Being Afraid
by Frank Fisher

It's Easter;
the happiest day
 of the Christian year.
But what does Easter mean to you?
The Reverend Lowell Striker
tells a story 
about a Sunday School class
that speaks about the meaning of Easter.
 One Sunday
  late in Lent
 a Sunday School teacher
 decided to ask her class
 what they remembered
 about Easter.
  The first little fellow 
 suggested Easter
 was when all the family
 comes to the house
 and they eat a big turkey
 and watch football.
  The teacher suggested
 that perhaps
 he was thinking of Thanksgiving,
 not Easter,
 so she let a pretty young girl answer.
  She said Easter was the day
 when you come down the stairs
 in the morning,
and you see 
all the beautiful presents
 under the tree.

  At this point,
 the teacher 
was really feeling 
discouraged.
  But after explaining the girl
 was probably 
thinking about Christmas,
 she called on a lad
whose hand 
was tentatively 
raised in the air.
  Her spirits 
immediately perked up
 as the boy said Easter 
is the time 
when Jesus
 was crucified and buried.
  She felt she had gotten through
 to at least one child
 until he added,
 "And then 
He comes out of the grave
 and if 
He sees His shadow
 we have six more weeks 
of winter."

We may laugh 
at the young boy's answer.
But all too often we too
lose the meaning of Easter.
We often allow 
commercial special effects
to drown out the truth
 of our spiritual heritage.
When we do
we become 
like this Sunday School class.
We're so blinded by all the pizzaz
that we we're confused
 about what's really going on.

At Christmas
we've allowed 
what can only be termed
 as crass commercialism
to overcome the wonder
of the story of God come to earth.
And too often Easter's
becoming only an excuse for 
yet another commercial celebration
instead of a celebration
 of God's power and love.

When we allow externals
 to submerge something important,
there may be a reason.
And the reason 
for our over looking Easter
might be found 
in today's gospel lesson.

On Easter morning
 the two Marys went to the tomb.
They knew the coming of the Sabbath
 had kept Joseph of Arimathea
from completely preparing Jesus' body for burial.
So they came that morning
 bringing the spices
they needed to finish the job.

Mark says nothing
 about the women's state of mind
as they walked toward the tomb.
But depressed and numb 
would've likely
 been too mild 
a pair of words
 to describe 
the way they must have felt.
After all
 their planned morning task
 would not only remind them 
of Friday's horror
and the ruin
 of all their hopes and dreams.
But their journey
 in the hot Judean sun
 would also confront them
with the already decaying remains
of someone whom 
they'd deeply loved.

So in what must have been
 a near catatonic state
they reached the burial site
only to find its heavy cover rolled away
and Jesus' body missing.
And sitting in another burial niche
they found a young man 
dressed in white
who uttered the words,
"Do not be alarmed;
you are looking
 for Jesus of Nazareth,
who was crucified.
He has been raised. . ."

Do not be alarmed.


Right.

After their past several days
 of little or no sleep
and deeply whip sawed emotions,
how could they not
 have been alarmed.
They were faced with the need
for an incredible shift
in their thinking patterns.
Their mind set was full of death.
But instead of death and decay
they found vibrant life.
It's no wonder
they responded
 by silently running away
in terror and amazement.
It's no wonder
the first peopl
e who encountered the resurrection
responded to it
by being afraid.

I must confess
Easter
often  finds me with same mind set
held by the two Marys
 on the first Easter morning.
I'm afraid.
When I found myself preparing for this sermon,
I found
 I was somewhat afraid of the topic.
For such an event
 of raw divine power
calls for a sermon 
full of shouts and alleluias!

But,
I kept telling myself,
I'm a Presbyterian.
As a member of a tradition
others often call
God's frozen chosen,
I don't always do
 shouts and alleluias very well.
And since I don't do those things well
I was afraid
I wouldn't do justice
to the wonder of this day.

On a more honest note
I find myself also being afraid each Easter
because I often find it hard to hear
Easter's message of life and hope.
For on the week
before Easter,
six years ago
my brother's prolonged fight 
with cancer ended.
And each Easter,
I remember Mike's death
and find it very difficult
 to break through my sense of loneliness
anger.
and abandonment,
and find hope in the promise
of the resurrection.
Instead,
I want to lilt my head back to the heavens,
and scream,
"I want my brother back."
I know of course,
the scream will not be answered.
But mere logic
will not stop a cry of lament.

Albert Goess tells a story
about a German chaplain in World War II.
.  It moves me profoundly
 because it touches my need for hope
 in the face the abyss of death.
In Hitler's army,
 religious chaplains,
mostly Lutheran and Catholic,
were allowed to come along without rank.
They were something
 like Red Cross workers.
  And thus it happened
a Lutheran minister
 found himself billeted in Budapest, Hungary.
  It was 1944.
  The Russians were advancing on the eastern front.
  The Jews of the city
 had not yet been seized
 but the wealthy ones
 were forced to provide space in their houses
 for German personnel.
  And so the chaplain
 found himself in the home
 of two Jewish physicians,
 father and son.
  They were grave,
and dignified men.

  There was,
 of course,
 no social contact,
 but they appeared at the door of his room
 and politely,
 and deferentially
 inquired if his quarters were comfortable.
  He asked for a small bureau
 or chest for storage,
 which they promised to supply.
And then,
 standing there hesitantly,
 wearing the yellow star of David
 affixed to their coats,
 the older one suddenly said,
 "Reverend,
 you will protect us,
 won't you?"
 
What fearful things can underlie our words.
Fearful things
 like the asking of a simple question.
  Protect them!
  One might as well ask
 to stay the wind,
 or turn the night into day.
  Already
 terrible stories were circulating
 of the deportation and murders.

  The chaplain stammered something
 about being a Red Cross worker
 and that they need fear nothing from such.
  But these were lame phrases,
 just something to say.
Then he looked at them,
 across a terrible chasm,
 and suddenly was moved to say,
 "Sh'ma Ysroel adonai elohenu adonai echod."
Hear, O Israel,
 the Lord our God is one."

They were overwhelmed.
  They pressed his hand in silence,
 and left.

  What could that mean?
And
What good did it do
 to utter those words?

  They express the age-old faith of Israel.
And they mean nothing
 unless one believes there is One
 who holds all in his eternal gaze.

So today,
I remember with joy
the time I had with my brother
That's because Mike believed in that eternal gaze.
And Mike believed in resurrection.
Those who cared for him
told how each year he'd joyfully approach
the Easter Vigil.
 During the dark the of  Easter Saturday night,
he'd join the other faithful as they'd circle 
the church three times.
The first two times
they were turned away,

But on the third try,
Mike would bound through the church doors,
only to find a place of blazing light.
with a smile of great joy on his face.
There with a look of delight on his face,
 he would shout. "Christ is Risen,"
until his voice shook the very rafters.
Even when his treatment options seemed darkest,
Mike never feared death.
For he knew what lay beyond.
He knew there is One
 who is part of our pain
 and transcends it.
One who can stay the wind
or turn night into day.
One who is our rock, our fortress, our deliverer.
In the face of Mike's faith
and in the words of the High Mass,
I found my disquiet changing
from mere belief,
to certain knowledge. 
I've found that despite a hurt
which after six years
is still almost too much to bear,
I echo the words of Carl Jung.
For when he was asked
 about his belief in God,
he answered,
"No, I don't believe.
I know!
This is to us
what Easter means.

Today,
I hope I can leave you
with the same hope
that's helped me
overcome
the fear and loneliness
brought about by the anniversary
of my brother's death.

For there is fear
here among us.
Many of you fear
for your congregation's future.
For you know you face 
a time of changes;
changes that can seem like a death
even if they bring life.
Many of you
have also learned to fear
each other.
For many, many  years,
it has been a common tactic 
for pastors and congregants alike
to threaten to leave
if they don't get their own way.
And over the many years
of this tactic's use
you've learned to first to be wary
and finally
to be afraid of each other.

But,
my sisters and brothers,
we should not be
a people of fear!
For we are 
Resurrection people!
With Jung, we know 
there is One
who has transcended pain and fear
to bring us together
as one people.
There is  One who's died our death
and defeated its cruel hold on us.
In the end,
there is One 
who will prevail over all.
There is One 
who has guaranteed life continues
beyond the end of our mortal bodies.
And in this continuance 
this same One has turned
 fearsome death,
despite its pain and agony,
into
a joke.

For beyond death
 there is a God
 in whom we're made whole,
 beyond all time and torment,
 in the home of light.

Easter means,

at the end of all,

God wins.

There is no reason any longer
for any of us
to go on being afraid.
For beyond the worst
that can happen to us
is our Lord Jesus Christ.
And with Jesus the risen Christ
there is resurrection.
To God Alone be Glory! 
Amen.

(Comments to Frank at f.fisher.obl.osb@comcast.net.)
Interim Pastor
First Presbyterian Church of Bushnell, Illionois