Rev.
Maureen Frescott
Congregational
Church of Amherst, UCC
April
20, 2014 – Easter Sunrise Service
John
20:1-18
“The Gardener”
Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Hallelujah means “Praise God.”
The melancholy verses that Leonard Cohen
composed for the song we just heard stand in contrast to his chorus of
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
In our pain, in our despair, in our apathy, we
all seek to have those moments of Hallelujah -
Those moments that lift us up out of the pit
we’ve fallen into and infuse us with so much joy we can’t help but praise God
for the relief we’ve found.
This dramatic lifting up from despair to joy is
what Easter morning is all about.
In the Easter story – the story of the discovery
of the empty tomb – we find the ultimate Hallelujah moment.
We can imagine Mary approaching the tomb where Jesus’
broken body had been laid, willing herself to put one foot in front of the
other when all she wanted to do was collapse in her grief.
Her rabbouni, her teacher, her friend, was gone.
Taken from her in one of the most brutal ways
imaginable.
Crucified like a common criminal upon a wooden
cross.
Now as she walked in the garden surrounding the
tombs, feeling the cool earth beneath her feet, she may have imagined the
thousands of women who had walked this way before her.
Gathering to weep for those they had lost.
The very soil made sacred by the acts of grief
and love broken open upon it.
But as Mary approached Jesus’ tomb and saw the
stone had been rolled away her grief quickly turned to shock and confusion.
Her first thought was that Jesus’ body had been
taken.
By whom or for what reason she didn’t care to
speculate, as she quickly ran and got two of the disciples and brought them to
the tomb to confirm what she had seen.
Someone had taken their beloved Jesus away.
When the men looked into the empty tomb they
were dumbfounded, but having no answers to give they returned home, leaving
Mary alone yet again.
Alone in her grief…feeling like she had lost him
all over again.
As Mary sat weeping outside the tomb, she had no
idea that she was about to experience one of those Hallelujah moments.
A man approached her and said, “Woman, why are
you weeping?”
She
assumed he was the gardener.
We
know it is Jesus.
We might wonder why Mary did not recognize her
dear friend when he was standing right in front of her.
We often see artistic depictions of the risen
Christ ablaze in light – His body made whole, his blinding white robes looking cleaned
and pressed as a golden halo hovers over his head.
But this is not what Mary saw.
Instead of her friend she saw a gardener.
Perhaps because the light was still low, or she
couldn’t imagine who else would be there at the crack of dawn.
Or perhaps as he spoke he reached out his hand
and she saw dirt caked beneath his fingernails.
From years of tilling soil, planting seeds, and
willing them to grow.
It wasn’t until Jesus called out her name, “Mary!”
– that she knew it was him.
And in that moment her spirits soared.
She recognized the timber and warmth of her
teacher’s voice as he said her name….Mary.
And all those times he had told her to not
despair, that even in death he would not leave her, came rushing back to her.
The seeds of resurrection had been planted
within her.
And this gardener with dirt under his
fingernails had nurtured new life to grow once again.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah
As we navigate the pain and despair that befalls
us, how might we bring about those Easter Hallelujah moments in our own lives?
I invite you all, as you are able, to reach down
and grab a bit of dirt – a small clump or just a pinch – Just enough to feel it
between your fingers, just enough so when you reach down to pick it up you get
a bit lodged underneath your fingernails.
In other words, if you’re wearing gloves, take
them off.
As many of you know, the dirt on this village green
holds a lot of our own history.
Many people have walked this ground before us.
Hundreds years of 4th of July
celebrations and farmers markets.
Thousands of morning strolls, afternoon runs,
and evening walks with the dog.
There was the time that this church – this
meeting house - stood on this green, before it was moved to where it is now.
The place where we’re standing now is where
Easter preachers once belted out sermons, while children squirmed in the pews,
and farmers gazed out the windows, their thoughts wandering to the crops they
were anxious to plant, if the frozen ground would ever give way.
Before the church was built, this green served
as the training field for the local militia…. and it was a favorite grazing
location for cows, pigs, and sheep.
And for generations before that, this land was
home to the indigenous people who worshiped this soil and found shade beneath
these trees.
If we can, imagine the ghosts of our past
wandering amongst us now.
Farmers, soldiers, church goers, people of all
ages and times gathering on this very soil to celebrate, to worship, to live
their everyday lives.
The soil you hold in your hand is sacred ground.
It is our connection to the past and those who
came before us.
And it is our connection to the future and those
who will come after us.
Our Hallelujah moment is found in the
understanding that although Jesus no longer walks on this earth as our Rabounni, our teacher, his teachings live on in
each of us.
In the values we instill in our children.
In the love we show towards others, even those
who’ve wronged us.
In the radical welcome and hospitality we offer
to those who are different from us – these are the seeds the gardener has
planted within us and that we continue to plant in his name.
We all have dirt underneath our fingernails.
And as you go through this Easter Sunday I
encourage you to resist the urge to wash this dirt off your hands.
Keep it as a reminder of this resurrection
morning.
As a reminder of empty tombs and halleluiah
moments.
As a reminder that suffering, despair, and death
do not have the last word.
Because, praise God, Christ has risen again.
Say it with me - Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Amen
Senior High Youth Group at the Sunrise Service
