Changed
Luke 24:1-12
April 17, 2022
Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley
A few weeks ago, I had a remarkable conversation with Judah, who is 9 ½. I asked if we could let you overhear our conversation and he agreed. We have some notes in front of us, to make sure that we remember it right together, but what we’re about to share was a spontaneous, in-the-moment conversation.
We were reading from Matthew’s gospel where it says: ‘Who do people say that the Son of Man is?’ And they said, ‘Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Simon Peter answered, ‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’
Judah: “But how could Jesus be John the Baptist? John baptized Jesus. They’re two different people.”
Kathy: That’s a good question, Judah. John did baptize Jesus, but later John died. So, some people think that Jesus is John the Baptist come back to life.
Judah: How did John die?
Kathy: He was executed by Herod Antipas, the ruler of that area.
Judah: But John was baptizing people and that’s a good thing. Why would someone kill him for doing good?
Kathy: In addition to baptizing people, John was a preacher. One of the things he preached about was some bad stuff that Herod Antipas was doing. People were listening to John and not approving of Herod. So Herod killed him to shut him up.
Judah: How come, when you follow Jesus, it leads you to the path of execution?
Kathy: I don’t have an easy answer for that question, Judah. But you are right, when you follow Jesus, it can lead you to the path of execution. . . . So, I’m looking at the rest of the Bible passage. Jesus asks his disciple Peter, “But what about you, who do you say that I am?” And I wonder if you can imagine that Jesus is standing right here in front us and he says “Judah, who do you say that I am?” What would your answer be?
Judah: You are the Holy One, the Human One, the Living God, The True One. You’re the One who we know we’re safe with, the One we trust.
Thank you Judah.
When Judah asked me how John the Baptist died, I went into Biblical scholar mode. I went into historian mode, explaining about all the King Herods in the Bible. Judah patiently listened to all that, but then he got to the heart of the matter. He asked the theological question – “how come when you follow Jesus, it leads to the path of execution?”
What a great question. How come Jesus is so threatening? How is that a poor rabbi who preached love and justice was so threatening? Jesus said that the two most important principles were to love God with everything you’ve got and to love your neighbor as yourself. These were not new ideas. Jesus was quoting scripture which was already old in his time. He was reminding ordinary people and people in power what they already knew. Jesus practiced what he preached. He loved his friends and his detractors. He kept on loving his enemies, even as they mocked him, beat him and killed him.
How come, when you follow Jesus, it leads to the path of execution?
It was the path feared by his disciples. Crucifixion was intended to terrorize and it did. Fear is incredibly powerful. We are hardwired for fight or flight. The disciples mostly flee. After Jesus is arrested, they are largely absent from the story. Except for Peter, who follows from a distance and lingers outside, trying to learn what is happening. But when he is confronted, first he denies that he even knows Jesus and then he also flees.
Early in the morning, on the first day of the week, they are still afraid. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women wake early, if they ever slept. The memories of Jesus’ horrific last hours persist as heart-wrenching grief and traumatizing sights and sounds that won’t leave their minds. Have you seen the photographs of survivers in Ukraine, waiting for the bodies of their loved ones to be recovered? They are just waiting, standing watch, because there is nothing else that can be done. Their anguish is probably an accurate reflection of the mood of the Galilean women.
They go to the tomb early. Perhaps hoping for the cover of darkness. There are no men among them. Maybe because preparing a body for burial is considered women’s work. Maybe because the authorities are less likely to concern themselves with women who associate with a criminal.
They go, in spite of their fear, because they love Jesus. Just as Joseph of Arimathea had loved Jesus enough to ask for his body and buried it in his own tomb. It is an expression of loyalty and kinship. Taking the spices to the tomb, as the women do, is a gesture normally offered by close family members.[1]
As Judah said, Jesus is the one we know we’re safe with, the one we trust. Following Jesus can put you on the path to execution, but somehow, at the same time, Jesus is the one we’re safe with. It’s a paradox.
This is where we live our lives, balanced between fear and deep trust. Or its where I live my life anyway. I have noticed something in my sermons, especially over the last year. I’ve been using the word “courage” a lot. I’m always preaching to myself first and now that I’ve become aware of the pattern, I’m wondering what it is that I need to summon courage for? What is the bravest thing I need to be doing right now?
The women start off at early dawn. A more poetic way to translate that phrase is as “deep dawn”. Poet and theologian James Lowry says that deep dawn is that indefinable time between darkness and light, that moment when everything you have been taught to believe about hope is true or it is a lie.[2] It is the time when change is possible, when our defenses are lowered, when perceptions can shift. At deep dawn, they journey toward the graveyard, looking for a corpse. Then everything, every thing, changes.
Two beings appear. We would call them angels. And on the basis of their appearance and their words, the women are transformed. They are no longer grieving and traumatized, no longer fearing the path of execution, but somehow they are confident, secure, deeply trusting that their hope is true.
This is the change that I want, maybe you want it too. The ability to live above my fear, beyond my anxiety, to know that no matter what, Jesus is the one I am safe with.
The women know it. They didn’t when they woke. But now they do.
The women stuck around. They watched Jesus carry his cross to Golgotha. They saw him die. They waited and watched Joseph take down his body. They saw exactly which tomb he was laid in. And they know that he is not there any more. They believe the angels when they say “He is risen.” They know from first-hand experience.
The balance shifts from fear of execution to deep confident trust. It shifts because of resurrection. It happens in a moment. It happens at deep dawn. Every thing, every thing changes. The women see and hear and trust. They know.
But the other disciples do not know. The others are still afraid. Have you ever tried to convince someone not to be afraid? Imagine how the women tried to frame this announcement
“There’s something we need to tell you.”
“Maybe you should sit down.”
Mary and Mary and Joanna – what they have to say is so important. It is every thing. But the men dismiss it as nonsense, too trivial even to bother them.
The men resist it when the women tell them. Because listening might require change and change is hard. Even considering it might evoke hope and hope can lead to disappointment.
First century Galilean women weren’t considered credible witnesses in court. The culture treated them as perpetual children, always needing to be under the guidance of a man – a father, husband, son, or uncle. They didn’t have status or authority or credentials, and so were easily dismissed.
We are not so very different. We often resist messages that could change everything. We also may find it hard to listen to voices outside our experience, voices with first-hand knowledge, those whose truth comes from their trauma. We are listening to the voices of those suffering in Ukraine. I am grateful for that. But how well are we listening to those from Honduras who are some of the world’s first climate refugees? They have stories to tell of hunger and poverty from year after year of drought. They and those from El Salvador and Guatemala are fleeing the same kind of violent power and sexual assault and brutality as those in Ukraine. The stories I have heard from Central American migrants are directly parallel to those being reported in Ukraine. Our government is responding to the needs of the Ukranians, as we should, but we have steadfastly ignored and dismissed the voices of our southern neighbors for years.
What other voices do we resist? How well do we listen to Black Lives Matter activists who describe living in a reality distinct from white people’s reality? How well do we listen to those who live in poverty? How easy is it to disregard the voices of children, because they don’t have authority or credentials?
Did I mention that Judah is 9 ½? Entirely on his own, he arrived at the truth that following Jesus puts you on the path to execution and that also Jesus is the one we know we can trust.
Everything shifts for the women because of their first-hand experience. For the men, it begins when they listen to those with an experience beyond their own. If we seek transformation, we may need to listen deeply to experiences well beyond what we already know.
Between the fear of execution and deep, confident trust lies resurrection. It happens in a flash. It happens at deep dawn, the moment when we choose to believe that hope is true, that love is stronger than death.
Resurrection changes everything. Jesus’s despairing, traumatized, grieving disciples are transformed into brave, hopeful, loving bearers of good news. They come out from their hiding places and boldly proclaim all they know, in public, over and over again. It is because of their courage that you and I even know the story. They live out the rest of their days in full confidence. The path of execution is real, yes, and many will follow Jesus on it, but its death is not so deadly as to hold them back.
The grip of death does not have to bind us either. “We no longer need to hold on to the old formulations – moral, religious, economic or political – that have run our lives for so long. Today is the day to proclaim that the death systems of our time will not have dominion over us. We no longer need to live as cowards. We will not be defined by war or violence or even our struggle for security and safety. The news that comes to us out of that empty tomb is the news that God is not defeated by the systems of death.”[3]
Today is the day to proclaim that we are changed, because of the Risen One, the Living God, the True one, the One we know we’re safe with, the One we trust. Today is the day. Because Christ is Risen. Christ is risen indeed.
[1] Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992), p. 321-22
[2] J. Lowry, “At Deep Dawn” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2004
[3] These are the words of the Rev. Patricia De Jong as proclaimed in her sermon Easter is Hard to Hold, delivered on April 8, 2007 at the First Congregational Church of Berkeley, CA