange teenage witness scares the women. They’re confused about why he opened the tomb. And when the kid tells them that Jesus has risen, they are silent. Maybe they don’t believe him. They just run out of the tomb. Almost like they had seen and heard too much. Almost like they were traumatized. Mark says that they don’t tell anyone what happened. And in the original version of Mark’s story, that’s how this Gospel ends.
Not telling anyone is a normal response for many victims of trauma—whether it be a sexual assault or harassment or a violent incident. Psychologists tell us that many traumatized women don’t tell anyone else for a long time, if ever. And they typically don’t report these experiences to authority figures like police, especially if they are people of color.
The reasons for keeping it a secret from others include internalized shame, the stigma of being seen as a “victim,” previous negative reactions from others, and the fear of being told that the event was somehow their fault. The women at the tomb may have been reacting to the trauma of having recently witnessed the violent death of someone they loved—the cruel crucifixion of an innocent man. Being told by a stranger that now Jesus was risen might have made them think that no one would ever believe their story. Because they are women. Because they are emotional.
Normally, when something bad happens to you or me—whether it be a minor disagreement with a friend, or a mundane flat tire, or disappointing news, we want to tell somebody. We long for affirmation of our perspective. And sometimes for help in problem-solving. It’s especially helpful when that person tells us that this was a crummy experience. And that we’re not to blame for what happened.
But it’s often not easy for those of us who have experienced trauma to feel safe sharing it. Yet often, talking about it is an initial step toward healing. And having someone willing to listen to you—and believe you—can make a world of difference.
For members of the Armed Forces recovering from the trauma of serving in wars, studies have shown that having an open attitude about disclosure is a powerful predictor of a positive outcome. Veterans who can discuss their painful experiences are far more likely to move forward emotionally in constructive ways. But it’s often not easy.
So maybe the women at the tomb were hesitant to tell someone about their trauma. Maybe like the witnesses of the death of George Floyd, they were afraid that no one would listen to what they had to say.
But those three women never forget what happened. Like brave and strong women today who, despite all odds, survive and even transcend horrific life events. Perhaps by sharing them with one another.
And that’s how the Gospel of Mark ends. It really leaves us hanging. Jesus never appears. None of the twelve male disciples are there. We don’t know what happens next. Which is really incredible when you consider that this was the very first Gospel written. In the New Testament, there are a dozen different reports about the risen Christ. St. Paul tells us there were 500 witnesses of the resurrection.
But, what sticks in my head this Easter, are the words spoken by these three women, “Who will roll the stone away for us?” A question any one of us might ask. It’s really a universal human question. Women have asked that question for centuries. “Who will roll away the stone of sexism for us?” LGBTQ individuals, inside and outside our church, ask that question today: “Who will roll away the stone of homophobia and transphobia for us?” African Americans and people of color are traumatized and weary of asking, “Who will roll away the stone of racism and police brutality for us? People throughout the world are asking, “Who will roll away the stone of COVID-19 for us?”
Maybe you have a stone of your own. Maybe it’s related to work or family or personal struggles. Each of us—when faced with unexpected hardship or disease or death, asks the question, “Who will roll away this stone for me?” Maybe you don’t say anything to anybody about it. But deep down, like the women at the tomb, you feel fear, maybe even terror, about what could happen. You wonder if God is there with you.
Some Christians like to celebrate Easter without Good Friday. But I believe that we cannot have an empty tomb without the cross. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor and theologian, who was brutally executed by the Nazis. Bonhoeffer wrote extensively about the theology of the cross. Here’s what he says: “Christ is not gloriously transported from earth into heaven. He must instead go to the cross. And precisely there, where the cross stands, the resurrection is near. Precisely here, where all lose faith in God, where all despair about the power of God, God is fully there, and Christ is alive and near.”*
Like Bonhoeffer, I believe God in Christ can take our weary souls and traumatized minds, and bring rebirth. And restore belief in something we thought was dead or dying. Our hope for the future. Our compassion for fellow humans. Our belief in ourselves and the power of love.
The three women at the tomb knew what that meant. Those first witnesses came with worries about heavy stones and hearts weighed down with grief. Then they saw something unbelievable in a cold, dark cave. And left in silent amazement. Inspired with new faith. Filled with new life.
Christ is risen, my friends! Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!
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* Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is on the Cross: Reflections on Lent and Easter (Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Kentucky, 2012).
GOSPEL LESSON: Mark 16:1-6
When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint [Jesus’ body]. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
