A Sermon for Easter 2. Lectionary readings here.
Since the weather has gotten warmer, I have been sleeping with the window open, and I love hearing the birds singing just as I am waking up. But sometimes they actually do wake me up! Like the other night, when I heard what I was pretty sure was an owl loudly who-who-hooting before the sun came up. I got so excited I couldn't get back to sleep. I had to find out which kind of owl it was. Turns out it was a great horned owl, according to the recording on the Audubon Society website. The next morning, there was this little fella who showed up just as I was ending my yoga practice on the deck. I typically try to end my practice with a little silent meditation, but this guy in the tree next to our deck just wouldn’t have it:
Just listen to this song! There is so much variation - forgive my anthropomorphism, but there’s so much unabashed joy. As if right on cue for the Easter Season!
Welcome to Eastertide – 50 days following Easter, where it’s not just this sermon that’s a little different. We might think about getting a little used to different,” to quote a blurb from the hit TV series, The Chosen. It is during the season of Easter that we might get reacquainted with Jesus in some fresh new ways. Thomas can help us with that.
Thomas shows up each year on this 2nd Sunday of Easter. Like the bird, he too shows up right on cue with questions, which garner him his now-famous moniker. The so-called "doubting Thomas" also does us a great favor. Thomas gives us permission to seek more information, to go deeper, to ask questions. I appreciate him for that.
Easter morning, I noticed the baptismal font was empty after the stripping of the altar and sanctuary on Good Friday… Fr. Chris asked me to take care of it. I heard him say, “There’s a bowl on the sacristy counter, fill it up, put it in the font, then bless the water.” “I got this,” I thought. A little later, right before the service, I noticed someone from the altar guild quickly scooping out all the water. It became suddenly apparent to me that the glass bowl simply slides right into the font, water and all. Font fill fail. After a busy Holy Week, my inner dialogue could have quickly devolved from “how stupid” to “I’m stupid” to “I’m a terrible curate.” I could have easily jumped on the shame train. Mistakes happen and, God knows, we can be our own worst critics.
I’ll bet some of the disciples could relate. They listened to Jesus, but didn’t yet have ears to comprehend the full meaning of the Kingdom Jesus came to introduce. Like me, the disciples were works in progress. Jesus may have given his disciples good-natured nicknames, but he didn’t label them. Labeling them as failures would not be of service to the cross. Labels become stereotypes, which can turn into all manner of isms. They’re not productive. Jesus doesn't label Thomas when he asks for more information. When Peter cuts off a man's ear, Jesus doesn't shame him. He quickly reminds Peter of his commitment to non-violent resistance and heals the poor man’s ear (John 18:10-11). Peter, the rock, would put his gifts to good use in new ways to build up the Church. That’s the power of the cross and resurrection. That’s why we praise God on Easter morning. There’s simply no time for shame.
“My Lord and My God!” (John 20:28). In what feels like an amazing grace moment, Thomas expresses words of sheer praise and adoration as he finally gets the whole crux of the cross and resurrection.
That little bird I shared with you gets it.
When I first read Psalm 150, I initially thought it to be an odd pairing with the Thomas story, but as I meditated on it, when the bird would let me, the more I saw the connection. I should say, I heard the connection. Psalm 150 is the very last Psalm, and it’s a supreme song of praise for the God of all Creation. It’s fantastic! Whoever organized these poems for us knew what they were doing. What a way to end the Psalms! And whoever pairs the readings in our lectionary has also given us a great gift.
In this first week after resurrection, like Thomas and the others, we may show up here with our very honest, very human doubts and questions. A week later, like the disciples in that upper room, we may show up a little dazed and confused, wondering what went wrong and if we could have done something differently, wondering what’s next.
What can possibly follow resurrection?
Only to praise the Lord of the Universe who gives us life and breath, and stars and seas, and the beauty of holiness, and birds and babies, the love of family and friends…We show up this week with our fears and doubts to praise God anyway with all our hearts and minds and souls, with tambourine and dance, strings and pipe, and loud clashing cymbals—all the sounds.
Psalm 150 is a perfect response to the absurdity of resurrection. In his sermon last week, Father Chris called it God’s greatest joke on death and despair. Christ has risen! Love gets the last word! What better, more iconic and ironic response than to praise, even amidst trauma and terror, and any current seemingly insurmountable problems. God, the fountain of life and source of all goodness, who made all things and fills them (correctly) with blessing; God who created all that breathes to rejoice in the splendor of God’s radiance. Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
That little bird gets it. If you’re still not feeling it, there’s this:
According to several sources, including Conservation Mag, listening regularly to birdsong can reduce anxiety and enhance and improve our mental health. These same experts suggest we aim for 120 minutes a week in nature for maximum benefit.
Apparently, more people than ever are out in nature with binoculars and those ridiculously long camera lenses. Experts say we can attract more birds by installing bird feeders and bird baths. New apps can help us decipher which bird species we are hearing sing their lovely songs. Turns out my little guy is a mockingbird. I really don’t think his name does him justice.
Without eyes to see or ears to hear, Chat GPT weighs in about the mockingbird’s “impressive ability to mimic the songs of other birds.” Takes one to know one, Chat GPT.
We might take a lesson from that little bird who doesn’t give a flying fig what people or artificial intelligence call him. There’s no time for that. Instead, he warbles out songs of audacious praise: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia! Christ is Risen, that all may come to know and believe in the praiseworthy power of God’s unpredictable, incomprehensible love.
If we do this, I wonder if, in fifty or so days, things will feel different.
As we journey together through this upcoming Easter season, like Thomas and the others, we can expect to encounter Christ in new ways. As we meditate with a posture of openness, praise, and thanksgiving, we might reflect on God’s mercy, love, and faithfulness. Just as he breathed his spirit into those very human, very imperfect disciples, so God breathes in us, the new and always improving Body of Christ, each of us loved and called to be God’s ears and eyes, hearts, hands, and feet in the world.
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