Tellico Village Community Church Sermons

Easter Sunday, April 4, 1999

Matthew 28:1-10

It was Easter Sunday and the church was full.

This was back in the old days when folks used to go out and buy new clothes for Easter – dresses and hats for the women and girls, suits and ties for the men and boys. The sanctuary was gloriously filled to overflowing with beautiful families, colorful clothing, and fully-blossomed Easter lilies.

It was Easter Sunday. The choir sang magnificently. The hymns expressed pure joy. When Rev. Seale mounted the pulpit, everyone was ready for a powerful resurrection message delivered with deep and booming voice.

I’m not entirely sure how the problem started in the fourth pew on the pulpit side. Probably it was just an insignificant little microscopic crack in one of the wooden dovetails that joined the seat of the pew to the end support. And I suppose that, with all the up and down movements of Easter worship – along with the fact that a pew that normally held five or six people now held fifteen or twenty – placed great stress on that microscopic crack so that it began to lengthen and spread – like a spider’s web. The pews, I think, were made of oak and probably from trees that were quite ancient. And now – in the space of just a few brief moments – solid wood that took nature hundreds of years to put together began to splinter. The stress on the joint caused subatomic particles to leave their orbits, and the molecular structure of the wood began to shift, and once the process was underway, there was no holding it back until it reached the very brink of collapse…and somehow…oh, so very precariously… dangled there…miraculously holding together by a thread…

…until Harold Bell leaned over to whisper something to his wife Corrine…and with the sudden shift of Harold’s weight…a series of fractures began to occur, one after the other, faster and faster and faster, silently at first until the splintering strands of oak approached the speed of sound and as they broke the sound barrier, a deafening CRACK rang through the church, and the end support let go, dropping one end of the pew with all its occupants. And as the load on the wood shifted with the sinking people, a domino-type effect occurred with other wooden supports and various kinds of hardware snapping all the way over to the other side support which CRACKED as well, dropping all the people – in their Easter finery – flat on the floor.

Rev. Seale looked up from his Easter sermon manuscript. Choir members awakened from their sleep. The head usher, checking the head count done by a newer usher wondered why he came up with twenty fewer people.

And everyone gazed at the collapsed pew and the people sitting on the floor, to see what they would do. And what they did was quite remarkable. What they did – was nothing. They just sat there - afraid to do anything!

Now, I’ll come back to this little story in just a few moments. But, first, I want to challenge you with the thought that those people sitting flat on the sanctuary floor on that Easter Sunday morning long ago – afraid to move or to speak or to do anything – represent what I have come to believe is the truest and best way to celebrate Easter.

You may have noticed something really strange about today’s Scripture lesson from Matthew 28. In the space of a few short verses reporting the encounter of the disciples with the resurrection of Jesus Christ, some form of the word fear is mentioned no fewer than four times. For fear of the angel at the tomb, the guards shook and became like dead men. The angel said to the women, Do not be afraid. When Jesus himself found the disciples in Galilee, he said, Fear not! And as the women left the tomb and ran to tell the disciples, Matthew says they were afraid, yet filled with joy!

Fear is an important part of Easter.

Now most of us much prefer the version of Easter in which we do our best to ignore the dark side of Jesus’ death so that we can quickly move into the bright joy of the resurrection. We want so much for Easter to be like the old Lassie television show where little, obnoxious Timmy gets into some big heap of irresponsible trouble only to be rescued by his trusty dog. And at the end of the show everyone laughs. And Lassie barks.

But Easter is not like television. Its more like real life. And in real life, the road to joy always runs through the forest of fear.

Our daughter Bethany was the youngest child in our neighborhood in Massachusetts. She stood and wistfully watched through the window as her brother Peter, and all the other neighborhood children, boarded the big yellow school bus every morning. Bethany wanted so much to be with them – to ride on the bus, to go to school, to carry a lunch box. After they all left each day, Bethany played "going to school". All alone, she would practice the event in her imagination. And it gave her joy.

And then the year came. September rolled around and Bethany got to go school shopping. Got some nice clothes. Got a Strawberry Shortcake lunch box. Went to bed early that night. Got up early the next morning. Waited on the front steps for the big yellow bus to arrive. When it did, the doors swung open. Bethany turned to give us a hug, and I noticed something in the look on her face. As she walked across the lawn, I saw the same thing in the way she walked.

She was afraid. On her way to greatly anticipated joy, Bethany had to walk through the dark forest of fear.

Can you understand why Matthew would report this same thing about Jesus’ followers?

This is how life is!

And what I want to place before you this morning is that the true joy of Easter can only be discovered when you become willing to confront your fear of Easter.

So let me ask you an unusual Easter question. "What are you afraid of today?"

As I try to see myself in the lives of those first disciples, I wonder if one of the things they were afraid of was their own human sinfulness.

Jesus had made no bones about it. He was going to die on the Cross for their sins. He was going to take upon himself the sin of every human being – past, present and future. Jesus was going to suffer what we would otherwise suffer – because we have disconnected ourselves from the Source of life.

Like branches detached from the vine, human life – when it is separated from God – shrivels up and perishes. It may take a lifetime for the effect of this separation to become visible – and many people use the absence of symptoms to fool themselves into thinking everything is well - but, like a hidden cancer, the power of death is at work in every one of us and eventually makes itself known.

And here, in the light of Easter morning, the disciples are confronted with the worst of their fears. The joy of the resurrection, you see, proves the reason for the crucifixion!

Jesus died for their sins!

He died for everything they should have been – for God, for themselves, for others - but never lived up to; and for everything they shouldn’t have been, but either willingly or unwittingly, became. He died for everything they should have done, but didn’t, and for everything they shouldn’t have done, but did. He died for their commissions and he died for their omissions and he died for the million and one times they chose to go their own way instead of God’s way and for the disastrous results in their own and others’ lives. He took upon himself the death of every branch that’s torn and separated from the Vine.

So there is Peter, joyful in the resurrection, but painfully aware of his own inadequacy, his own failure as a friend, including his denial of Jesus three times. And there are James and John, the sons of Zebedee, aware now that they could not even recognize the special holiness of the Last Supper because of their blind ambition. Do you remember how they spent that last night of Jesus’ life arguing about which of them was the better disciple?

And there is Thomas with his ever-present doubt, and Mary Magdalene with her checkered past, and there is Matthew the tax collector who used to steal the people blind. And there on Easter morning is even mother Mary - aware of her inability to fully understand Jesus, and broken hearted over her inability to protect her son from danger which is what mothers and fathers are supposed to do.

And when these dear people see the risen Christ, they see not only the joy of his resurrection, but also the darkness of themselves. They see great hope reflected in Jesus, but they also see the nail prints reflecting the harsh and dark realities of their lives.

You see, the road to joy always runs through the forest of fear!

And as they see themselves in Jesus that Easter morning, they are afraid.

What are you afraid of today?

Martin Luther used to begin each of his explanations of the Ten Commandments by saying, "We should fear and love God that…" and then go on to recite each commandment. This wonderful phrase – that we should fear AND love God - captures so well the dichotomy of a healthy relationship with God. On the one hand, our alienation from God, our resistance to God, and our rebellion against God make us vulnerable to death and deserving of wrath.

But on the other hand is the fact of Easter in which God chooses to deal with us in love!

To be afraid, yet filled with joy means to be willing to confront your own sinfulness in light of the Cross. And then, in light of the resurrection, to turn away from it, responding to God in love.

So what do you see in yourself today that Jesus carried to the Cross?

Is it a desire to live independently of God’s laws as though they don’t apply to you? Is it the relationship that’s broken because of something you did, or are doing? Is it the problem that’s got you by the tail because you’re just not strong enough to resolve it? Is it the unhealthy set of values given you by family and society, placing things and self above the needs of others? Is it your unwillingness to cut the poor a little slack and help them to an equal seat at the economic table? Is it an evil spirit of racism? Or perhaps your need to always be right – even when you’re wrong? Is it your fear of intimacy with those who love you – and even with God? Is it your fear of death?

What do you see in yourself today that Jesus died for on the Cross?

So there they were. Sitting in the collapsed pew on the floor. Doing nothing. Afraid to move. If anyone was ever painfully aware of their own inadequate vulnerability, it had to be that group of Easter worshipers. So afraid, they didn’t know what to do.

Then Pastor Seale stepped in. Seeing that no one was hurt, he broke out in a broad and joyful grin.

"Well, don’t just SIT there!" he laughed. And the whole congregation – including the folks on the floor – began to snicker and laugh as well. And as the people picked themselves up, and moved on to other places in the sanctuary, a wonderful spirit of joy seemed to come and lift us all.

Because, you see, that’s the call of Easter. As you and I confront the sheer magnitude of our human inadequacy, we are given an amazing promise. Jesus took our sinfulness to the Cross, and put it to death. And now, by trusting him, we can confront our fears, and come out from under their power, and change our ways, and reach for joy!

"Don’t just SIT there!" Jesus beams on Easter morning.