"Easter Stories"

"Easter Stories" by the Rev. Roger Bertschausen and Ann Barker, Director of Religious Education Fox Valley Unitarian Universalist Fellowship 2600 E. Philip Ln. P.O. Box 1791 Appleton, WI 54912-1791 (920) 731-0849 Website: www.fvuuf.org
March 30-31, 2002

Call to Gather: by e. e. cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened) [1]

Reading: Mark 16:1-8

**********
Roger: Over these past several months I have been become a more consistent outdoors runner. You could say that in earlier times I was a "fair weather" runner. Very fair weather! Like it had to be pretty much perfect: not too cold, not too hot, not too windy, not rainy in order for me to run. And I had a very liberal definition of "weather." Weather also included the state of my body, soul and psyche as well as how busy I was. In a bad mood, tired, not feeling 100%, too busy, not enough sleep, emotional distress: any of these conditions could lead to a decision not to run. As a result, running outside was generally a rare exception to the norm.

Aside from busyness, the biggest "No" to running came from winter weather. I pretty much opted against running outside between November and April--a fair chunk of the year, I have to admit. Sometimes I'd run on the treadmill at the YMCA, but I never could really groove on a steady diet of treadmill running.

But now I have several months of pretty consistent outdoor running under my belt. What's more, though it has been a mild winter (if not spring so far), these months have coincided with the heart of winter.

What changed for me this winter? Well, one of the keys was to get the right clothing. Before, I never really had running clothes that worked in winter. Now I do, and I can run comfortably pretty much whenever the wind chill is above 0. I suppose another reason for this change might have been my doctor saying that consistent exercise would help with my cholesterol situation. And another is that my partner has also taken up running, and sometimes we even get to run together.

Well, this outdoor running has really been a blessing in many ways both expected and unexpected--and I haven't even had my cholesterol checked yet! The greatest unexpected benefit has been how much more I feel in touch with nature and the rhythm of the seasons. I've always liked winter, but in recent years experienced it mostly by looking out the window, along with occasional bouts of shoveling. But this winter, because of the running, I was outside more often. As a result, I was much more intimate with the winter, and with its darkness, too.

Often early morning is the only time running will work in my schedule. There were some runs in December and January and February that began in darkness and ended in darkness. There were aspects of running in the dark I liked, but I have to admit by February, I began to get impatient for the light. I knew that the days were supposed to be getting longer, but I sure couldn't tell. The return of the light was so incremental it was unnoticeable. When will spring and light come?

And then all of a sudden it seemed the light returned. One day it was light not only when I finished running but when I started. And all of a sudden there were robins and red-wing blackbirds making their glorious spring sounds. The ground still looked wintery, and there was actually more snow than we saw most of the winter, but the sounds and light of spring were at last in the air.

And then this week I went on an early morning run and it felt almost warm in the early sunlight! It was a beautiful, glorious early spring morning, and the words of the e. e. cummings poem rattled around in my mind as I ran: "i thank You God for most this amazing/day.../for everything/which is natural which is infinite which is yes."
For once it feels like I have really lived and experienced nature's journey from winter solstice to spring. It is an incredible, wondrous, deep journey. Maybe most incredible of all, it is a journey I recognize. I have seen this slow, almost imperceptible yet suddenly and stunningly completed journey from darkness to light, from coldness to warmth, from despair to hope, in my own life! I have spiritually and emotionally experienced this journey from solstice to spring over and over again.

Maybe the first time I experienced this journey was when my grandfather died. I've shared before how Grandpa Barnes, diagnosed with terminal liver cancer, came to live with my family when I was about ten years old. He lived with us for about six weeks before he died. It was an experience of darkness: it had its moments of fear and impending loss, yet there were also moments of coziness, humor and wonder. When it came, his death was hard yet at the same time somehow beautiful and even peaceful.

Then came the gradual, amazing, grace-full realization that he was still with me, and always would be. Interwoven were darkness and light, with one flowing into the other and aspects of each in the other--just like in the yin yang symbol. Overall it was a journey from darkness to light--not as a trajectory but more like a meandering, gently flowing stream.

This journey happened to coincide with nature's journey from winter solstice to spring: Grandpa came to our house shortly after the solstice when the days were short and cold. He died just as winter was beginning to fade into spring. And then, around the time when spring started to burst out and Easter was upon us, I realized Grandpa was with me yet. I had my first Easter experience.

Easter, following on the heels of Lent and Good Friday, reflects this same rhythm. Lent is a time of darkness: a time of death and mystery and poignancy; a time of winter. Then come Easter and the return of light and the unfolding of spring and the resurrection. The flow from Lent into Easter mimics the flow from solstice to spring. Easter, coming out of Lent and Good Friday, is deeply rooted in the fertile pagan soil of nature religion. We know the contours of the story from our own stories and from observing nature's journey from solstice to spring.

Ann: It happened long ago, but I will never forget that journey. Cleopas and I were returning from Jerusalem to our home in Emmaus. It was a walk of seven miles, but it seemed so much farther. Sadness hung in the air as we trudged along. Our community was crushed by Jesus' death. Some of us had tried to warn him that he was getting himself into trouble, big trouble. He had offended our religious and political leaders. All they wanted was to keep the peace among our people so that Romans would leave us pretty much alone. It was easy to see that if he were not careful, he would end up dead, like so many other dissidents.

But for him it wasn't enough to teach love, justice, and compassion. It wasn't enough for him to heal some of the sick and bring comfort to the bereaved. He took on the leaders of our faith and challenged their authority. He confronted their hypocrisy and the hold they had on the people. He even included us women in his inner circle and taught us about God, just like he taught the men. That really made the Pharisees angry. Then there was the incident in the Temple with the moneychangers. Finally, they had had enough. Some of them went to our Roman governor Pilate and convinced him that Jesus was a danger to the peace of his little domain.

We urged Jesus to stay out of Jerusalem. It would have been safer if he had stayed in the countryside. Maybe the elders would have forgotten about him. But he insisted we all eat the Passover together in Jerusalem. What a night of nights that was. We gathered in that upper room and listened to the little one answer the questions that tell the story of our escape from slavery in Egypt. Some of us had hope that Jesus would be our Moses and lead us out of oppression under the Romans. But as we were eating, he was telling us of his coming suffering. It was scary. He knew he was going to die and he seemed willing to make that sacrifice.
During the meal he took bread and blessed it and gave it to us saying it was his body, and that we should eat it in remembrance of him. Then he did the strangest thing. At the end of the meal he took Elijah's cup; the cup on every Passover table from which no one drinks. He said it was the new covenant poured out in his blood. It was a moment filled with awe and wonder, but we didn't really understand.

One of our company, Judas, betrayed Jesus to the authorities and he was handed over to Pilate. It didn't take long for Pilate to be persuaded by the priests and crowd to have Jesus sentenced to death by crucifixion. It was a horrible death, hanging on that cross, with criminals on both sides. I couldn't watch, though his mother and Mary of Magdala were there. Mercifully, he died quickly and with him all our hopes for freedom. He was buried in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea.

For days and days we gathered together in sorrow and fear. Jesus had filled our lives with hope and joy. He had taught us how to live with faith in God. He taught us to live with compassion toward everyone. When we were with him, everything seemed possible. Now he was gone and all we had left were our stories about him. Oh, a few of the women said they had gone to the tomb and found it empty. Some of the men went too, and found the same thing. But what did that mean. He was gone and we didn't know what to do. Finally, Cleopas and I decided to head home and pick up our lives. Things would never be the same without him, but what could we do.

As we were walking along, talking about all of this, a stranger joined us. He asked us what we were talking about. We couldn't believe there was anyone so dense they had not heard the story of what happened in Jerusalem. We told him all about it and our lost hope. He had the audacity to chide us, us of all people, for not having more faith. He began to teach us from the Scriptures all about God's faithful acts and the promise of a new reign of God. He spoke with such authority and conviction we marveled at his understanding.

As we neared Emmaus, it looked like he was going to travel on. We urged him to come and spend the night with us. We prepared dinner and sat down to eat. As we began the meal, he took a loaf of bread, blessed it, and gave it to us. At that instant we recognized him. It was Jesus. He really was with us. I don't know how, but he was with us again. We were so excited. Then he vanished. As quickly as we recognized him, he was gone.

We weren't tired from our day's journey anymore. We weren't disheartened anymore. Even though it was very late we rushed back to Jerusalem to tell the others what had happed on the road. How we had recognized Jesus in that act of breaking bread. Suddenly, our little community was abuzz with stories of encounters with Jesus. Hope was alive again. Love was alive again. Nothing would ever be the same again.

When Luke told this story in his Gospel, he said it happened on "the third day". For us Jews, the third day is a way of saying that it was a decisive moment in time, a turning point. Our scriptures often use this phrase, "the third day", to say that everything that happened before, and everything that happened after is radically different. That's the way it was for us on that special day.

Always, I remembered that journey from despair to hope. Every spring I remember and my heart burns. I am filled with the same passion and zeal as on that day, so long ago, when we recognized him and knew his presence would be with us forever. I hope that this spring you also have something that makes your heart burn with joy, and love, and hope.

Roger: David Rankin writes:

Easter is more than an ancient story. It is many modern stories. It is a real and ever-present possibility for everyone:
If we open our minds to new channels of thought and learning;
If we open our hearts to new modes of loving and living;
If we open our eyes to new models of growth and significance--
Easter will appear! It will supply us with courage. It will take us on great adventures. It will save us from pride, grief, and apathy. It will bind us to joy and hope again! [2]

I agree with David Rankin: Easter stories happen all the time. Easter is not about some obscure event in the long distant past; like every myth, it is far more about the here and the now of our own lives. This is what Jesus' followers discovered for themselves on the road to Emmaus. This is what each of us can find out as we travel our own roads to Emmaus. This is why I don't care whether Jesus' resurrection really happened; I know it happens now, in our own lives. And that to me is all that matters--or ever mattered--about the Easter story. It's important because it reflects the contours of our stories, and helps us therefore make sense of our own lives. As John Dominic Crossan writes: "Emmaus never happened. Emmaus always happens." [3] Easter never happened. Easter always happens.

I have lived Easter stories, and as a minister, I have had the privilege of observing them in many other people's lives. Every time I do a memorial service, I experience Easter. Memorial services share the contours of the Easter story: moving from grief and despair to celebration to the deep, intuitive knowledge that the person who died is not really gone, that your loved one lives on in your memory and in all the ways he or she touched you. Departure is never the end of the story; death is never truly the end of the road. Of course the memorial service is seldom the point of absolute closure; we usually move in and out of grief as we work through the loss of a loved one. But the memorial service can give us the knowledge and faith that Easter will come again.

Easter stories happen all the time, just as spring and the return of light are part of the rhythm of the seasons year after year after year. What are your Easter stories?

[1] E.E. Cummings, Complete Poems (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1980), p. 663.
[2] David O. Rankin, So Great a Cloud of Witnesses (San Francisco: Strawberry Hill Press, 1978), p. 142.
[3] John Dominic Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994), p. 197.