Looking for the Living

From Luke 23:54 - 24:12

   
I can’t think about Easter without thinking about daffodils.  My Grandmother had hundreds and hundreds of daffodils in her yard that would come up every spring just in time to hide brightly colored eggs in their leaves.  Daffodils also grew up along the country roads we took to get to my Grandmother’s house, and sometimes, my mom would stop along the road and let us pick fistfuls — armfuls of daffodils on the way to or from her house.  And their soft scent would fill the car.  I loved those daffodils.  And I guess my brother Stan did too, because he’s now taken to planting hundreds, even thousands, of daffodil bulbs all around his farm. 
   
I loved those daffodils so much that, as a child, I got worried when I didn’t see them for a while. . . .  In the summertime, I was usually too distracted to think about the daffodils that had come and gone, but in the fall and certainly in the winter, I missed them.  I wondered about them, and urgently wanted them to come back.  One winter day I remember—I was 5 or 6—I even took some gloves and a shovel and set out to look for them.  I started digging in the frozen ground in the places I knew they should be.  But before I could even unearth one bulb, my Grandmother stopped me. . . .

“What in the tarnation are you doing?!” she wanted to know.  Didn’t I know that I had no business digging up her flowers.  They were right where they were meant to be, and they would come out just as soon as they were ready. . . .
   
And deep down, I was also hoping that the daffodils were right where they were meant to be.  Even in my uncertainty, I was motivated by the hope that they were there.  But I wanted to make sure they were alright.  I wanted to make sure they were still alive—even though I couldn’t see them.  I was desperately looking for the living. . . .
   
And that’s how many of us arrive at this day.  It’s been a long journey to get to this point—however we’ve gotten here today, by whatever spiritual road we’ve taken to get here.  On this Easter morning and every Easter morning, we are accustomed to glorious alleluias ringing out.  We are used to the color and the beauty and the baskets and unshackled pageantry of Easter . . .
Even after an entire season of bleakness, wilderness, and denial . . . even after a long Saturday in the tomb of uncertainty—not sure what to expect.  And if you’re like me, it’s sometimes hard to shift gears so quickly in order to join the Halleluiah Chorus.  Many of us arrive at this day hopeful but unsure.  At the very least, we want to go out with our gloves and shovel and look for some kind of certainty.  Our hearts are desperately looking for the living, even if our minds are still skeptical.
   
So when the men in dazzling clothes meet the women at the tomb and say, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here, but has risen.”  What is it that fills your mind?  What do you bring with you into this Easter morning?  Whatever it is—whatever you bring—it is met by those holy messengers—those holy messengers who tell us that in spite of our moments of uncertainty—that, of course, there is something more.  Of course, the graciousness of life transcends our momentary experiences of pain and anxiety and uncertainty and grief.  They tell us that our spices and ointments to anoint the dead have no place here. 
Leave this tomb and go and look for the living. . . .
   
The Greek word translated here as “tomb” is mnemeion.  And it shares the same root as the word “remember.”  So we see that in Luke’s telling of this story, there is a direct connection between the tomb and the act of remembering.  Here the tomb—as a place of remembering the dead—serves as the women’s path back to life as they remember the living—as they remember the words Jesus spoke, the deeds he performed, the life he led, the hope he gave.  The call for the women to remember replaces “do not be afraid” or” do not be alarmed” in the other gospel accounts.  And when the women do remember—Jesus’ words/actions/life/hope—they leave the tomb empowered and emboldened to share this hope with others. . . .  They go, looking for the living.
   
But sometimes, the living is hard to find.  Too much of the time, too many of us walk around half conscious, concerned about petty things, engrossed in trivia, while our world spins out of control. . . .  Political posturing, terrorism, ISIS, poisoned water supplies, violence, drugs, racism, sexism, homophobia, consumerism. . . .   I sip my $4 latte while more old growth trees are clear cut in the Third World to make room for more coffee plants.  I read about who wore what at the Awards shows while children somewhere slave away in sweat shops to produce ever more expensive designer clothes.  I distractedly and doubtfully sign one more email petition to increase gun control while more and more weapons flood the streets and find their ways into the hands of more and more people with ill intent throughout the world. 
   
In the midst of these kinds of complicated situations—in which I am complicit—and in which it is just easier to look away—what does it mean to look for the living?  In these situations, what does it mean to look for the hope of the resurrected Christ?  And what would it take for each of us to break out of the lifeless places we often inhabit—to resurrect our own lives so that we do not merely slide through the motions of life—emotionless, joyless, hopeless, passionless? . . .  What would it take for us to truly bear witness to the depth of life, to acclaim it, to share responsibility for it, and to become ultimately accountable for the hope it brings—rather than just getting by with half living?
   
The acclaimed Buddhist scholar Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that “if you live without awareness, it is the same as being dead.”  By asking the women at the tomb why they are looking for the living among the dead, the holy messengers are urging the women toward greater awareness and greater life.  You see, the practice of resurrection is possible for all of us.  On the third day, the life of Jesus was resurrected.  But in that moment at the tomb when the women remembered and committed themselves to look for the living, the lives of those women were resurrected, too.
   
We all experience loss—some is deeply painful, extremely personal, life-changing loss.  Many of us have lost loved ones.  Some of us watch loved ones struggle with cancer, chronic illness, or other painful health conditions.  Some of us face financial struggles, relationship difficulties, uncertain situations with children or parents or others we care about.  Some of us suffer with depression, anxiety, or other mental health issues.  It is hard to look for the living—it’s hard to manifest hope—it is hard to believe in resurrection—when we are surrounded and overwhelmed by death, dying, fear, loss, and grief. . . .  But that’s the beauty of resurrection—life emerges and continues even where death seems certain!  That’s where the alleluias come from!  That is what the celebration is about.  Life comes when we look for it, when we commit ourselves to it. . . .  It just may not come in the forms we expect.

I recently heard a touching story about a young father who had just buried his little son.  His son had spent some time in a school at a monastery, and while he was there, he had given all his extra pocket money to buy a fruit tree.  He knew that the money from selling the fruit from the tree would be used to feed hungry children.  And he had demonstrated again and again that he was truly a generous and giving soul.  It was only shortly after the boy left the school that he died.  And his father struggled mightily to understand why the boy was taken from him at such a young age. 
   
When the father visited the school where his son had studied, one of the monks took him by the hand and showed him all the many ways that his son was not gone but was still manifest in the world. . . .

Together, they visited the fruit tree that his son had purchased to help others.  And in the afternoon light, they watched the little boy waving from every bud and branch. 
   
By looking for the living, the resurrection becomes real. . . .
   
Don’t look for him in a tomb.  He is not there.  He’s right here.  He’s still loose in the world, absolutely present, and continuing to recruit for the kingdom of God.
   
And this is what we are called to do this day—on this Easter Sunday—and on every day:  we are called to remember and put our faith in the living.  We will not escape the pain of loss.  But the pain of loss never has the final word.  As we commit ourselves to looking for the living, we will discover that the goodness and graciousness of life is right where it needs to be—waving at us and trying to get our attention from every bud and branch. . . .

Amen.

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