"Road Construction Ahead"

John the Baptist quotes the prophet Isaiah when he shouts, "Prepare the way of the Lord!"

Isaiah 35:8 says:

"A highway shall be there, and a road, And it shall be called the Highway of Holiness." The Holy Highway.

I grew up in West Virginia. We had so many potholes. Every road was holey. Or it was fixinta be. You think road construction around here is bad. They've been rebuilding the road near my parents' house for 20 years. It MIGHT have something to do with un-holy state contracts. Who can tell?

In Tennessee, there was major road construction near us. There was a church on the road. They had a sign. They'd post the preacher's sermon titles. One week, the county put up its own sign right by the church. It said, "Prepare to Stop!" Knowing the preacher, it could have been his sermon, too.

Thinking of this, I went searching for signs from God on the Holy Highways of Ross Clark and Montgomery. There was, "No U Turns." It could work. "New Traffic Pattern." "Exit to Frontage Road." 

"Road Construction Ahead." That'll preach. 

"Road Construction Ahead" fits with the sermons of John the Baptist and Isaiah. It fits with the message of the Second Sunday in Advent. 

John preached: "Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth…."

It fits with Malachi: "I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me…."

In Jesus, God is doing a construction project. God is saying that in the Kingdom of the Lord, all our bumps and bounces, all our twists and turns, all our wrecks, all our accidents – will be made smooth. Peaceful.

In God's project, you and I – and all the world – are constantly under construction. We're all works in progress. And God is not prepared to stop. There may be an end-date. A day the job is finished. But until then, we are men and women – and a Savior – at work.

—

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.

John's sermon went like this: 

"The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight."

Kristen teased me because the first six months I was in Dothan, I used my GPS to go everywhere. From home to church. From church to home, because, you know, everything's backwards. I guess I just need the assurance of a woman's voice telling me where to go.

I'm doing better now. I just follow the orange traffic barrels. 

By the way, I noticed that the name of the company who makes the barrels is Acme. Acme Barricades. Reminded me of how Wile E. Coyote was always ordering devices from Acme Incorporated Putting up road detour signs to painted tunnels on big rocks. I actually emailed Acme Barridades to see if that's where they got their name. Because I kind of feel like Wile E. Coyote, making my way to Publix after dark. Like I'm one wrong turn from holding up a sign that says, "That's all, folks."

On the road to a sermon, there are detours. But it did occur to me that John the Baptist was like God's road construction worker. John held signs – he WAS the sign – saying, Prepare To Stop! Detour ahead! Proceed with extreme caution. 

In 2024, if God sent John to Dothan Alabama, God would send John in an orange safety vest and a hardhat. In South Carolina, there'd be signs saying, "Let 'em work, let 'em live." Not that Herod would do either for long. Not that most people would pay attention.

The department of highways says that the majority of traffic accidents are from inattention. We're texting. Or watching TikTok. Or rolling down the window threatening the morons in the other cars. Why is it that all the other drivers are so low IQ? John the Baptist did call them a "brood of vipers." try hollering THAT your next road rage. It's biblical.

—

John's message. John did not tell people to "stay in your lane." John actually shouted at people to change lanes. To change direction. To change roads. To repent.

Repenting isn't just "preparing to stop." Repenting IS stopping. Repenting is, literally, to "turn around" and go back where you came from, if you believe you come from God – Or turning a different way, a brand-new way, maybe even getting on the road behind Jesus.

Seeing the taillights of Jesus. There's a beautiful story in Exodus 33 where Moses asks to see God's face. God says, "No, nobody can see me head-on because you'll die in the collision" or words to that effect. So God puts Moses in a safe place and tells him that after God passes by, he can poke his head out and see God's back. 

It's worth noting that in scripture Jesus never once says, "Worship me." Instead, he says, all the time, "Follow me." Do we know where Jesus is going? Sometimes, maybe. But a lot of the time we just see his taillights, and do our best to keep up.

But even on the holy highway of the Lord, you're going to lose sight of him if you're distracted looking in your rear-view mirror. So, John prepares the way by telling us all to repent.

—

In the Presbyterian church – and in most churches – we have a ceremony to mark repentance. We believe Baptism is the – THE – act of celebrating repentance and our new direction on God's way.

Some churches dunk. Actually, Presbyterians will if the person asks to do it that way. Some pour from a shell. I've done it that way. The Presbyterian way – which is not the only right way, by the way – is to have plenty of water so everyone can see and hear – and to do it only once. We believe once is not just enough, once is for all your life, whatever side trips we take.

We believe Christ is present, mysteriously, sacramentally, when we baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And we believe God was and is present in any other church that baptizes in this way. It's not just a dedication, it's a redirection. Or, if you're a baby, it's a promise of direction by your grown-ups and your church family.

That's the way John wanted people to go. Baptism was, at the time, a Jewish symbol of repentance and renewal and a restart. A reboot, but to a whole new operating system, if that's how you want to think of it. 

—

A couple of months ago, Kristen's car just stopped working. She was driving. And then it went, "Klunk, klunk, clunk!" – lights came on – and then it stopped. Luckily, she was at a place where she could sort of pull over, on a little road in the Smoky Mountains.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, the car manufacturer, directed by the orders of a class-action lawsuit a few years ago, said, "Oops, our bad." So, they replaced the whole engine.

Baptism is like getting a new engine. Baptism is a binding promise and a brand-new warranty. Now, this doesn't mean you'll never break down ever again. And it doesn't promise that your road will be made straight or even holy. But what Baptism does promise is that Jesus is never going to get so far ahead of you that you can't see his taillights. Jesus promises never to do a quick turn down some dark alley and leave you lost and alone.

John says "Prepare to Stop," but he comes right back with, "Prepare to Follow." Prepare to follow Jesus. Prepare to follow his direction, instead of going off four-wheeling on silly shortcuts or secondaries or unpaved ditches.

—

Now, it is true, as they say, that "Bumpy roads can lead to beautiful places." And that's true. Sometimes. But bumpy roads can also be a sign that you're lost, that you're out of signal coverage, and low on fuel.

I would imagine that even the smoothest roads that Jesus walked down had their dangers, their construction. After all, he was treading paths that no one had ever been down before. The promise of Jesus, and the promise of John who preached repentance, is that following behind Jesus can lead to some beautiful places, as well as some frightening places. Like a cross. 

But knowing that our paths are carved in the direction of Jesus, by his Baptism, by his Resurrection – following behind his lead – can bring us peace, even when the way is hard.

Whatever way you're headed, may the peace of Christ be with you, and also with all the ones around you, as we make our way through the construction zones.

Christ The King?

John 18:33-37
Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus answered, "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?"
Pilate replied, "I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?"
Jesus answered, "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here."
Pilate asked him, "So you are a king?"
Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice."
---

On the liturgical calendar, today is Reign of Christ Sunday.
When I was a boy, we called it, Christ the King Sunday.
And either way the rest of the world says, "Huh?"

We think of kings, we think of outdated governments.
Figureheads.
Imaginary places, like Narnia.
Or oppressive places, like North Korea.
Kings are old-fashioned, primitive.

We, on the other hand – in America – we got rid of kings.
We had a war about that.
We pledge allegiance to the flag, not to any one person.
We the people elect our own leaders.
We're a democracy, not a monarchy.
Democracy, good. Monarchy, bad.

So when we try to talk about Christ, reigning as King, we have a built-in border wall in our brains.
We have deep, historical biases against kings and kingships.
It's why our forebears left England in the first place.

But on the other hand, in the church, we affirm Christ –
King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Monarchy: bad.
Eternal monarchy: very good.

This is one of those things that if you think too hard about, thou shalt get a headache.
I think Christ the King is one of those things we don't think about because we don't like headaches.
And because Christ the President, or Christ the Speaker of the House doesn't roll off the tongue.
They might THINK they're the second coming of Jesus, but they are not.

—

Jesus must have been a real headache for Pontius Pilate.
Jesus - and his alleged kingship - must have been a real pain in his neck.
Not that Pilate deserves a lot of sympathy.
But I think the dialog between Jesus and Pilate isn't that far from the contradictions we wrestle with when our hearts call Jesus king, but our minds are skeptical of kings.
For Pilate, it was reversed: Pilate believed in kings (or caesars), but he was skeptical of Jesus.

Too much of the time we have more in common with Pilate than we do with Jesus, and that causes headaches for the people who want to be our co-Pilates.
Pilate and Jesus, ruler and subject.
Pilate was the ruler, and Jesus was his subject.
Or was it the other way around?
Jesus was the ruler and Pilate was the subject.
Which is it? Which is truth?

This is a puzzling little passage from the Bible.
I feel pretty certain that's the way God intended it.

---

It's good to be king.
Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. Beautiful dogs.
@KingJames, as in LeBron on Instagram.
King of the castle.
King of the hill.
"King of the road."
By the way, I actually listened to the old Roger Miller song last week.
Even though it's not in the hymnbook, it's a thought-provoking commentary on power and freedom.
"Trailers for sale or rent." They don't write em like that anymore.
Something for your afternoon playlist.

Steven King, Martin Luther King, Billie Jean King, Gayle King.
B. B. King.
King Kong, Smoothie King, King Ranch Chicken Casserole.

All good, but none serious monarchs.
On our continent, Democracy is king.
In a democracy, who has the real power?
(Tech bros. Russian hackers. Private equity firms.)
OK, who's SUPPOSED to have the real power?
We are.
We, the people.
We get to choose our own leaders.
We get to manage our own lives.
We get to decide our own future.
Right?
Well, that's the way it was in the textbooks.

We all want to be kings (and queens) of our own domains.
But when everyone's a king, no one's king.

Pilate asks, "What is truth?"
When you don't know what's up, when you don't know what or who's in charge, when you don't know what or whom to believe, truth is meaningless.
The only power is what little you can literally cling to.

—

Do you have days when you feel utterly powerless?
You teach your kids the best you can, and they still act clueless.
You scrimp and save every penny, and your spouse comes home with a new fishing boat.
The car breaks down.
You exercise, you eat low-fat foods that taste like cardboard, you floss.
You go to church, you tithe 10% of your income, you drop coins in the Salvation Army bucket.
You do all the right things.
And then, one day, in the shower, you find a lump.
A drunk driver comes the wrong direction.
A hurricane blows through the mountains.
In a split second, your life changes.
All that planning, all that hard work, all those at exercising control, your power, your reign – poof!
You're not king anymore. You never were.

It's fun to pretend like a king. Or a queen. Or a Disney Princess. Or Gaston.
But in our quiet moments, in our moments of truth, we know whatever royalty we have is hanging by a thread, if that much.
It can give you a real headache.

---

We say the Apostles' Creed every Sunday.
In the Creed, which we say every Sunday, five people or persons are identified by name.
First, there's God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.
We're all familiar with him.
Then there's Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord. That's two.  
...who was conceived by the Holy Ghost.
That's three.
And born of the Virgin Mary. She's number four.

Lastly, one final person, number five: Pontius Pilate.
Jesus "suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried."

So, right up there with the names of the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, just slightly after the Virgin Mary, is Pontius Pilate.
Pilate from Pontus.
We say his name every week, as if he was a vitally important man.
A big shot. A king-ish guy.

That's a sad irony.
Pilate IS important in the story of our faith.
He's the one who allowed Christ to be crucified, dead, and buried.
But in the scale of human history, Pilate was a middle-governing-body bureaucrat.
At worst, Pilate was a little dictator, a bully who tried to compensate for his own weakness by stomping on powerless subjects.
But even at his worst, Pilate doesn't begin to compare to Hitler, or Mussolini, or Putin.
Pilate wasn't sent to Judea to think.
His job was to be the face of the Roman government, and to keep the Jews from causing Caesar headaches.
And yet, there Pilate is, one of only five names in the most common creed of the church.
A government bureaucrat.

Did Pilate actually crucify Jesus?
No. Pilate washed his hands of responsibility.
Washed his hands and sealed his fate.
Pilates' great sin was preserving his delusion of power.
Allowing crimes. Ignoring the worst.
Pilate tried to sidestep trouble in classic middle-management ways.
And so, Jesus Christ was crucified, dead, and buried.

A delusion of power made Jesus suffer.
A delusion of power crucified Jesus.
Jesus suffers.
Whenever we forget the thread of separation between our own power and our powerlessness, Jesus suffers.
Whenever we thrive on the illusion of our own royalty, Jesus is crucified.
Whenever we hurt others because we have the power, Jesus dies.

In this way, we have too much in common with Pontus Pilate.
It's not really that good to be king, after all.

---

If Pilate wanted to be famous, wanted to be remembered forever more, he certainly got his wish.

But here's the greatest irony of all.
If Pilate had embraced his powerlessness, if Pilate had just proclaimed that Christ WAS king, Pilate might have been forgotten.
If not forgotten, at least not mentioned every single Sunday in an unflattering light.
Might have been forgotten.
Might have been forgiven.

If protecting our illusions of power causes Jesus to suffer, what, then, does accepting our powerlessness do?
If our quest for power decreases, does Jesus increase?

In another passage, the Bible says, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
What if Pilate had embraced his own powerlessness and - at the same time - clung to the power of Christ?

We'll never know the answer to that question.
Pilate made his choice.

You, however, you have a second chance.
You, who wrestle with your own feelings of powerlessness, you have a choice.
You can get depressed over your lack of power.
You can get angry, and resentful, and Scrooge-like.
Or, you can embrace your powerlessness.
Embrace your weakness in the face of this world.
Give up trying to be king.
Give up trying to be Queen.
Let go of your frustration with what is versus how you'd wish it to be.

Instead, hold on to the one, eternal power that faces you, faces us all, this day.
Embrace the truth of Jesus Christ not because he's going to make you powerful and remembered, but because he can make your weakness be irrelevant.
Embrace the power of Jesus because in him, and in him alone, you can do all things, you can do enough, through Christ who strengthens you.

---

Jesus gave Pilate headaches because he would never come out and say he – Jesus – was king.
What Pilate couldn't get was that it was his own job to say whether or not Jesus was king.
Pilate couldn't say. And so his fate was sealed.

What about you?
Maybe it's really easy for you to say, "Jesus Christ is king."
Maybe it's so easy you don't even have to think about it.
But when you see where your money goes, who's king?
When you spend time raging against changes you can't control, who's king?
When you go to bed and lie awake worrying, who's your king?

Jesus doesn't promise everything's going to turn out alright in this world.
In fact, he's really not all that encouraging about how this earthly life's going to go.
Maybe because he knows how many powers we have to kiss up to.
Maybe because he knows how hard it is to let go of illusions.
Maybe because he knows that we all suffer under the powers of Pilates.

And so Jesus never promises we'll be kings or queens of our own kingdoms.
Instead, he gives us a choice.
Do we hold onto our illusions of power?
Or do we embrace his?
Do we generate our own strength, or will we be strengthened through him?
Do we hate what makes us weak, or in our weakness, do we find redemption?
Do we kiss up to the powerful? Or take slides with the powerless?

So when we're faced with questions like this, it's a good thing to ask ourselves, W.W.P.D?
What would Pilate do?
And then do the opposite.

It's good to be king. Good to be queen.
But think about it.
If you're king, what's Jesus?
You know what Pilate said.
Today's your chance to say something else, and to celebrate the reign of someone else.
Someone else who's Christ, THE King.

Unholy Loss, Holy Surprise

2024-03-31 Easter

John 20:1-18

John 20 verse 1 begins the Easter story. It says:

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb 

One of the miraculous things about the Bible (and there are quite a few miraculous things about the Bible) is something I've learned again and again. 

Other people have reported the same thing. 

So I know I'm not alone. 

And it's this: 

That no matter how many times I read certain scriptures – 

like the one we read today, on Easter, it never fails that I find something new. 

Maybe I've getting older and wiser. 

Maybe I'm just slow. 

Either way, it feels miraculous. 

Do you do that? 

You re-read something special, 

maybe in the Bible, 

maybe a poem or favorite book, 

something you've read or heard many times before, 

but this time something totally new jumps out at you. you go, "Eureka!" 

You probably don't say, "Eureka." 

These days it's more like, 

Wow, Awesome, Gnarly, Rad, or Groovy.

Probably something more like, 

"Wow. I never saw that before." 

It feels like your brain grew a size bigger. 

Scripture will do that.

It feels like a miracle. 

You didn't expect it. 

It's a gift from beyond you.

I can easily imagine Mary Magdalene, or the Apostles, or anyone else who saw the empty tomb, saying something to the effect of, "Wow. I never saw that before." 

They'd be more enthusiastic. 

Less Presbyterian. 

More Pentecostal, shouting and singing and jumping up and down.

If there was ever something to shout and sing and dance around about, it ought to be Easter. 

For sure, Mary and anyone else who saw the empty tomb had never, ever, ever seen anything like that before. 

They would have been to graveyards lots of times. 

But this – this was something miraculous. 

Completely unexpected. 

Completely unpredicted. 

A gift, from beyond their wildest dreams.

A scary gift? A happy Easter gift? 

Let's say, a startling gift.

A surprising gift.

That's the thing about Easter. 

That's the thing about Jesus. 

That's the thing about the Holy Spirit. 

That's the thing about God. 

It's God's nature to catch us off guard. 

It's God's way of making a point. 

Time and again throughout the Bible and throughout our experience God can't help but surprise us. 

Because God's God. 

And we aren't. 

It only makes sense that God's miraculous works, 

God's miraculous presence, 

would surprise us.

"I never saw that before," can be the holiest words we ever speak. 

Because it's an admission to ourselves, a confession, 

that we've encountered something totally different, 

totally new, totally other. 

Something we know, 

something we feel, 

that's plain and simple: beyond us.

"I never saw that before." 

Well. Good. 

But now that you've seen it, 

What does it mean? 

And what are you gonna do with it?

—

A few weeks ago, this church was just driving me crazy. 

Not any of you.

But that's the thing about churches: 

They're people.

And people are people no matter how Presbyterian.

People are the best.

Until they're not.

Anyway, I just needed to decompress over something I can't remember now at all.

So I got in the car.

And drove as far away as I could and still be back for a meeting. 

Enterprise. 

I drove to Enterprise to worship at the Weevil. 

I discovered some things I'd never seen before.

Did you know there's a recreation place called, Boll Weevil Lanes?

Why didn't they call it Boll Bowl? 

Missed an opportunity.

There's a great coffee shop on the town square. 

It's a good place to go and hide. 

Much better than under my desk.

I sat there in the coffee shop, sipping a latte and watching TikTok, as one does. 

And my empty brain started thinking about Jesus, as preachers do. 

And I remembered all the times Jesus went off into the wilderness to get the heck away from all those people. 

In particular, I remembered Mark chapter one, after he's spent the day healing the mob. 

The Bible doesn't say this exactly, but in my translation, he puts his phone on Do Not Disturb. 

He turns on the email Vacation Reply. 

It says,

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. 

Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed: "Everyone is looking for you!"

"Behold, I stood at your door and knocked. Repeatedly."

The Bible says he "prayed." 

Sometimes prayer is getting on your knees and talking to God.

Sometimes prayer is just staring off into the distance and enjoying the quiet. 

It's why young mothers park in the driveway, with the windows up, singing very loudly to Adele.

That's prayer.

This past week, our Worship and Discipleship committees and our staff provided a Maundy Thursday and a Stations of the Cross service that let us do just that:

Be still and know that God is God.

So, I was thinking about Mary, and I was thinking about Easter morning, and it suddenly hit me. 

Mary when she went to the garden alone, Mary was pulling a Jesus. 

John 20 says,

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb 

Now, as I understand it, women of that day and time and faith, didn't just go wandering off by themselves, early in the morning, while it was still dark. 

At least, not unless they really, really wanted to sneak off by themselves. 

Mary Magdalene must have been a good student. 

Because she was doing exactly what her teacher, her friend, Jesus – had taught her how to do.

Sometimes, you just have to get the heck away. 

Maybe you drive to Enterprise. 

Maybe you go for a long walk alone. 

In a graveyard. 

To get away from all the noise. 

To visit your loved one.

To sit on bench, or a rock, or the ground.

To run your fingers across what's really real.

Not email or apps. Not someone else's anger.

Not to think about thinky things.

To just feel. 

To feel again.

 

But something I had never seen before was the connection between the start of Jesus's ministry, the end of Jesus's ministry, and the start of Mary Magdalene's ministry. 

Because this time in the garden is the start of her Christian ministry.

After all, in just a few verses, Mary's going to get to preaching. 

She's going to become the first Christian preacher ever and preach the first Christian sermon ever. 

"I have seen the Lord." 

Only 5 words. 

She'll get better. 

To all the preacher boys, remember: a woman did it first. 

And Christians had never seen that before, either. 

God was at work. 

God was at work. 

And God's signature is always 

surprise.

—

Back when Jesus was starting his ministry and had gone off by himself to pray, who was it that came looking for him with their hair on fire? 

Simon Peter and his companions. 

On the first Easter morning, when the tomb was empty and Mary had run to tell them the news, who was it who raced – literally had a race – to the tomb? 

Simon Peter and John. 

The same guys as at the start of his ministry. 

Bad news. 

Because either they weren't seeing it or maybe they were just slow, 

but they missed the prayer at the start of Jesus's ministry 

and they missed seeing the angels at the end of it. 

20:9-10 says: for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

I don't want to dump on the Y chromosome, but come on, fellas. 

No wonder we miss all the stuff we've never seen before.

The author, Neal Stephenson, wrote a story about men working at a computer company. 

He says, "Boys only want to know two things: Who's in charge and what are the rules." 

I don't know if that's always true, but it rings a bell.

On the other hand, in my experience of the workplace and the home, women only want to know one thing: What can I do?" 

Again, this isn't a scientific study, but it seems to ring true. 

Is this kinda accurate?

Because I think something similar's going on in this scripture. 

Simon Peter and John are racing toward the facts. 

Tomb? Empty. 

Grave wrappings? Folded. 

Head linen? In the corner. 

Check. Check. Check. 

Nothing to see here, folks. 

Return to your homes.

But Mary. 

Mary, who had come – Luke says with spices and perfumes to cover up the odor of death – but Matthew and John don't say why. 

John just says that she went. Why? Just went.

If my theory is correct, at the very least, Mary had come to pray. 

Mary, whether she was praying on her knees with her hands folded 

or just staring into the distance. 

Mary, through the lenses of her tears, sees angels. 

Mary, through the depth of her tears, 

sees someone who looks like the gardener, 

but you know how tears mess with your eyes. 

Mary, the one who stays, 

Mary, the one who prays, 

Mary, the one who will not leave – 

Mary is the one who sees Jesus.

And even though she must have seen him countless times before, 

she saw him this time, 

like she had never seen him before.

Surprise.

And with a surprise like that, it can only be the work of God.

—

Easter. 

Easter morning is glorious. 

But for pastors, it's the biggest, busiest, most potentially stressful day of the year. 

Like the other Mary's sister, Martha, we are worried and distracted by many things. 

It's the big day, when everybody shows up.

Visitors!

Pro tip: If you see someone and you're not sure, don't say, "Are you new to Dothan?"

Or worse, "I haven't seen you since Christmas." 

Or worse, "I thought you'd died."

Epic fails.

Just say, "Hi, I'm [insert name here]. It's great to see you."

You want Easter all to be absolutely perfect. 

You want the technology to work seamlessly. 

You want the choir hitting their cues and reaching their high notes. 

You want the ushers ushing like they've never ushed before. 

No mistakes in the bulletin. 

No kids knocking over plants. 

No forgetting anyone's name.

"Smiles, everyone. Smiles."

Easter's a lot. 

A few years ago, about 1.3 minutes  left on the clock, right before worship,

I was almost but not quite 

running down the church hall, 

my robe billowing behind me, 

on my way to pray with the choir and keep them on time (no easy feat). 

My dear, dear, friend, Lt. Col. Frank Pettway, US Air Force, Very Retired, 

stepped in front of me, planted his feet to take the charge, and said, 

"Christ is risen!"

Without thinking, and in my very best Han Solo, I replied, "I know."

Talk about a racing man missing the whole point. 

Peter and John got nothing on me.

That Easter, Col. Pettway was my Mary Magdalene.

And he was radiant.

If you – and if I – slow down this morning, early in the day, what could we possibly see this Easter that we've seen before but never, really, seen before? 

What does it mean? 

And what are we gonna do with it?

Race off to a dinner? 

Run out for pictures before the kids mess up their outfits? 

Go home and take a nap? 

Cheer for the Davidic Vols as they take on Goliath Edey and Purdue?

All are possible. 

But this day is a day when God promises to do something, 

something like we've never seen before. 

God promises that every day, 

but THIS day, especially,

Easter, 

TODAY –

is the day to pay attention. 

The day to read scripture a little deeper. 

To think a little harder. 

Or maybe just to stare off into the distance in silence a little longer.

Nobody understands the mechanics of the Resurrection. 

We're wasting our time trying. 

But what we CAN do is what Mary did. 

Tarry there.

Stay with it. 

Feel something you may not have felt before or for a long, long time. 

After all, that IS resurrection – 

the awakening of that which we thought was no more. 

A holy surprise. 

Even if you've seen days like this a million times before, 

there is no other day exactly like this.

God guarantees it.

Mary didn't get to see Jesus because she was so good. 

She wasn't picked because she was extra faithful. 

She was just there. 

Getting away from whatever else.

Mary just showed up.

And God came to meet her.

God came to her. 

I believe God comes to each of us when we stay in the moment just a little longer.

That's just the Jesus way. 

What in the world are we gonna do with that?