Community Church Sermons

Year B

April 12, 2009

Easter Sunday – 8:00 Service

“Open Wide”

Isaiah 25:6-9

Mark 16:1-8

Easter memories. What are your early memories associated with Easter Sunday? What images from the past drift in and out of your conscious awareness on this pinnacle of the Christian calendar?

My fondest Easter memory takes me to the mountains in Townsend, Tennessee where my grandparents lived. Every Easter my grandfather would hide plastic, candy-filled eggs around the yard, and my brother and I would try to find them. My brother always found more eggs because I . . . let’s just say that my chocolate addiction began at an early age. Another, not-so-pleasant Easter memory relates to those horrid, itchy Easter dresses forced, much to my chagrin, onto this tomboy’s frame. And then I remember Tony.

Tony was the director of music at the church where I grew up. Tony possessed a beautiful, crisp, controlled tenor voice coupled with a humble, yet confident stage presence. When Tony sang, even as a child I listened. Every year at church on Easter Sunday, Tony sang “that” song, (the same song each year) and every year it brought down the house. Old ladies would cry; old men shouted “Alleluia!” The pastor was no dummy. He knew he could count on a little bit of good, old-fashioned, Southern Baptist revival when Tony sang “that” song.

“That” song was originally recorded by Dolly Parton.  It powerfully and artistically recounts the story of that very first Easter from the perspective of Peter. With an anxious, haunting, repetitive tune in minor key, the lyrics begin with Peter’s fitful sleep, the fear of soldiers wresting him from slumber at every sound:

The gates and doors were barred and all the windows fastened down,
I spent the night in sleeplessness and rose at every sound.
Half in hopeless sorrow and half in fear the day,
Would find the soldiers breakin’ through to drag us all away.
And just before the sunrise I heard something at the wall.
The gate began to rattle and a voice began to call.
I hurried to the window, looked down into the street,
Expecting swords and torches and the sound of soldiers’ feet. [1]

For Peter and the other disciples, that very first Easter began, not in triumph or victory, but in FEAR.  Admittedly, most of the people I know don’t fear being dragged away by soldiers like Peter likely imagined that first Easter Sunday. But I do know a lot of people who fear being dragged away by a failing economy. This week the New York Times ran an article called, “Recession anxiety seeps into everyday lives.” [2] It cited a recent poll which indicated that 80% of Americans feel that the economy is causing significant stress. Calls to the Suicide Prevention Hotline have dramatically increased with economic stress cited more frequently.  The Mental Health Administration is actually training counselors who usually help people devastated by tornadoes and other natural disasters to now assist people experiencing economic trauma.

I bet someone here began this Easter morning worried about the economy. I bet someone here harbors fear about their health, or the health of someone they love. I bet someone here is anxious about what the future holds. Just like Peter that first Easter morn.

But there was more than fear on that first Easter day. Listen to the next verses:

But there was no one there but Mary so I went down to let her in.
John stood there beside me as she told me where she’d been.
She said “They’ve moved Him in the night and none of us know where;
The stone’s been rolled away and now His body isn’t there.”

We both ran towards the garden, then John ran on ahead.
We found the stone and empty tomb, just the way that Mary said.
But the winding sheet they wrapped Him in was just an empty shell,
And how or where they’d taken Him was more than I could tell.

Oh, something strange had happened there, just what I did not know.
John believed a miracle, but I just turned to go.
Circumstance and speculation couldn’t lift me very high,
‘Cause I’d seen them crucify Him; then I saw Him die.

There was more than fear on that first Easter. When you peel back Peter’s very obvious layer of fear, you find DESPAIR. Now, don’t be too hard on Peter. Despair is, according to Kierkegaard, a kind of default condition for people. This is true of us whether or not we’re aware of it. Our natural state is despair unless we take the initiative to eliminate it. [3]  The song suggests that when Peter witnessed Hope die on a cross, he simply went back to default.

I bet someone here began this Easter morning at default. I bet someone here feels powerless to save a dying hope. I bet someone here knows the definition of “despair.” Just like Peter that first Easter morn.

Oh, but there was more. There was something more than fear . . . something more than despair. Can you hear what else might have been lurking even as darkness turned to daylight?

Back inside the house again the guilt and anguish came.
Everything I’d promised Him just added to my shame.
When at last it came to choices, I denied I knew His name.
And even if He was alive, it wouldn't be the same.

 

More tragic than fear, more devastating than despair, even, for underneath all of that there was rejection, separation, ESTRANGEMENT. Paul Tillich says that existential estrangement is the stark reality of human existence and the source of all struggle—the very source of fear and despair. He says this estrangement leads to our own self-destruction, and ultimately, we become toxic to the world around us.  [4]

I bet someone here began this Easter morning in some state of estrangement. I bet someone here feels disjointed, disconnected, dissatisfied. I bet someone here knows separation. Just like Peter that first Easter morn.

BUT.

With the next word in the song, the entire mood begins to shift. B-U-T. But.

But suddenly the air was filled, with a strange and sweet perfume.
Light that came from everywhere drove shadows from the room.
And Jesus stood before me with His arms held open wide.
And I fell down on my knees, and I just clung to Him and cried.

Then He raised me to my feet, and as I looked into His eyes,
The love was shining out from Him, like sunlight from the skies.
Guilt in my confusion disappeared in sweet release.
And every fear I ever had, just melted into peace.

 

Can you imagine the scene? Can you see Peter’s expression as he begins to assimilate what he is seeing? All of the fear, all of the despair, all of the estrangement . . . all of it vanishes in the presence of the risen Lord, because finally. . .

Love has conquered fear!
                        Hope has conquered despair!
                                    Acceptance has conquered estrangement!

And then the song breaks into a major key as hope and joy and surprise overwhelm Peter’s darkness and he begins to shout to all creation:

He's alive! He's alive!
He's alive and I'm forgiven!
Heaven's gates are open wide!

And it’s that line that captured my imagination as I thought back to “that” song this week, as if hearing the song for the first time. “Heaven’s gates are open wide!” The imagery stirred my heart and engaged my mind. I began to think about everything that is open wide with Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection.

Up on that cross, the arms of Christ are open wide.      
That’s the LOVE that conquers fear!

Then, the tomb of death is open wide.
That’s the HOPE that conquers despair!

Finally, the gates of heaven are open wide.
That’s the ACCEPTANCE that conquers estrangement!

Hear this Easter message:

For you, fearful one, the arms of god are open wide!

For you, despairing one, the tomb of death is open wide!

For you, estranged one, the gates of heaven are open wide!

And the voice of Peter rings throughout the ages:

He's alive! He's alive!
He's alive and I'm forgiven!
Heaven's gates are open wide!

Won’t you join with Peter, and Mary and John and the entire company of angels singing the truth that has set us free?

Singing:
He's alive! He's alive!
He's alive and I'm forgiven!
Heaven's gates are open wide!

 

[1]  Words and music by Don Francisco.

[2] Pam Belluck, “Recession anxiety seeps into everyday lives.” New York Times, April 8, 2009.

[3] Soren Kierkegaard. The Sickness Unto Death: A Christian Psychological Exposition For Upbuilding And Awakening.

[4] Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, Volume 2, p. 59-60.