Easter Vigil/

Easter Sunday 2004

Sermon – April 11, 2004

All of us used to be fetuses.

Some of those present here were fetuses fairly recently. Some of us have carried fetuses inside ourselves, in some cases rather recently. But all of us here once were fetuses.

When we were fetuses we were experiencing life in a very different way than we experience it now. It was dark, but we didn’t know it was dark because we’d never seen light. It was crowded, but we didn’t consider it crowded because we’d never experienced any roomier place. It was intimate in a unique way. We were truly and totally dependent. Nourishment simply arrived. Transportation just happened. And all the good things which were done for us when we were fetuses were done by forces which we, at the time, could not comprehend, and also took for granted. It was all we knew.

Had we been told, somehow, that we would one day emerge from that all-encompassing, all-providing, familiar “world” we had experienced for the duration of our existences we might well have protested. For emerging from it would mean new experiences. Breathing. Eating. Ultimately, walking and talking. Going to school. Growing up. Earning a living. Filling out tax forms every April 15. Sounds pretty scary. Certainly, radically different. An incomprehensibly larger range of possible activities and relationships than we had or than it was possible to have when we were fetuses. And looming over all this new experience, the growing knowledge that this radical new experience called “life” was also temporary, and that it was fragile. Our lives would end eventually, and it was possible they could end unexpectedly, at almost any time.

So, back to the womb! Security! Why mess with a sure thing. It worked before. But this is not possible.

And so we live, aware of what we have lost by no longer being fetuses, aware of the fragility of what we have by being alive, wondering what comes next. Wondering if it will be oblivion, or torture, or nurture, or freedom and radically new and more wonderful experiences, or, just maybe both complete security and the freedom to explore vastly wider horizons of experiences and relationships than we can within the confined limits of this “womb” called mortal life.

And into our anxious or hopeful thoughts about what happens after this life comes an ancient story told by people who never expected to be telling it, by people many of whom didn’t believe it when it was first told to them, and some of whom didn’t at first believe it even when they witnessed it themselves.

That is because the first to hear of Jesus’ resurrection could no more imagine or comprehend resurrection life than a fetus could imagine or comprehend what “life” would be like after he or she would be born. Different? Sure. Scary? Sounds it. Better? How would a fetus know? Maybe a fetus would picture “life” as being simply 10% better than what she or he had already experienced, not as different – or as full – or as good as life actually can be.

How could a fetus comprehend that it might one day run across a flower-filled meadow? Swim in a dazzling ocean which stretches as far as the eye could see? Look at stars – or at the light which left stars millions of years ago? See hundreds of different kinds of plants and animals in a wondrous array of colors? Colors? How could a fetus comprehend the ways in which a born person would experience the world?

How can a born person comprehend how a resurrected person would experience eternal life?

How could a fetus comprehend what it would be like to hug and be hugged by someone he or she loves profoundly and is loved by equally profoundly? How could a fetus comprehend the satisfaction a person has in doing a hard, important job honestly and well? How could a fetus comprehend the joy a person can take in seeing someone they love overcome challenges and bring out the best in themselves? How could a fetus comprehend the awe of a born person who suddenly knows who to thank for all their blessings?

How can a person who is still in this life comprehend what new dimensions and intensities of good experience God has prepared for those who truly love God?

As the Psalmist says, “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain to it.”

But we do have a clue. We do have a glimmer of an idea. And that glimmer is based on the witnesses of some women and men 2,000 years ago in a conflict-filled region of the Middle East where death was all-too frequent and the fragility and temporariness of life was a concept which took no effort to accept.

They knew their leader was dead. Rabbi, Master, Lord – whatever they called him, they had looked up to Jesus in a way they had never looked up to anyone before, nor would look up to anyone else. He was snatched from them by the powers-that-be, religious and political, who could abide no threats to their pre-eminence. He was snatched from them and went, with supreme dignity, to torture and death after making sure they were safe.

Actually, most of them tried to make sure they were safe, too. By running away, by denying him, even by betraying him. Those ways the powers-that-be wouldn’t feel threatened, wouldn’t snatch them away for death the way they did him.

The powers-that-be didn’t feel threatened by the women who walked with him to Calvary, or watched while he died. Or came to anoint his body in the tomb. The powers-that-be didn’t feel threatened by women. How little those “powers” knew what power these women would have, for they became the first to hear, to see, to comprehend that there is life beyond this life, and it is different from, more powerful than and more wonderful than anything we could – or can – imagine on our own.

They knew Jesus had died. The Roman Empire did not release the bodies of people it executed on charges of being a threat to the Emperor unless the Empire was sure those people were unquestionably dead. And when it comes to Jesus, the Empire certainly let nothing to chance.

But now the tomb was empty. There was no body there; there was nothing dead about Christ at all. Instead, there was – no, not a ghost: the women fell down and held his feet. He was solid and real. And he had scars. This was the same Jesus who had been so thoroughly killed. But the scars no longer had any power over him; they were marks of identity and souvenirs, for the pain and death they had created were gone.

But his body was not merely restored the way he restored the body of Lazarus to mortal life. Jesus was tangible – but could also appear in locked rooms out of thin air. Jesus could walk – but could also travel from Jerusalem to Galilee without anyone seeing how he got there. Jesus could, and did eat – but seemingly to prove the point that he could, not because he necessarily needed to.

This is life in a new dimension. And it is just a sample of resurrection life. From it we know that Jesus’ identity was preserved – he did not “merge into the ocean of being” or something like that: the God of the Bible knows people as individuals, and as individuals we stay. Resurrection life is more alive than what we call “life”. No fluffy clouds, angels with harps and a vague – and perhaps boring – existence is portrayed in Jesus’ resurrection experiences. Jesus’ new life was – and is – lively.

So what does all this mean for us? On our own, we can no more understand life after death than a fetus could understand life after birth, but based on the sample of resurrection life which we have from Jesus’ brief but repeated experiences with his disciples, it looks like eternal life offers us both safety and adventure, both protection, nourishment and healing and literally a whole new dimension of experience where joy and wonder are beyond anything we can now comprehend.

But let’s try. And let’s try not just for an hour, or a day, but for the full 50 days of Easter Season. And let us try during these 50 days to comprehend another reality: that our value and purpose are not defined by our employers, however benign, or by our abilities, however extraordinary, or by our human relationships, however healthy: our value and our purpose are defined by God. And God invites us to participate in God’s plan for us (and for God’s creation) which includes but goes far beyond anything we can see, hear, touch, taste, smell or imagine now.

And we don’t have to wait until we die to experience and participate in God’s plan. New life can start now. The disciples were transformed starting on Easter Day into people who were no longer afraid, no longer divided, no longer depressed, no longer dependent on anyone else to tell them what they were worth or what their purpose was.

Fellow former fetuses, new life is now! Easter is real, and no one and nothing can stop the reality of Christ’s new life, nor of his offer of new life to all who turn to him. And the best is yet to come!

(The Rev.) Francis A. Hubbard

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church