This Changes Everything

sermon by Torin Eikler
Easter
Isaiah 65: 17-25 John 20:1-18

As I was sitting in Love Feast on Thursday night, I found my mind wandering to my grandfather Eikenberry. Grandpa was a wonderful man … from all I’ve heard. He was a pastor and a missionary in Nigeria for most of my childhood, and shortly after he came back he developed Parkinson’s disease which affected his breathing dramatically. So, for the last several years of his life, I couldn’t understand anything he tried to say to me, and I never really got to know him. I could see in his eyes that the situation left him feeling profoundly sad and more than a little frustrated, and that meant that I did my best to avoid being left alone with him. Yet, when he died in 1996, I missed his presence immediately.

I still miss him, especially at times like this. Everyday life and the time that it carries away in its passing tend to dampen the loss and bury the memories. But at the high points of life – my wedding, the birth of my children, Christmas and Easter – I find myself feeling the holes in my life more deeply, and I wish that my sense of Grandpa’s presence was more like a hand on my shoulder than a warm feeling in my heart.

I don’t mean to ruin the celebration of this Easter morning with my reminiscence. I know that many of you have lost loved ones, too, and for some of us the grief is new or the ache of a passing is still raw. Yet, perhaps it is not all bad that we carry these others with us on this morning. Easter is as much about death as it is about life, and our greatest comfort – our dearest joy – comes from knowing that “Jesus of Nazareth was crucified, died, and was raised” from the dead so that “all who believe in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”

Often, I think, we move past that truth all unthinking as we go from the Hosannas of Palm Sunday to the Hallelujahs of Easter morning and skip the sorrow of Good Friday and the abandonment of Holy Saturday. Jesus died and was lost to his friends and family for three days ... and without that Easter loses some of its meaning. Some of its power and glory fade away if we look at from the bright hilltops instead of experiencing it from the darkness of the valley of death.


You know, it seems a little bit strange to me that the essential hope at the center of our faith is really a conundrum: true life comes from death. It reminds me of the Buddhist meditation tradition of contemplating Kōans like: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” There are paradoxes in both of those “riddles” that defy rational thinking. After all, how can one hand clap to begin with? And, how can death – the end of life – be the beginning of, perhaps even the source of, true life?

Spend any amount of time really contemplating a question like that, and you may find your mind running in circles. You begin to wonder what the point is since there seems to be no answer, and it leaves you at your wits end and too exhausted to think. Maybe that is the point.

Maybe we need to get our heads out of the way because roughly two thousand years ago when Jesus left the tomb everything changed. Not just one of two little things. Everything changed. We say we believe that, but do we really get it?

Mary didn’t get it … not at first. She thought that someone had taken Jesus’ body and hidden it. And why not? It was the only explanation that made any sense. Even faced with angelic messengers in shining clothes, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the miracle of resurrection. So, she stood and wept for loss of her Lord.

The disciples fared no better. Jesus had predicted his own death. He had said that he would die – that he had to die and be resurrected. He told them plainly, and he painted a metaphorical picture of the future, saying that the temple would be torn down and rebuilt in three days time. Despite it all, when they saw the tomb – empty – they returned home to the others and locked the doors, empty inside.

But … but in one moment all of them changed. Lost to thought in her pain, Mary heard the voice of the gardener call her name, and her tears became tears of joy washing away the weariness of grief. Exhausted by confusion and fear, the disciples heard their teacher bless them, and their overwhelming delight flooded in to fill the emptiness of despair. They finally got it. They understood in the depths of their hearts – in the heart of their souls – what their minds had not been able to grasp: Jesus, who was dead, had been raised.

Jesus was alive, and everything had changed – not least they themselves. Life and death … grace and the law … spiritual and “real” … joy and pain … suffering and release … all the polar opposites of reasonable, measured lives bent together. No longer did they carry the burden of grief in darkness and despair for the promise of new life brought light and hope. No longer did they need to fear the rigors of life for there was a new earth. No longer did they need to fear death for there was a new heaven, and death was not the end but a new beginning.

It was a profound awakening for them, and they became different people – in many ways a new creation. It was as if they came to life. They preached the good news despite the consequences. They formed new communities where people cared for one another according to each one’s needs. Though they were still far from perfect, they brought the change they had experienced to the world, and with it, they brought hope for many.


And, what was true for their lives is true for ours. Jesus is alive. Our grief is no longer filled with utter darkness for our loved ones live on. Life is no longer filled with sadness and suffering for we have joy and hope even in the hardest times. Death no longer raises a haunting specter of fear for it is just another part of the journey of life, bringing us one step closer to .

At least, that’s the way it could be … if we really knew the truth of our faith. If we understood deep down beyond our resonable minds, the power and promise of the new creation that burst upon this world those many years ago, we too would be fearless. We, too, could preach the gospel in the face of derision. We, too, could live together in communities marked by compassion, sharing, and commitment. We, too, could live the Kingdom into being among us, offering the world hope and vision in the place of despair.


Doesn’t that sound wonderful?! Just take a moment and imagine it – a little piece of heaven on earth.

Maybe that’s what another John, John Lennon, was thinking of when he wrote his song – not imagine there really is no heaven, image heaven is here, and all the people are living together in peace. I’ll be the first to admit that I am a dreamer if this is the dream. But, it could be the reality we make if we can just get a handle on this Kōan – this mystery – that sits at the heart of our faith. Jesus Christ, our Lord, our Savior, our teacher, our brother, our friend, died on the cross and was raised from the dead so that all may have eternal life. It’s not so easy no matter how hard you try, but oh the freedom, oh the power, oh the joy that awaits us if we can grasp that truth. If we grab hold of it and let it change us, it could change everything.