What Happens in Jerusalem Doesn't Stay in Jerusalem

Scriptures:

I John 3:1-3; 18-24 Luke 24:36-48

I wish that I could claim credit for that catchy and creative sermon title.  However, I came across it when I was researching this text on the web, and it's not even from a Las Vegas minister - it's from a sermon by a United Methodist pastor, Richard Laster, in, of all places, Houston, TX.  (Maybe he was that clergyperson I referred to last week who was given a vacation trip to Las Vegas where everyone thought he was Elvis.)  Laster's point with this sermon title is that what happened to the disciples in their post-resurrection encounters with Jesus drove them to share this great good news far and wide.  Laster puts it, pretty directly, this way:

"It can be said of the disciples of Jesus' time:  'what happened in Jerusalem didn't stay in Jerusalem.'  And thank the Lord for that.  The power the disciples had in their hearts came from Christ, from God's eternal, never failing and always sure love which is forever certain and present through the Christ of resurrection."

But we're getting ahead of ourselves a bit.  That's really the conclusion, isn't it?  In order to get to this point the disciples had to process some awe-inspiring and life-changing experiences.  And what happened to them wasn't straight-forward or logical.  It came in fits and starts, and it didn't happen at all like they expected it to.

We've just been part of a memorial service for a much-loved member of our congregation.  We knew soon after Betty was taken sick that she was in the process of dying.  But it didn't happen all at once.  And from time to time there were signs that she might actually recover.  But when death did come, despite our seeming preparation, it still was a shock.  Anita and I had both been with her just two days before, and even though we both knew it was inevitable it still took us somewhat aback when the word came.  That's something of a parable for how the disciples experienced Jesus when he came among them once again after his seeming death.

In another way, what the disciples experienced was more like a birth (and it's important, I think, for us as we have just contemplated a long well-lived life and a death to focus for a moment on birth and re-birth).  Many if not most of us, I imagine, whether female or male, have had some experience with a pregnancy coming to term and a birth about to take place.  We make our preparations ' pack the overnight bag, make sure we have the doctor's number handy, make arrangements for someone to look after the house and the other kids and the dogs.  But then when the contractions start to come we are surprised and a bit taken aback by the complete disruption of life-as-usual.  That room that was going to get a paint touch-up, the meeting you were going to take at lunchtime, the story you were about to tell your five-year-old - all get put on hold, while chaos and maybe even a bit of panic hold sway.  Moreover, if you are the one giving birth to the child, this hardly ever occurs neatly, logically, in a straight-forward fashion - rather, it comes in waves of rushes that, even if you are geared up for them through prepared childbirth classes, carry a certain amount of fear, but within them are spikes of recognition and joy and ultimately new life - the baby's - and renewed life - our own.

Can you hear in that description of a birth an echo of what the disciples were experiencing?  Because they believed their master to be dead, they go on with what would be considered a normal life:  the women prepare spices and anoint the body, all his followers prepare to live with their loss, two of them quietly walk the Emmaus Road.

Then come the disruptions.  Luke signals it at the very beginning of the 24th chapter with the single little word:  but.  "But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb..."  And they are told something that challenges all of their expectations and preparations.  And they need to go and tell the others.  Cynthia Gano Lindner, who teaches preaching and pastoral care at the University of Chicago Divinity School, puts it this way:

"Two thousand years after Christ's crucifixion, when our violence toward one another has not abated, a collapsing economy exposes the depths and dangers of our own commodification, and our churches doubt their inheritance and their power, we may determine that we are still beyond resurrection's reach.  But - and there are those three letters once again - Luke's Gospel points out that it's precisely when we've pronounced hope dead and prepared the spices for burial that the birth pangs announcing new life are likely to commence."

We proclaim that we are an Easter people.  But what does that really mean?  How are we supposed to understand the meaning of Jesus' resurrection for our own lives?  No one then and no one now really knows how to explain the resurrection, so the disciples long ago, and we here today, can only try to describe our experience of it.  When we read the story of the two disciples whose eyes kept them from recognizing him on the road to Emmaus (even though their hearts were mysteriously burning as he spoke), followed by this picture in today's passage of a growing little community of questioning, wondering believers, we're reading about ourselves, too.

And what happens when Jesus finally does show up among them?  He offers them peace - which, strangely, comes as a disruption in their lives for, it says, "they were startled and terrified'.  So, he does something about as home-y and down-to-earth as you could possibly want:  he asks for something to eat.  In fact, as Richard Laster notes, "Jesus probably said something like 'Hey guys, I'm starving here.  Do you have anything to eat?'  He wanted them to know for real that they were not seeing a ghost, that this was no Elvis-like post-death sighting, but nevertheless that he was there with them.  What's more, as with that Passover meal in the Upper Room, Jesus is re-establishing table fellowship right at the heart of the Christian story.  When we break bread together this is our way of acknowledging that the risen Christ is present among us.  That's a key reason for saying grace before each meal when we are with family or friends or community - a recognition of Christ's presence and our need to proclaim the resurrected Jesus to all the world.  The disciples were hearing and doing the very same things that 21st century Christians do:  journeying, questioning, fearing, but also feeding and being fed, listening for and receiving God's call, and, of course, going into all the world.

Two weeks ago a good friend of mine sent me a link to the video on YouTube of Susan Boyle, the 47-year-old, dowdy, frumpy, British housewife who managed to get onto "Britains Got Talent" because, as she said, she hoped to become a professional singer "like Elaine Page".  The disbelieving looks on the faces of Simon Cowell and the other judges are palpable since they, along with the crowd, had already judged her undeserving of their affirmation because of worldly standards that dictate how a "star" and a professional singer should look and speak.  But (there's that word again) as soon as she started singing "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables, there was a mass transformation of the crowd, their hearts moved by her exquisite voice, completely unexpected from an unemployed woman from a humble village.  The stereotypical categories didn't work anymore.  On a dime, in the time it takes to say the word "but," the crowd and the judges pivoted from cynicism and disbelief to wholehearted support, embracing this woman and her dreams.  Since then millions around the world have heard her and been moved (in fact the last figure I saw was 70 million), and, as you probably saw, there was even a front-page story about her in the RJ last week.  I know from conversations that many of you have seen this video and been moved by it; by the way, if you haven't seen it (and want to) let me know after the service and I'll send you the link.  (However, an article in yesterday's paper noted a media make-over, as Susan Boyle has a new hair do and stylish clothes - the inevitable media transformation that happens with a new phenomenon.)  But (that word again) the important point for this sermon illustration is that the transformation that occurred that night and on the video was not of Susan Boyle, for her voice and her inner beauty had always been there, but rather the transformation was of our hearts and minds listening and watching.  A transformation similar to that of the disciples there in that room and on the Emmaus Road.  A transformation that calls us to proclaim what we have heard and seen and experienced, even as so many shared with others that YouTube video.

The risen Jesus enters our lives and turns us around, too, when we're jaded and critical and judgmental and closed-off in heart and mind.  On a dime, as quickly as you can say the word "but," everything is different.  It is enough to move one to tears, every time.  In fact, the power of experiencing the risen Jesus enabled the early Christians to endure persecution and trials, and it enables us to step out in faith in every new occasion in response to the Stillspeaking God who continues to save, send, and bless us today.

We are invited to experience the risen Christ among us wherever we are, but perhaps especially when we break bread with one another.  Beyond that, we are challenged to proclaim the message of repentance and forgiveness - for as Jesus said to the disciples and to us:  "You are witnesses of these things".  The disciples did not stay in Jerusalem; they knew that what had happened to them could not stay there but had to be told again and again as far and wide as they possibly could.  No, what happened in Jerusalem didn't stay in Jerusalem - and for that we can be joyful.