How to Be an Easter Person
Luke 24: 36-48
April 14, 1991
I just returned from a conference in California. Whenever I visit California, I am reminded that it’s not so much a state, but rather it’s a state of mind.
Last week in Fresno, I’m told, someone attempted to fire bomb the IRS building. This of course, led to a full-scale investigation by agents of the state Food and Drug Administration, the tobacco and firearms administration, and the FBI. They appointed a special Commission to study this act in depth. After a week of intense exploration and analysis, they came out with their first report. Banner headlines in Fresno! The Commission has decided to look for some person or persons who do not like the IRS.
Californians aren’t the only people with a different state of mind. Christians are also invited into a state of mind, a state of mind in becoming Easter people.
We are in the midst of what is called the Great 50 days of Easter. This is a period in which we learn what it is to have an Easter state of mind. to become Easter People. The process begins on Easter day with that magnificent proclamation of new life, and it ends with Pentecost when the Easter people organize for a mission. In between these two events, the church tries to learn, to understand, to act out the meaning of what it is to be Easter people. To have a different state of mind where you care for, reach out to love the very least, even the IRS. Let me start our thoughts this morning with a bit of honesty. I enjoy the celebration of Easter and all the festivities as much as the next person, but for the most part, I would rather restrict it to one day. I’m comfortable with my old state of mind, and I don’t want to look at any more demands that Easter might place upon me. They say confession is good for the soul, and if the truth be known, I would rather fake it than make it. I would rather look holy than be holy. I would rather go through the motions than radically change my stable life. I would rather look like an Easter person than be an Easter person, and maybe, quite possibly, I’m not unlike many of you.
Recently, I read an account which was, in effect, a parable of someone who tried to fake it but learned there was more to becoming an Easter person than going through the motions. The author tells this personal story about herself. when I was a youngster, several weeks after Easter, I went to a nursing home with a youth group from my church. She recounts, I was there under duress. I had asked to be spared this unjust sentence of visiting a nursing home when my friends were enjoying one of the first warm days of early pre summer, smarting from the inequity, I stood before an ancient-looking woman holding out a bouquet of flowers. Everything about her saddened me, the worn-down face, the lopsided grin, the width of Gray hair protruding from a crocheted lavender cap. I thrust the bouquet at her, and she looked at me with a look that pierced me to the marrow of my 12 year old bones. Then she spoke the words I haven’t forgotten in nearly 30 years. You didn’t want to come, did you child? The words stunned me. They were too painful, too powerful, too naked in their honesty. Ohh yes, I wanted to come, I protested. A smile lifted to one side of her face. It’s OK, she said, I can tell by your face you can’t force the heart.
I can tell by your face that you can’t force the heart. Wise words! Becoming an Easter person means more than faking it. It means pushing past the boundaries of politeness and piety, habit and custom; it means opening the heart to the message of undifferentiated love. It means making contact with persons, connecting, reaching out, and meeting.
There is a philosopher by the name of Levine who has just published the book, it is called You Are a Face. The basic thesis is that we can’t put on a face like a mask, for we don’t simply have a face as another part of our brains, but rather we are a face, a face with all our vulnerability and fragility showing. Levine urges us to be aware of our own face as well as the faces of others in order to love. In order for a real meeting to happen, in order for a community to form, there must be a true face-to-face encounter. Levine reminds us that the face and the heart are really one. I can tell by your face, you can’t force the heart.
I wonder how many of us are ready to see each other as faces. I suspect that’s why we prefer to remain unconscious to those around us. That we missed the hurt, the pain, the fragility, the vulnerability, and therefore we don’t have to feel accountable. Becoming an Easter person is dangerous, Easter people see things they do not want to hear, and hear things they do not want to hear.
Let’s move back for a moment to the gospel we just read. It’s one of the resurrection appearances. Do you recall what Jesus does? He asked for some food. Do you have anything to eat? let’s have a meal. That’s a metaphor for a new life. Eating and drinking is a sign of the Kingdom. Almost all the resurrection stories end up with a meal, and a gathering round the table is an acted-out parable of the resurrection. Have you anything to eat? Is the first and the last word from Jesus.
The Apocalypse of John spoke of the Kingdom as a marriage feast, the supper of the lamb. Imagine all of us, the whole human family, seated and breaking bread together. The table is so large that everyone has a place, hundreds and thousands of us faces from all over, eating at this table. Hundreds and thousands of faces connecting, eyes meeting, face to face across the table. No one is left out, no one is by himself or herself. It is a magnificent collection of faces that are the Easter people.
Elizabeth O’Connor, in one of her meetings, cries out, I want to be an Easter person. I want to dwell with Easter people. So would I. So would you. And the secret, the way to begin, is by looking and seeing the faces around you and, particularly, seeing the faces around the table of the Lord.
Over the years, I’ve noticed, at communion, how introverted we become as we go to the table of our Lord. I watch people coming to the rail and kneeling, almost everyone stares at the floor. No one seems to look at the faces around him, not even at the priest who stands right in front of him. It’s as if no one is there; it’s as if a mechanical arm is reaching out. It’s as if a disembodied voice is saying the body and blood of Christ.
I think we often try to put on a pious face, but we never look at other faces. Why? Who told us it is wrong? Do we really think the heavenly banquet has everyone looking at the floor? The communion service is not a solitary act. It’s a meal, a banquet, a celebration.
Several years ago, I spoke with the person you said she only wants Communion twice a year, at Christmas and at Easter. Other Sundays, she said, we’re playing regular Sundays. Ohh no, I said, each Sunday is a resurrection Sunday, a special Sunday. Each Sunday is a little Easter where we weave our hearts with God’s heart. Where we participate in a heavenly banquet, where, in spite of our vulnerability and fragility, we put on a new state of mind and become Easter people.
Won’t you join me in this?
Amen