Sermon

INTRODUCTION: Unity Temple, the Unitarian Universalist congregation in Oak Park, Illinois, was designed in 1906 by the internationally famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. The front of the building does not face the major street to the South; instead, you enter from the Entrance Hall on the West. Once in, there’s no simple access to the sanctuary. Instead, there are a series of turns, and a dark tunnel, and then staircases that will bring you up and into this cubist construct of cement.

To Wright, form followed function, and for his liberal religious audience of 1906, he felt the structure of the church should be about that journey – some turns to the right and to the left, a dark tunnel or passageway, stairways to climb and only then, a beautiful, high-ceilinged, and multi-layered sanctuary.

That, may I suggest, is what Easter is all about: It’s the proposed resolution to the struggle of faith to find answers to “life’s persistent questions.”

SCRIPTURE.

Even though it’s Easter, I think I would be safe in presuming, that not too many of you have recently read any of the accounts of the resurrection in the Bible, either the four Gospels, or in the earliest account by the Apostle Paul in First Corinthians 15.

The latter is a letter written to a church he had founded in Corinth, a major Greek city mentioned even in the Iliad of Homer. Though Paul spent 18 months there, after he left they began to have big time problems. One such problem was the resurrection of Jesus. So in his letter, Paul carefully repeats what he had told them about the resurrection of Jesus:

For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures; and that he was buried, and that he rose again on the third day according to the Scriptures: and then was seen by Peter: then of the twelve apostles: after that, he was seen by above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present moment, but some are fallen asleep.

After that, he was seen of James; then by all the rest of the apostles. And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time.

Let me make one aside on the text itself: Did you happen to count the number of women he mentions? Not one. All four of the Gospel stories have women as important players in the resurrection story, but not Paul. His attitude towards women has had lasting implications to this day: No women are priests in the largest of the Christian churches, the Roman Catholic Church; nor even in many Protestant churches – for example, the Missouri Synod Lutherans and Southern Baptists – no women clergy are allowed.

That’s why, in a culture in which religion has had such a damaging effect upon the status of women, that the candidacy of Senator Hillary Clinton is so important for our nation. That a woman could possibly be president of our country and yet not be qualified to be pastor or priest at one of your churches is something of an oxymoron. So good for Hillary Clinton, whether she is your candidate or not. But, for certain, every American – Republican or Democrat, woman or man – should recognize this critical juncture in our nation’s history, which includes affirming a woman’s having the courage and strength to blaze a path in heretofore uncharted territory.

Now, to the text in Paul’s letter. Let’s be clear: In no sense am I suggesting that the historical person we know as Jesus of Nazareth, that somehow, he lay in a tomb for three days, and magically, with the help of an angel, came back to life and was present to all of those whom Paul cites.

Further, and this is even more important: Even if he had, it would not mean diddly-squat to any of us, to our relationship to God, nor to our future when we die. We are responsible for the living of our lives, and what someone did or didn’t do 2,000 years ago does not have cosmic implications about us or our futures.

So having said that, why observe Easter? Which segues to the title of my sermon for today: “Why Jesus could not die.”

EXPLICATION.

A few years back, Andrew Delbanco, who is on the faculty at Columbia University, authored a book entitled, The Real American Dream. Its subtitle was A Meditation on Hope.

In a nation which has been humiliated around the world for mistakenly invading another nation and still claims it was the right thing to do…and which has also said to the world that America doesn’t have to play by the rules of war and engagement, rather, we can torture our prisoners and then call it “aggressive interrogation,” in this nation, there is a dire shortage of hope.

And if there are consequences for a nation which knowingly elects the leaders we have, then we have to accept the fact that in 2004, most Americans seem to have chosen the practices and policies of this administration, whose consequences we are just now beginning to suffer.

But if there is any one thing reflective of the human condition, it is the audacious capacity we have to hope – especially when things are at their very worst!

And speaking of hope, imagine, if you were one of those who had listened to what Jesus had said – “Love your enemies. Bless them who curse you. Do good to them who hate you. Pray for them who misuse you” (Matthew 05:44). And when someone does you wrong, forgive them. And when they do you wrong again, forgive them again. How many times should you forgive? “70 times 70” (Matthew 18:21f).

Equally important, they listened to his introduction of non-violence as a way of effecting change. They heard him say, “If someone hits you on your right cheek <that would mean an insulting, backhanded slap>, turn to him your left cheek as well. And if you are sued and they take away your coat, give them your cloak also” (Matthew 05:38:40).

And what’s more, he said, you need to love the person on the lowest rung of society, equal to your love for yourself. (Matthew 22:34-40)

And when they heard him preach that, it seemed so compelling, so honest, so right, that the poor, the sick, and the oppressed, believed it. A new day was dawning…one of hope and promise – according to Jesus!

And then what? The one whose message they believed and responded to, had died, but not from sickness or disease. He had died like a criminal, stripped naked, and barbarically nailed to a cross between two thieves.

How could anyone believe his message, or put it into practice? How could anyone have hope? That it was okay to dream. It was okay to share the vision of a new day dawning, and the promise of a new tomorrow?

We’ve all had our own variations of those moments: the loved one who has died, the relationship that’s ended, the child who was lost, the job from which we were fired, the mortgage payments we couldn’t meet, the retirement funds wiped out, the addiction savaging our daughter or son, the mother or father we lost far too early, the best friend who was killed in an accident.

We ask, how could this be? How could life deal this kind of pain and grief, this kind of sorrow? Surely, somewhere, someone, something, can change it all, and bring back what was lost.

What the message of the resurrection states is not to proclaim medical magic – that dead bodies can be resuscitated. Rather, it proclaims loud and clear that faith refuses to let hope die. Even when all hope is lost, we keep on keeping on. Even when the day seems like it will never end…when the patterns and routines of life have become so onerous…and we wish that once again, things could be the way they used to be – before we said what we said…before the loss occurred or the dream was shattered.

Hope doesn’t bring back the dead nor roll back the calendar. It doesn’t makeup for what can never be reclaimed. But it does say that we can make it. Hope says, keep on voting. Keep on working. Keep on keeping on.

I mentioned Andrew Delbanco’s book on hope. In that book, he writes: “From time to time in our lives we get the feeling that all of the random experiences and sensations and events that we call our lives, don't really add up to anything…they're just meaningless. It almost seems as if we’re living at the brink of a chasm of meaninglessness, where with just a nudge, we might tumble into melancholy and despair. "Why am I here?" "What has my life meant?" "What's the purpose of it all?"

“Hope,” says Delbanco, “is the stories we tell that help us make meaning out of our lives…the stories that restore to us our sense of purpose and worth, and make our lives worth living again.” Please let me repeat that: “Hope is the stories we tell that help us make meaning out of our lives…the stories that restore to us our sense of purpose and worth, and make our lives worth living again.”

And so on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, almost 2,000 years ago, people began to repeat the story that someone had said that someone had said: “Have you heard: Jesus is not dead. He is risen.” In the marketplaces of Jerusalem they whispered, “Jesus is not dead. He is risen.” And from city to city, and nation to nation, they began to spread the word that the one who preached love instead of hate, praying for our enemies instead of cursing them, giving instead of receiving – he was still alive. His message was real. And guess what? Hope returned.

A colleague has written that "The church is that institution whose primary purpose is to help people maintain hope in their lives. And when people have no hope in their in their lives, at church they discover hope together. But when they can't discover hope together, they create hope together."

CONCLUSION.

For decades at Christmastime, I’ve told of my mother in the nursing home. At Father’s Day, I used to tell of my father’s response to his heart attack. But in our calendar, I usually am not the preacher on Father’s Day. So I’m going to take the liberty on Easter of telling you this story of my father.

He was 78, retired from the ministry to Waco, Texas, and living in a house on my brother Wesley’s ranch property, only a short distance from Wesley’s home. Dad had not handled retirement well. He finally decided that it was important that he write a book. And since I had helped others write their books, naturally, I should be available to help him, plus mother, and anyone else he needed.

He took to it with a dedication that was amazing…dictating, reading and rewriting. Soon he had 300 pages of typescript that mother had transcribed. But the pressure took its toll, and one morning about 5, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom. Mother heard him from her bedroom, and then heard a glass drop and break.

She jumped out of bed and found Dad unconscious on the floor. She dragged him to the bedroom and got him back in bed and then phoned my brother, who called an emergency vehicle to come to his farm some 20 miles outside of town.

At the hospital, they learned Dad had suffered atrial-fibrillation and was in critical condition. My three sisters and I were called and were soon in Waco, at the hospital, awaiting word.

As we stood watch, I happened to be alone with my mother. We were commiserating about what had happened, and that the strain Dad had put himself under to write his book was more than his heart could take. Then I asked Mother, “Did Dad ever regain consciousness before the ambulance came?” She nodded, and said, “For just a moment.”

I waited for more, but she looked pained. I said, “What did he say?”

I think all of us understand how important last words can be. We hang on to them as treasures in our museum of memories. Somewhat reluctantly, Mother repeated what Dad had said, which was, “Minnie, make sure Wayne gets my book done.”

Say what? No words of love for anyone…no handholds to hang on to…only an admonition for Wayne to get back to work.

Fortunately, Dad survived, and we did finish his book, and my brother and I underwrote a significant celebration, and even flew in Dad’s favorite bishop in the Pentecostal Holiness Church to which he belonged.

When Dad died some 12 years later, it fell to me to conduct his funeral, and I told the story you’ve just heard: That when my father was at what we thought was death’s door, he didn’t have to say “I love you,” to anyone. He did that on a regular basis in word and deed. He didn’t have to give a deathbed apology for wrongs he had done. Those had been taken care of long ago.

In the face of death, the most important thing was what he had been doing the day before: writing a book.

For me, that’s a resurrection story that I cherish. You have them as well. The early Christians had them also, which is why they said, “The Lord is risen! The Lord is risen indeed!”

As do we say: Please repeat after me, not as a statement of historical fact, but as a testimony of faith and hope, for ourselves, our nation, and the peoples of the world:

“The Lord is risen!”

“The Lord is risen indeed!”

Shalom, Salaam Aleikum. Amen. And blessed be.

_______________

We will pause now for 7½ minutes of brief questions as a part of our Conversation Café. The Service and Support Council will provide microphones for you to speak into.

[1] A sermon presented on Easter, March 23, 2008, as the final sermon in a series of four, followed by the Conversation Café of All Faiths Unitarian Congregation, meeting at the Crestwell School, 1904 Park Meadows, Ft. Myers, FL, between the Rev. Dr. Wayne Robinson, minister.

THE UNITARIAN JESUS: Why He Could Not Die![1]