Sermon by Garrett - April 3

Is Jesus’ tomb the only one that’s empty?

Last week the church thrummed with the songs of Christ’s resurrection. We had brass, and percussion, absolutely exalted singing. It's the high point of the year.

We wore our best clothes and got full on great food and Easter Alleluias.

Today is different.

Today is traditionally called Low Sunday. I guess you are the ones who didn’t get the memo about not coming to church.

This is Low Sunday in more than one sense.

Our spirits are low. Easter was great, but this Sunday is the liturgical equivalent of Monday morning.

“I mean Easter sure was nice, unforgettable even, but it’s over.”

And the question sets in… did anything change?

I mean besides our appreciation of good music, besides a few more pictures, a few more tags of us with the family on Facebook, besides my waistband – did anything change on Easter?

I have a priest friend who gets at this question another way. He says tongue-in-cheek: Christ is Risen – sure is good for him. Lucky guy. It’d be good if something that cool happened to me.

In other words, what does the empty tomb have to do with us? Is his the only empty tomb; what about the tombs of history?

Doubting Thomas lives in us all.

The disciples are locked in a room. And they are scared. The text tells us that they are afraid of the religious leaders. I bet that’s just the tip of the iceberg. They are scared of what the future might bring. They are scared that this whole Jesus thing is going to fall flat, and they of all people are to be pitied. They are about to be the butt end of every joke in town – and that’s the best case scenario.

They are locked in a room. And they are locked in so much more.

In a very real sense, they are locked in their own tomb. They are as a good as dead. They have been singing for years now that great song, “I have decided to follow Jesus,” and they sang those last words,” No turning back. No turning back.” And now they are scared, because there is no turning back.

Last week was about Jesus’ tomb, this week it’s about the disciples.

Did anything change? Or is the empty tomb an empty story?

A couple of weeks ago, I was out for a run. I was on a pretty well-trafficked neighborhood street in Highland Park and I saw some kids, African American kids actually, playing football in the street. I saw a few men that looked like their family standing off to the side, and I was really tempted to say something to them. “Hey your kids…” And then, I saw a police car up ahead at the intersection approaching: great, these boys are about to get reprimanded. And of course the police officers were white… Well I kept running and I prayed that things would turn out alright. But, for whatever reason, I dreaded the thought of that confrontation.

One of the great themes of the people of God, of Israel and of you and me is how God breathes life into us. God’s breath is that great energy that calls forth life. In Genesis chapter 2, in the very beginning of our story, God formed us from the clay and he breathed his spirit in us.

God brought life where there was no life.

And so the humans were formed and they developed culture, and song. But the humans were exiled from themselves and they woke up in a foreign country. In Babylon. And the same bodies that danced and made love and are now a valley of dry bones. Ezekiel tells us about this. Gods chosen people was a big heap of dead bones. And guess what, God came and breathed his life into them again.

Bringing life where there was no life.

And here we are today, with the disciples, like inanimate clay, like the valley of Dry bones, in need of God’s breath.

We, right there in that place that we as humans know so intimately: the tomb. We know the tombs that our world puts us in:

Tombs of apathy. Tombs of “perfectionism.” Locked in to the graveyard where we are asked to breathe the eerie air of pure profit motive.…and we, with the disciples, are groaning for the fresh air of Christ’s peace.

We know all about the tombs on this Low Sunday.

And yet, we know a different story.

As sudden as the Paschal fire broke into flame last Saturday, God brings life where there is no life.

When I was on my way home from my run, I saw something that you’re not going to believe. The police car was parked, and the policemen were out. And I can’t explain it, as the officers must have been breaking every police code in the books. I wish there had been officer cameras to capture it... They were throwing the football with the boys. Running routes with the neighborhood kids. 2 cops and about 8 boys. Age, family associations - all rendered secondary to who could run the cleanest skinny post. I took a double take but there it was. Why? Maybe they were killing time; but I don’t think so. I’m going with a different story.

For a short 3 minutes, I saw the tombs of police distrust and the tombs of racism, and they were empty. The stone was rolled away.

And that’s what we are here to celebrate today.

Whether we are a lifelong disciple, or a lifelong Doubting Thomas, there is no distinction:

God gathers us all around the gift of his life in the bread and wine, and renders all else secondary.

Christ gives life where there is no life.

It isn’t just Christ’s tomb that’s empty: he has breathed his peace upon us, and freed us from the tombs of our lives.

And he sends us out to do the work that he has given us to do:

to be his breath in the world;

to speak the word of peace in the tombs that we see all around us.

You see, fellow Christians, we are not in the business of being nice to the world. We are not in the business of growing a church. Or about being good citizens.

We are in the business of being God’s life in the Valley of Dry Bones, of Christ’s breath in the tomb, of the Spirit’s peace in the world.

And here’s my hunch:

people we encounter this week, every single person, I suspect, are all, in their heart of hearts forming that question with which we began.

“So you say Christ is risen. Is his the only tomb that’s empty?”

What we say next may just change everything.