April 11, 2010
Sermon
"Holy, Life-Giving, Resurrected Lord"
Easter 2C-Sunday, April
11, 2010 The Rev. Wanda Pizzonia
Acts 5.27-32 Psalm 150
Revelation 1.4-8 John 20.19-31
Holy, Life-Giving, Resurrected
Lord,
You meet us as we are and where we are. In our fear, in our
questions,
in our brokenness, you reach out, touch us and send us as your
own
beloved ones. Open us fully that we may receive the gift of
Your healing
presence, and then,
with grateful hearts, may we offer ourselves to serve others
in Your name.
Amen.
The voice on the other
end of the line was breathless. My college friend, Susan, said,
"Miss Wanda (and in the South, we're all Miss something
or other), the most terrible thing happened this week."
She was uncharacteristically fearful. She's a preschool teacher,
and well, if you can teach preschoolers and deal with parents
in her Type-A++ community, not much shakes your confidence.
Her story began to spill out. A lady who lives in a neighboring
apartment building was in crisis. Susan talked with her regularly
when they met in the parking lot. Over time, this neighbor had
barricaded herself in her apartment until only six feet of open
space remained. She slept and ate in that same six feet of space
and showered at the gym. The rest of her apartment was stacked
with unopened boxes, quality clothing and housewares-ordered
online and delivered, bags of garbage of unknown date and vintage,
piles of dirty laundry, and tall stacks of yellowed, tattered
newspapers.
Susan was distraught.
"She's such a lovely person, and she has an excellent job.
Now, there are people in her apartment building who want to
throw her out on the street, so some of us in the neighborhood
have been trying to help her clean out her apartment and remind
her that she's got support if she's forgotten it."
In response, a local housekeeper commandeered the operation.
With the sternness of a military general, she has been handing
out jobs to those in the community who will step up and help
out. She's been quieting the complainers and encouraging people
to surround this woman who was surrounded by boxes until
last week.
Susan has been incredulous at the fear that kept this kind woman's
secrets behind a locked door. She was even more incredulous
when a lady from the local Junior League Thrift Shop pulled up
in a late-model SUV-slim, tanned from a recent March vacation,
impeccably dressed, the icon of suburban chic, complete with
a smooth, neat ponytail.
Susan took one look and thought, "Oh no! Here we go! This
is the last thing we need--someone who is walking human perfection."
With concern for her neighbor and fearful that she might be
judged, Susan watched the scene unfold at a close, yet respectable
distance.
The Junior League volunteer had come to pick up salvageable goods
for consignment. She quickly put her arms around the neighbor.
"Thanks so much for being willing to let us take your things.
You know, you're going to get through this. My mom was a compulsive
hoarder. It began right after my dad died. She's gotten help,
and she's doing just fine."
Somewhat embarrassed, the neighbor began to explain. "It
all happened so slowly, a little bit at the time. I don't know".
Her voice began to trail off, and the Junior League lady nodded
her head knowingly. "I know. I know. You're going to
get through this. Look, already good things have happened.
What you can't use will help someone else. Your neighbors are
here to support you. If they aren't around to listen, you can
feel free to call me and talk things out. I'm willing to listen
and help if I can. Here's my phone number."
Locked doors. Fear. Hopelessness. A community gathers to gather
strength. Jesus appears in their midst. The Gospel repeats
itself over and over again in human life, sometimes quietly in
everyday moments and sometimes in the midst of destructive, devastating
circumstances that are every bit as horrifying as a first-century
crucifixion.
This morning's Gospel from John is a text written by a community
in the early part of the second century-100 110 AD. Most,
if not all, of the eyewitnesses to the crucifixion and resurrection
had died by this time. Their survivors, the keepers of the story,
were trying to keep hope alive. Many of those eyewitnesses believed
that Jesus' second coming was imminent. The Second Coming was
the time when all of them would be taken into heaven to be with
Jesus forever.
They held on to this hope for decades. As history reminds us,
those who were witnesses to Jesus' crucifixion were outcasts,
persecuted ones, at odds with earthly authorities. So those
whose faith is recounted in John's Gospel are those who are trying
to come to grips with the mechanics of going on with life when
it appears that there is no hope and the odds are stacked against
them-again, a recurrent theme in Scripture and in human life.
In this passage, the disciples were gathered in community, a
community gathered after sunset when the shadows multiplied.
They gathered in darkness, metaphorically a time of uncertainty,
unknowing, aimlessness. The door was locked for fear of the
Jews-not all of the Jews, mind you, but some of the Jewish authorities.
And Jesus offered them peace, breathed on them-literally inspired
them, and reminded them that if they could forgive the sins of
others, they would be forgiven. If they retained the sins of
others, they were retained. Loosely translated, Jesus meant
that if they could live as if God's kingdom on earth had already
begun, as if they knew they had been saved and were confident
that they were God's chosen people, they could stop waiting around
for some cosmic, apocalyptic moment. They could forgive or let
go of old grudges and hurts to free up their hearts and energies
so that Jesus' work might be continued.
Now, let's face it. Depending upon the circumstances, forgiving
or giving love away as if the kingdom had already begun can be
hard, tedious work-more bargain and deal than instant miracle.
Yes, it is easy to forgive the driver who cuts us off on the
way to Starbucks, and then to go on with life. It is harder
to forgive deeper wounds, those inflicted or received as mortal
blows.
So how do we miraculously forgive? In the latter case, perhaps
in the place of the wounding words or actions, we might replace
Jesus' voice-the voice that calls us and reminds us that we are
beloved ones, rather than outcasts, demons, unforgivable. After
this inspiration, this reminder that we are loved, what are we
authorized to give? We are free to spend the currency that is
God's own love for each of us.
It IS easier said than done. I've got to admit that I have had
to wrestle with forgiveness. Perhaps we all have had the experience
of feeling ourselves consumed by anger and lack of forgiveness
at one time or another. A child is difficult to understand.
A co-worker seems to have made life impossible. An in-law or
a neighbor just doesn't see things as we do. And Jesus says,
"I've been healed from horrible pain and rejection. You
can be healed too."
I am comforted by the honest, human stories of forgiveness and
the challenge of reaching inner peace that comes when we forgive.
As the Gospel reminds us, we may not be able to forgive on our
own, and at times we need to lean on community and trust that
Jesus is in our midst.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu is a man who has witnessed many crucifixions
and has managed to avoid the bitterness trap that allows evil
to prosper. In his latest book, Made for Goodness, he
notes that forgiveness and forgetting is not the same thing.
We may remember what happened in all of its pain and horror,
and yet, forgiveness comes when we become more deeply aware of
whom God created us to be and to whom we belong. We create a
new story of ourselves and begin to re-write a relationship with
those who have caused us pain or those on whom we have inflicted
pain. We give up the pain in order to make room to do good in
the lives of those to whom God sends us. This level of forgiveness
requires God's presence and a loving community.
Perhaps this is what Bp. Tutu envisions. During the Truth and
Reconciliation hearings in South Africa, this story was shared,
and it has touched me deeply:
"One of our neighbors had been suffering and had been
unable to work.
We told her that she needed to come to church and tell her
story. Reluctantly, she came. But as she stood in front of
us, she was overcome by shaking so bad that she was unable to
speak. So the congregation began to sing to her. The melody
of our song and the strength of our voices filled the church.
Eventually, she was able to resume speaking. She told of the
horror of seeing her teenage son's body and realizing that he
was dead. Her body began shaking again so badly that she could
not continue. We sang to her again. That day she told her story
for the first time, surrounded by the voices of her community.
Her heart was still broken, yet her spirit began to heal."
Healing is a gift that
comes in community, sometimes a gift that comes when someone
reminds us that we are loved, a reminder of God's presence that
comes when neighbors shed holier-than-thou personas to carry
out garbage, sweep up mouse droppings, listen to our story without
judgment, sing to us and support us when our voices shake and
our courage falters. Jesus surrounds us in the courage of a
community that dares to call us out from the fearful, too-small
spaces that limit the coming kingdom and our participation in
it.
With or without physical
reappearance, may we remember that Jesus is already resurrected
within us, in our healing, in our stories of forgiveness and
in our trust that we are God's beloved people, as are
those with whom we share the journey.
Amen.
