Who’s your
favorite hero? When I was six, I was
fascinated with a hero that was about social justice, surprisingly enough. I didn’t learn about him in Sunday School or in
the bible picture books that were in every waiting room and hospital in
town. No, I learned about him at my
grandma’s house. I would climb up the
stairs to a dusty old bedroom, and pull down a book, probably as old as the
ones here in the front of the church. At
first, I looked at the pictures, then when somehow the magic of reading became
possible, I read the stories over and over again. They were all about Robin Hood. Some of you might not know who he was,
because it’s been a long time since Disney turned him into a fox, or since Kevin
Costner or Errol Flynn tried to make him seem more than a legend. But the idea of a man wandering around in the
bush, practising his aim and his political understanding of the world he lived
in, and the compassion he had for people living in poverty, and how he tried to
make a difference, well, all you can say to that is oh da lolly! And in my grandmother’s old book, there was
no doubt that he was a real man who pressured King John to sign the Magna
Carta, a document enshrining the idea that everyone would have equal access to
justice and a fair hearing.
I suppose
there could be worse heroes to believe in, after all, he was robbing the rich
to give to the poor. And compared to
some of the anti heroes we have now, like Deadpool, who seems more sarcastic
than anything else, Robin Hood was an interesting study in morals, reminding me
not to judge people by how big they were, like Little John, or what they wore
to work, like Friar Tuck. It was about
how they cared for each other and their oppressed friends and neighbors.
That’s very
different from our Easter story. Jesus
is no hero in many ways, he doesn’t wear a cape, he doesn’t have the strength
to hold up huge buildings, he doesn’t have a little sister who manufactures
amazing armor or weapons out of vibranium,
he doesn’t
come from a hidden kingdom of amazon warrior women, and he can’t sling a web
and catch thieves like flies.
He certainly
doesn’t use weapons or get into fist fights or win a beautiful princess and
live in a castle happily ever after. And
if we stay in Mark’s Gospel, the oldest gospel to try to put into words what
happened that first Easter, well, it’s more than a little eerie, creepy, weird. Dare I say it? Rather like an ugly April
Fools day joke gone wrong.
The
followers of Jesus are not expecting anything more than another dead body to
take care of, to prepare for entombment in the rituals of the day. The men are conspicuously absent. It is the women, coming at dawn to work with
the messy business of death. The women,
ready to confront the cause of their grief and pain and bathe the body with
their tears of grief.
The plot
twists unexpectedly. That which they had
planned for was not what they found. Their
morning of sadness was shattered by the unexpected, an unnamed stranger telling
them something so impossible that all they could do was run away in fear. Even the last command they were given, ‘go
and tell the disciples of Good News’ they could not do. They ran in terror. How many times do we flee that which we
cannot understand, and run from that which we have no words?
The story
ends there and yet it doesn’t. The
ending isn’t really Easter Sunday morning.
It’s more than just a dead end of a would-be hero, conquered by politics
and government.
It’s more
because Something happened afterward and kept happening. People kept experiencing the story in ways
that felt more real than the dangers and fears they had come to accept as
normal.
People kept
being surprised by this story’s power to touch them personally, and they handed
down that story, just as the women had been commanded to do at the tomb. Go back to where the story begins, remember
it all, not just the Good Friday and Easter, but the new life and hope for a
better way not just for the Marys and Salome, but for everyone. A story that has been handed down for
generations until now it is your turn to hear it.
This is not
a story about which
hero you like best, or even whether Jesus is better than Black Panther, Thor,
Robin Hood or Wonder Woman, nor is it about being tough, or having super powers or beating up everyone
that gets in your way of what you think you want.
This is a
story of how even when we are broken down, or maybe especially when we are
broken down, when our world feels upside down and out of control, when we have
no hope left in anything we can do, when we are too tired to keep on fighting,
when we have given up, when we feel fooled by hope, that’s when God’s upside
down call to us to hear good news can sink in.
That’s when hallelujahs can make a real, authentic difference in the
world;
The story of
Easter is about ordinary human beings like you and me empowered by something
mysterious and unexplainable. The story of Easter calls us to make love the
cornerstone of the next chapter in our own Easter story. Hear these words not
as some ancient April Fools trick, but a promise of good news for all who
continue to add to the story of Easter. Christ is Risen, he is Risen indeed,
halleluiah!
No comments:
Post a Comment