Holding On, Letting Go
Easter Day
March 23, 2008
John 20:1-18
On this Easter Day, I’ve been thinking about a classic holiday movie: “Groundhog Day.” Not exactly what you think of as a holiday classic. Not “Easter Parade” or “White Christmas” or … well, “Halloween,” I suppose.
It’s not because it’s about a holiday, but because this movie is about holding onto a particular point in time. Bill Murray, if you don’t remember, plays a weather forecaster who is stuck – stuck in a job he thinks he doesn’t like, stuck with an outlook on life that nobody likes, and stuck in a rut of singleness that he doesn’t even realize he’d like to get out of.
So by some magic that never is explained, he becomes stuck in one day – Groundhog Day, in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. And he hates it, hates it, hates it, over and over and over. For countless repetitions. He tries to amuse himself by robbing banks and going on drunken benders and all sorts of things that disaffected men would dream up. I’m sure disaffected women would dream up another set of troubles to get into.
The movie ends happily, as you’d expect, with him learning some life lessons and being freed from that day – freed, even though it had turned into a fabulous day for him.
I’ve been thinking of that movie because of that theme – holding onto one moment. A friend said to me recently, “Remember when…” You’ve had those “remember when” conversations. She said, “Remember when we were all together on that trip … I wish we could just go back to being like that.” She was referring to a small group of friends. We would go to parties and have dinner with one another and generally enjoy one another’s company. In retrospect, it was a magical time. But it couldn’t last – nothing in this life lasts exactly as it has been.
We talked about that time, a time that from my friend’s perspective was so much better than things later became. I’m convinced that she wouldn’t trade now for then. For one thing, now she loves her job and back then she was stuck in a position she had long outgrown. And that couple we so adored – well, they weren’t meant for a life together, and the seeds of that discontent were apparent even in that magical time in Memphis. Things weren’t so perfect for any of us back then.
We can’t turn back the clock, though there are times that I’d love to. We all have moments we wish we could hang onto. Mine involve being a kid riding my bike all over the city of Cullman. Of going on a honeymoon and rambling all over the Venezuelan Andes. Of going to Jerusalem just a month ago and gazing out over the Holy City from a high church tower, listening to the Muslim calls to prayer echo over those ancient stones and watching Christian pilgrims heading to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, built atop Golgotha, built right on top of the tomb where Jesus was laid.
Those were magical moments in my life. None of which I can hang onto, but which I cherish in my heart. Not just as memories, but as moments that form who I am today. You have your moments, we all do.
Those who knew Jesus – you know they had their moments.
When Jesus was pulled from the Cross and laid in the tomb, his friends and family and followers already had been knocked senseless. His most ardent disciples had been shocked into denying him. Some of his followers, who had welcomed him into Jerusalem by waving palms, had turned against him and called out, “Crucify him!” Only a few stood by the cross, and they were grieving.
In their grief, you know that they were thinking: “If only I could have held onto him. If only this could somehow be undone. If only … if only.” But there was no turning back time. The Messiah had come and gone. The Christ had been crucified. Jesus was in the tomb. It would never be the same again.
When Mary Magdalene reported that the tomb was empty, Simon Peter and the beloved disciple reacted as only men would – they staged a footrace to see who could get there first. And then, before processing what this could mean, they race back to spread the news, whatever that news seemed to suggest.
But Mary Magdalene, who loved Jesus as part of a close circle of followers, Mary stayed and wept. Jesus had died, gone out of her life. Now Jesus was gone in another way – physically absent, stolen from the tomb. That just pounded home the message that he was gone forever. So she wept.
And the angels said, “Woman, why are you weeping?” A strange question, to be sure, since surely they knew. As angels, they are messengers of God. Angels are sent to tell us of God’s actions, not to quiz us. But they asked, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
A rhetorical question because they knew the answer was before her.
She turned to see a man – the gardener perhaps? – and he said the same thing: “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”
Again, a question. Another tug at her heart.
To put her at ease, he simply says, “Mary!” With one word, all her fears are allayed. All her questions are answered. She is made whole.
“Mary!” – And she says, “Rabbouni! – Teacher!”
The tomb was empty and she was afraid she had lost Jesus forever. But here he was.
Mary! Teacher!
Her heart leapt with joy. Here was Jesus. It was all right. Things could be like they used to be. Things would be like they used to be. So she reached out. She reached out for her Lord and, to her surprise, he said: “Do not hold onto me.”
There was no turning back the clock. Here was Jesus, but in a different, unrecognizable visage. Jesus was here but untouchable. Here, but not as before.
“Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” Do not hold on to me.
This was new, new for her and new for the world. Jesus had returned, but things would not be the way they used to be. Nothing would be the way it used to be, for Christ had changed the world.
It’s not clear from the texts why Mary Magdalene and others couldn’t recognize Jesus by sight alone. It’s not clear how long Jesus was with them before the Ascension. What is clear is that nothing was the same because the world was made new again.
Mary was made new again. Now, she was the evangelist. Instead of reaching out to hold onto the Lord, she was spreading the Gospel, the Good News of his resurrection. “I have seen the Lord!”
She had seen the Lord, and through the Eucharist that he left with the disciples, she could experience the Lord again and again. By merely repeating what she had seen and heard, she set in motion a chain of events that brings us to this very church today.
What a miracle that was. I don’t mean the Resurrection, but rather its immediate impact on Mary and the impact she and the disciples would have on others, on us. They weren’t knocked senseless forever. They didn’t cling to the past forever. They heard his voice and believed all over again. They saw the Risen Lord and believed anew.
In a moment, we will gather at the table to meet the Lord. Not in the way Mary and the disciples knew Jesus before Calvary. But as the Risen Christ, who is with us, who calls us by name. Hear. Taste and see.
Come, I invite you. And then let go and go forth. Go out into the world and tell of what you have heard and what you have seen. Tell the greatest truth ever told. Say, like Mary Magdalene, “I have seen the Lord.”
March 23, 2008
John 20:1-18
On this Easter Day, I’ve been thinking about a classic holiday movie: “Groundhog Day.” Not exactly what you think of as a holiday classic. Not “Easter Parade” or “White Christmas” or … well, “Halloween,” I suppose.
It’s not because it’s about a holiday, but because this movie is about holding onto a particular point in time. Bill Murray, if you don’t remember, plays a weather forecaster who is stuck – stuck in a job he thinks he doesn’t like, stuck with an outlook on life that nobody likes, and stuck in a rut of singleness that he doesn’t even realize he’d like to get out of.
So by some magic that never is explained, he becomes stuck in one day – Groundhog Day, in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. And he hates it, hates it, hates it, over and over and over. For countless repetitions. He tries to amuse himself by robbing banks and going on drunken benders and all sorts of things that disaffected men would dream up. I’m sure disaffected women would dream up another set of troubles to get into.
The movie ends happily, as you’d expect, with him learning some life lessons and being freed from that day – freed, even though it had turned into a fabulous day for him.
I’ve been thinking of that movie because of that theme – holding onto one moment. A friend said to me recently, “Remember when…” You’ve had those “remember when” conversations. She said, “Remember when we were all together on that trip … I wish we could just go back to being like that.” She was referring to a small group of friends. We would go to parties and have dinner with one another and generally enjoy one another’s company. In retrospect, it was a magical time. But it couldn’t last – nothing in this life lasts exactly as it has been.
We talked about that time, a time that from my friend’s perspective was so much better than things later became. I’m convinced that she wouldn’t trade now for then. For one thing, now she loves her job and back then she was stuck in a position she had long outgrown. And that couple we so adored – well, they weren’t meant for a life together, and the seeds of that discontent were apparent even in that magical time in Memphis. Things weren’t so perfect for any of us back then.
We can’t turn back the clock, though there are times that I’d love to. We all have moments we wish we could hang onto. Mine involve being a kid riding my bike all over the city of Cullman. Of going on a honeymoon and rambling all over the Venezuelan Andes. Of going to Jerusalem just a month ago and gazing out over the Holy City from a high church tower, listening to the Muslim calls to prayer echo over those ancient stones and watching Christian pilgrims heading to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, built atop Golgotha, built right on top of the tomb where Jesus was laid.
Those were magical moments in my life. None of which I can hang onto, but which I cherish in my heart. Not just as memories, but as moments that form who I am today. You have your moments, we all do.
Those who knew Jesus – you know they had their moments.
When Jesus was pulled from the Cross and laid in the tomb, his friends and family and followers already had been knocked senseless. His most ardent disciples had been shocked into denying him. Some of his followers, who had welcomed him into Jerusalem by waving palms, had turned against him and called out, “Crucify him!” Only a few stood by the cross, and they were grieving.
In their grief, you know that they were thinking: “If only I could have held onto him. If only this could somehow be undone. If only … if only.” But there was no turning back time. The Messiah had come and gone. The Christ had been crucified. Jesus was in the tomb. It would never be the same again.
When Mary Magdalene reported that the tomb was empty, Simon Peter and the beloved disciple reacted as only men would – they staged a footrace to see who could get there first. And then, before processing what this could mean, they race back to spread the news, whatever that news seemed to suggest.
But Mary Magdalene, who loved Jesus as part of a close circle of followers, Mary stayed and wept. Jesus had died, gone out of her life. Now Jesus was gone in another way – physically absent, stolen from the tomb. That just pounded home the message that he was gone forever. So she wept.
And the angels said, “Woman, why are you weeping?” A strange question, to be sure, since surely they knew. As angels, they are messengers of God. Angels are sent to tell us of God’s actions, not to quiz us. But they asked, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
A rhetorical question because they knew the answer was before her.
She turned to see a man – the gardener perhaps? – and he said the same thing: “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”
Again, a question. Another tug at her heart.
To put her at ease, he simply says, “Mary!” With one word, all her fears are allayed. All her questions are answered. She is made whole.
“Mary!” – And she says, “Rabbouni! – Teacher!”
The tomb was empty and she was afraid she had lost Jesus forever. But here he was.
Mary! Teacher!
Her heart leapt with joy. Here was Jesus. It was all right. Things could be like they used to be. Things would be like they used to be. So she reached out. She reached out for her Lord and, to her surprise, he said: “Do not hold onto me.”
There was no turning back the clock. Here was Jesus, but in a different, unrecognizable visage. Jesus was here but untouchable. Here, but not as before.
“Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” Do not hold on to me.
This was new, new for her and new for the world. Jesus had returned, but things would not be the way they used to be. Nothing would be the way it used to be, for Christ had changed the world.
It’s not clear from the texts why Mary Magdalene and others couldn’t recognize Jesus by sight alone. It’s not clear how long Jesus was with them before the Ascension. What is clear is that nothing was the same because the world was made new again.
Mary was made new again. Now, she was the evangelist. Instead of reaching out to hold onto the Lord, she was spreading the Gospel, the Good News of his resurrection. “I have seen the Lord!”
She had seen the Lord, and through the Eucharist that he left with the disciples, she could experience the Lord again and again. By merely repeating what she had seen and heard, she set in motion a chain of events that brings us to this very church today.
What a miracle that was. I don’t mean the Resurrection, but rather its immediate impact on Mary and the impact she and the disciples would have on others, on us. They weren’t knocked senseless forever. They didn’t cling to the past forever. They heard his voice and believed all over again. They saw the Risen Lord and believed anew.
In a moment, we will gather at the table to meet the Lord. Not in the way Mary and the disciples knew Jesus before Calvary. But as the Risen Christ, who is with us, who calls us by name. Hear. Taste and see.
Come, I invite you. And then let go and go forth. Go out into the world and tell of what you have heard and what you have seen. Tell the greatest truth ever told. Say, like Mary Magdalene, “I have seen the Lord.”
Labels: Easter
posted by Michael+ at 11:43 AM
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