John
20:1-18
Easter Sunday, March 31, 2013
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary
Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the
tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom
Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and
we do not know where they have laid him.’ Then Peter and the other disciple set
out and went towards the tomb. The two were running together, but the other
disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and
saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter
came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying
there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen
wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who
reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they
did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the
disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent
over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the
body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They
said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken
away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ When she had said
this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that
it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you
looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have
carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’
Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’
(which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have
not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, “I am
ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” ’ Mary
Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she
told them that he had said these things to her.
I started thinking about something this past week, after
visitors to the church asked me how long I’ve been at Calvin Presbyterian
Church, and if I ever consider leaving. I realized that I’ve been pastor of
this church for 17 years? If I’m here for another full year, I’ll have been the
longest-tenured pastor in this church’s history. That would be quite a
remarkable feat, since the average Presbyterian pastor’s tenure at a church is
five years, and the average tenure of a pastor in any denomination (even
including Roman Catholic, where the bishop places pastors) is seven years. Of
course, this church was lucky to have the longest-tenured pastor before me in
Dick Anderson.
Staying here this long is certainly not what I expected
when I came to Calvin Church. I don’t know that I saw this church as a stepping
stone to bigger churches, but it occurred to me that since most pastors don’t
stay longer than five years, I would probably be here three to five years, and
then move on to a larger church.
I’ve certainly had my opportunities to move on over the
years. I don’t say this to brag, but I have had quite a few large churches,
both in the Pittsburgh area and nationally, pursue me, and I’ve turned them all
down. After one particularly large church pushed me to interview, a friend of
mine questioned my reasoning for turning the church down. She asked me, “Why do you stay at Calvin Presbyterian
Church? My answer surprised her and me. Before I could even think, I
blurted out, “Because it’s insignificant!”
That sounds like a critique of Calvin Church,
doesn’t it? It’s not, and in a few moments you’ll see why it’s actually a very
big compliment. It could be easy to misinterpret my reasoning as my wanting to
be a big fish in small pond, or that I’ve become complacent. Both would be
untrue. Calvin Church has actually become something of a much bigger pond both
regionally and nationally. People notice what we do. And anyone who knows me
also knows that I’m not a real complacent kind of person. I study, I grow, I
change, and I expect the church to do so, too.
The real reason that I stay is that I had an insight from
the Bible, and from our passage for this morning, about the nature of
significance. The insight is this: the
most significant ministry often takes place in insignificant places, because
God finds significance in insignificance.
I had a similar insight about the nature of
insignificance while watching the History Channel’s miniseries, The Bible. Have you been watching it? I
know that many people are. One of the things that stood out to me in the
miniseries is how well they show the insignificance of Jesus in view of the
powers that be in Jerusalem. Jesus is repeatedly called “Jesus of Nazareth,” or
“the Nazarine,” by Caiaphas, the chief priest of the Temple—a powerful and
significant man. The term, “of Nazareth,” is intentional because it is a put
down. Nazareth is a nowhere place from a nowhere region. Galilee was considered
to be a backwater place of the Roman Empire, and Nazareth was one of the least
significant towns in Galilee.
Caiaphas’ putdown might be the equivalent of us saying
that someone comes from Mingo, West Virginia, or Tioga, North Dakota. I have
nothing wrong with either place, but neither place comes up in conversations
about significant places. And we could easily, possibly mistakenly, dismiss
someone from either place as being a bumpkin. That’s what Caiaphas is saying
about Jesus. He is saying, “This man is insignificant and needs to be crushed
for the bug he really is!”
The irony of Caiaphas’ putdown is that in his own pursuit
of significance as Temple high priest, he lost sight of what made the Jewish
faith significant in the first place. What made them significant was their
insignificance. The Israelites were never a strong nation from a worldly
perspective. In fact, when they were at their strongest it wasn’t because they
were so strong. It was because the nations around them were so weak. Israel was
always the highway armies took on their way to war with other great powers.
When the Assyrians, Greeks, Babylonians, or Romans wanted to conquer Egypt,
they first conquered Israel to pave the way. When Egypt tried to conquer
Assyria, Babylon, and elsewhere, it first subdued Israel. David was very much a
strong king, but of a relatively small nation that gained prominence during at
time of international weakness. As significant as he is to us today, and to the
people of the Jewish faith, he was never an internationally significant figure.
In fact, in keeping with the biblical story, he became
king because he was insignificant. His older brothers were stronger, and looked
more like kingly material. God anointed David, who was a young man with little
strength or accomplishment. But in his insignificance he did have the one
attribute God seems to see as most significant: the willingness to say YES to God.
The history of the Jewish faith is one of insignificance.
Abraham was nobody, chosen by God to become the founder of a Chosen people. Who
knows how many other people God might have called but said NO. All we know is
that Abraham was the one who said YES. Joseph was insignificant—the youngest
son of a desert, Bedouin tribe of Jews, sold into slavery and then imprisoned.
But he said YES to God. Moses was significant, but when he fled into the desert
he became insignificant. And he’s the one called by God to lead an
insignificant people to the Promised Land. His, and their, main attribute was
to say YES to God. The Jews never became powerful, and even after gaining their
land, they lost it during the Exile, while they were insignificant slaves in
Babylon. After their return to Israel, they first were under the Assyrians,
then the Greeks, and then the Romans. They were insignificant.
To think of Jesus as insignificant is hard for us
because we are a people of greatness who are attracted to greatness. It’s hard for
us not to be impressed by greatness. For example, I spoke several weeks ago
about my brush with greatness while in Texas. I was on a plane with Joe Greene.
As I walked through the plane’s cabin, there was Joe Greene in first class,
looking at me. I then found myself standing next to him outside of baggage
claim while waiting for my ride. And as I ate in a restaurant on that Saturday
night, in walks Joe Greene. I’m not great, but just by being near him I seem
greater (although not to him). We love greatness, and want to be associated
with greatness.
But greatness from our perspective isn’t the same as
greatness from God’s perspective, and often God sees the people who are the
most insignificant as the most significant, if they have lived in God’s
significance.
Most of you know that I’m fascinated with Near Death
Experiences. One of the things I’ve found remarkable about many accounts is the
message so many people bring back. A significant number have reported that they
reviewed their lives with a heavenly being, and in that review what seemed to
matter was not their accomplishments, nor their status with other people. How
significant they were in the world seemed insignificant. What seemed to matter
most is how loving they were. As Eben Alexander said about his experience, in
his book, Proof of Heaven, was that
mattered there was love. What God and everyone else in heaven seems to care
about is whether or not we loved and are filled with love. God measures
greatness in terms of how loving we are, not by how important people thought we
were. And often it is the people who are considered to be the least significant
who also love the most. This is a reason I thought of Calvin Church as
insignificant. In it’s insignificance to the world, it has been incredibly
significant in love.
Where I saw this really demonstrated in the History
Channels’ The Bible was in the scene
of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus prays that, if it be the
Father’s will, this cup will pass—that he will not have to be crucified. Jesus
is tormented in this prayer, just as Scripture describes.
Then the camera cuts to the Temple, where the Sanhedrin
(the governing board of the Temple) prays for God to take care of them and to
deal with this Jesus fellow. The chief priest, Caiaphas, prays that God would
be with them during the Passover season, allowing them to make it meaningful
for everyone without the interference of radicals like Jesus. Then the camera
cuts to Pontius Pilate and his wife, and they are praying to figurines of their
ancestors, praying that their ancestors would be with them in governing Judea,
and that the gods would help them deal with this radical, Jesus.
Pilate is considered significant because he is the
Roman-installed governor. Caiaphas is considered significant because he is the
chief priest of the Temple, and therefore the closest thing the Jews had to a
spiritual leader. Jesus is insignificant. He’s a rabble-rouser, a heretic, and a
blasphemer who is about to be arrested and killed. He is a “nothing” who needs
to be crushed in order to stamp out his pitiful movement. Yet he is also the
only one asking God to lead him to fulfill God’s will, and the only one seeking
to love God and others through his actions. The others are asking God to fulfill
their will. Jesus’ insignificance leads him to do what is significant in God’s
eyes—to follow in love, not considering his own welfare. That’s not Caiaphas’
and Pilate’s motivation.
I think that the story of the resurrection continues to
show us how God works through insignificance. As I said before, Jesus came from
insignificance (Nazareth) and ministered mostly in insignificance (Galilee).
And who were the people Jesus focused most of his efforts on? They were the
insignificant by the world’s standards: the poor, the disabled, the outcasts,
prostitutes, Gentiles, and everyone rejected by the powerful.
Even as Jesus grew in significance, he died in
insignificance as a common criminal, hanging on a cross. The cross was the
Roman form of execution that screamed out, “This person was nothing compared to
the power of Rome! See how we make our enemies suffer?” As much temporary
acclaim as Jesus received during his life (Sermon on the Mount, feeding of the
4000 and 5000, and his parade into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday), his death on the
cross showed the world his insignificance. To make it worse, he was abandoned
by everyone but his mother, Mary Magdalene, and one disciple.
Yet is was Jesus’ resurrection that bore testimony to his
significance. You see, this is the
way God works. God raises the insignificant to significance, and often lowers
the significant to insignificance.
Let me share two short stories that capture this idea of
how greatness comes through the significance of love. The first is told by Fred
Craddock, a well-known professor of preaching. He says that number of years ago
a seminary professor (was it he, himself?) was vacationing with his wife in
Gatlinburg, Tennessee. One morning, they were eating breakfast at a little
restaurant, hoping to enjoy a quiet, family meal. While they were waiting for
their food, they noticed a distinguished looking, white-haired man moving from
table to table, visiting with the guests. The professor leaned over and
whispered to his wife, 'I hope he doesn't come over here.' But sure enough, the
man did come over to their table.
“Where are you folks from?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“Oklahoma ,” they answered. “Great to have you here in Tennessee ,” the
stranger said. “What do you do for a living?” “I teach at a seminary,” he
replied.
“Oh, so you teach preachers how to preach, do you? Well,
I've got a really great story for you.” And with that, the gentleman pulled up
a chair and sat down at the table with the couple.
The professor groaned and thought to himself, “Great,…
Just what I need,... another preacher story!”
The man started, “See that mountain over there? (pointing
out the restaurant window). Not far from the base of that mountain, there was a
boy born to an unwed mother. He had a hard time growing up, because every place
he went, he was always asked the same question, 'Hey boy, Who's your daddy?’ Whether
he was at school, in the grocery store or drug store, people would ask the same
question, 'Who's your daddy?’”
“He would hide at recess and lunch time from other
students. He would avoid going in to stores because that question hurt him so
bad. When he was about 12 years old, a new preacher came to his church. He
would always go in late and slip out early to avoid hearing the question,
'Who's your daddy?'”
“But one day, the new preacher said the benediction so
fast that he got caught and had to walk out with the crowd. Just about the time
he got to the back door, the new preacher, not knowing anything about him, put
his hand on his shoulder and asked him, ‘Son, who's your daddy?’
The whole church got deathly quiet. He could feel every
eye in the church looking at him Now everyone would finally know the answer to
the question, ‘Who's your daddy?'”
“This new preacher, though, sensed the situation around
him and using discernment that only the Holy Spirit could give, said the
following to that scared little boy. 'Wait a minute! I know who you are! I see
the family resemblance now. You are a child of God.' With that he patted the
boy on his shoulder and said, 'Boy, you've got a great inheritance. Go and
claim it.'”
“With that, the boy smiled for the first time in a long
time and walked out the door a changed person. He was never the same again.
Whenever anybody asked him, 'Who's your Daddy?' he'd just tell them , 'I'm a
Child of God..'”
The distinguished gentleman got up from the table and
said, “Isn't that a
great story?” The professor
responded that it really was a great story!
As the man turned to leave, he said, “You know, if that
new preacher hadn't told me that I was one of God's children, I probably never
would have amounted to anything!” And he walked away.
The seminary professor and his wife were stunned. He
called the waitress over & asked her, “Do you know who that man was—the one
who just left that was sitting at our table?” The waitress grinned and said, “Of
course. Everybody here knows him. That's Ben Hooper. He's governor of Tennessee
!”
A final story: I don’t know if you know Ellie Fleming.
She has been very active in the Presbyterian Church (USA) both nationally and
locally. She has told a story to many of us about her experience one day in
Pittsburgh, while meeting friends of hers for lunch in the Strip District. She
couldn’t find a spot in any of the parking lots, but managed to find a lucky spot
on the street right near the restaurant.
It was a tight spot, and she tried a number of times to
back in, but she couldn’t. A young man stepped out to guide her, but it didn’t
work. Finally, he said, “Can I just park it for you? I’m pretty good at this.”
She said, “Sure.” And he zipped it into the spot with ease and skill. He handed
her the keys and asked, “Is that okay? Is there anything else I can help you
with? ” She said, “It’s great,… can I touch you?” He replied, embarrassed,
“Sure,… I guess.” Afterwards, Ellie walked away, thinking to herself, “Who will
believe this, that Sydney Crosby just parked my car?”
What matters in the Christian life is that we live a life
brought out by the resurrection—that we live a life of love. It doesn’t matter
how significant other people think you are. All that matters is how significant
to God what you do is, and if it is based on love, it is significant.
In the end, this is why I stay at Calvin Presbyterian
Church: because in its insignificance it knows how to do and be what God finds
significant.
Amen.
