Luke 24:1-12
Resurrection of the Lord
27th March 2016
“Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes
with the morning.” So sang
the psalmist about three thousand years ago.
Psalm 30:5, to be exact, the source for the sermon title. Here’s how this came to be. Several weeks ago, I arrived at the church
one morning just having come from Atwater’s.
I parked my car on Beechwood Avenue, in front of the Church House, got
out, closed the door with coffee in hand, thinking about nothing in particular,
when I was struck by these words, almost out of nowhere, “Joy comes with the morning.” That was it.
I thought, Hey, that would make a
pretty good sermon title for Easter morning, and then, I thought, This could be the making of a pretty good
sermon—but you and the Holy Spirit will have to be the judge of that.
We
didn’t hear the word joy in Luke’s
account of the resurrection, at least not in his story of the women at the tomb. If you keep reading through Luke 24—and I
encourage you to take time later today to read the rest of the chapter—you’ll
find other occasions when the Risen Lord appeared throughout the day and
region: Jesus walked to Emmaus, that evening when he was invited to share a
meal with his disciples, unknown to them at first at first but became known
when he “took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them” (Luke 24:30). He then disappeared, only to reappear with
the disciples back in Jerusalem, saying, “Peace be with you.” “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts
arise in your hearts? Look at my hands
and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not
have flesh and bones as you see that I have” (Luke 24:36-39) Jesus showed them
his hands and his feet. And Luke tells
us that, “…in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering” (Luke
24:41). While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering.
Joy is all the more powerful when
it’s not expected. The women who went to
the tomb at dawn were not expecting the stone to be rolled away. They didn’t go searching for
resurrection. They went in their grief
and sorrow and discovered in the place of grief and sorrow and death something
else. What they found was nothing; at least not what they expected
to be there, for the body was missing.
And, yes, they were terrified when they realized what had happened, not unlike
the shepherds, whom, we’re told earlier in Luke’s Gospel, were terrified just
before they heard tidings of great joy (Luke 2:10).
Joy seems to follow Jesus around,
doesn’t it? His birth was the occasion
of joy. In an odd, paradoxical way, his
suffering and death are also occasions for joy, given what God revealed to us
and accomplished through them. And, of
course today is all about Easter joy! We
began with the brass blazing forth Beethoven’s (1770-1827) “Ode to Joy.” The choirs just called us to "shout for
joy." Perhaps that’s why churches are
full on Easter morning with believers and unbelievers and everything in between
because today speaks to a hunger we all have, it speaks to that deep desire for joy.
It could be argued that Christianity
is a “unique religion of joy.”[1] Joy,
not happiness. They’re related, of course,
but they’re not the same. Joy is deeper
than happiness; it’s far more profound.
The Greek word for joy, chara,
is related to the Greek word charis, meaning grace. Joy, like grace, is a gift. Joy flows from grace. Grace is God’s mercy and compassion. Grace is
reconciliation. Grace calls us
home. Grace brings life and wholeness
where formerly there was only sin and brokenness and alienation and death. Grace yields joy. And Christian joy is found in the presence of
death, it’s even found in moments of senseless suffering when we experience something
of God’s life in us. Joy can be found
even when everything around you seems to be falling apart and the world comes unhinged,
joy can be there, nevertheless.
This is particularly important to
stress today given last week’s attacks in Brussels. For many faith has been shaken by
events. It’s important for us, as
Christians, to be Easter people, to affirm the presence of God’s joy, even in
the face of terror. Jesus said, in
John’s gospel, “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you
will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy” (John 16:22). No one has the power to take away you
joy. No one has the authority to take
away your joy. So don’t allow the news
to take away your joy. I know that’s
easier said than done, but it helps to know that joy can be found in the midst
of pain and suffering. This joy isn’t
rational, it’s not an idea or concept. Think of it less a noun than a verb,
something that happens to us, which erupts from within us, that doesn’t make
any sense. Actually, little about today makes any sense, little about today is
rational, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
Jürgen Moltmann, one of the leading
theologians of our day, put it beautifully, “Joy is strength for living, the empowerment to love, the delight in a
creative beginning. It wakes us up, and
makes us alive from within.”[2] It wakes us, like the dawn, into a new day, a
new life, a new world, and then propels us forward into life, as we share something
of that joy within us, knowing that new life emerges from death. “Real joy stimulates the soul, makes
relationships flourish, makes the heart light and limbs nimble, mobilizes
undreamed-of powers, and increases confidence.”[3] Joy is life in all its fullest.
Like grace, joy is a gift. We don’t look for it; it confronts us. We don’t try to earn it; it’s given. We don’t discover it; it finds us, discovers
us, confronts us, comes upon us, especially when we least expect it and in questionable
places, such as a tomb—it comes upon us. We are, then, as C. S. Lewis (1889-1963)
said, describing his own conversion to Christianity, “Surprised by joy.”
This joy might even scare the life
out of us. That sounds odd, how could joy
scare us? That’s what Brené Brown has
discovered in some of her recent research on vulnerability.[4] Her studies led her to this unexpected conclusion. “Joy,” she says, “is the most vulnerable
emotion we experience.” It’s powerful
and intense. Some people can’t tolerate it, won’t allow themselves to go there,
won’t allow themselves to really feel joy.
“And if you cannot tolerate joy,” she found, “what you do is you start
dress rehearsing tragedy.”[5]
You second-guess joy, you become critical, doubtful, negative, imagine the
opposite of joy. You think real joy is
too good to be. It’s not possible—all of which might be strategies to protect
you from being let down or getting hurt.
But what if the possibility of joy is too good not to be true?
That’s what the French mathematician
and philosopher Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) discovered one evening in an
extraordinary religious, mystical experience.
When Pascal died in1662, in Paris, a piece of paper was discovered, sewn
into the lining of his coat. Here’s what
was written on it:
This year of grace 1654,
Monday, 23rd
November…
From about half past ten in the evening
until half
past midnight:
FIRE.
God of Abraham, GOD of Isaac, God of Jacob,
not of philosophers and
scholars.
CERTAINTY, heart-felt, JOY, JOY, God of
Jesus Christ,
Thy God is my God…
Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy….
May we each experience something of this
joy today, again, or for the very first time.
May we be struck by it, surprised by it, enlivened by it, transformed by
it, propelled by it out into a world that is hungry, starving for joy, not for happiness,
but for joy.
May
Easter joy break forth from every dark, cold, lifeless tomb! And may we experience something of this joy
here at the Lord’s Table, whether you’ve been a Christian all your life or not
sure what you are now, may the Risen Lord become known to you, become known to
all of us in the breaking of the bread.
[1] Jürgen Moltmann, The Living God and the Fullness of Life
(Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), 90.
[2] Moltmann, 88.
[3] Moltmann, 97.
[4] See Brené
Brown, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to
Be Vulnerable
Transforms
the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead (Avery, 2015)
[5] Brené Brown, Huffington Post, October 18, 2013.
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