Easter Day (B): What Should You Preach?

Easter Day (B): What Should You Preach?

John 20:1-18

By: The Rev. Anna Tew

Here you are again (or again for the first time), trying to write an Easter sermon. If you’re a parish preacher and you’re like most new preachers, this task doesn’t seem easy. This is, after all, one of two times per year that you’ll see some of your parishioners: the fabled “Christmas and Easter” crowd. It makes sense, then, that preachers would be tempted to throw everything into this sermon, telling a story so compelling that at least one of the “Christmas and Easter” crowd will become a regular.

Every year, preachers make Easter their Super Bowl, trying to find some new take on Easter that will compel and wow the congregation. And every year, preachers fail at this task for one reason: the resurrection story was already compelling enough. People are not coming to church to hear your take on the Easter story.

            People come to church to hear the Easter story.

They come to smell the flowers and to shout, “Christ is risen indeed!” and to see everyone they haven’t seen since Christmas. And that’s okay. Because, you see, the tomb was empty before anyone else arrives. In John, there is no angel to announce that Christ is risen. The tomb is simply empty, and that is all God’s doing.^[1]The tomb was empty before Mary arrived, and preacher, that is true for you, too.

Before the Easter flowers arrive, before the paraments are changed to white, before you write your sermon and put on your vestments, and before the people arrive at the church on Sunday morning, Christ is risen indeed.

So what should you preach?

The story of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Nothing more, and nothing less.

You don’t even really need that much setup. Regardless of how often they come to church, the people that you will see from the pulpit do not need convincing that death is an impossible and draining reality. You will look from the pulpit into faces of those who have just lost their spouse to cancer last year, those who lost a friend in a car crash last week, those so overcome with depression that they only made it to church on Easter because they knew they’d hate themselves if they didn’t. You will look from the pulpit into the eyes of adults whose marriages are crumbling, children just coming to terms with the reality of the death of a grandparent, and the young adult who’s are hiding her addiction all too well. You’ll see the transgender teen who’s wondering if their parents will ever accept them as they are, and you’ll see the preteen who dreads going to school tomorrow because the other kids are so cruel to him.

Those people do not need to hear your groundbreaking fresh take on Easter; they simply need to hear that Christ is risen. In the words of Harvey Milk, “You gotta give ‘em hope.”

So here’s your chance, Preacher. Take a breath and get ready to tell them the story.

Tell them the story of a radical rabbi born to a poor carpenter and his fiancé who grew up in an occupied land. Tell them about how he grew up to tell everyone that God is loose in the world. Tell them about how he caused such a ruckus that his loved ones begged him to lay low for awhile, but he wouldn’t, because he had a mission. Tell them about how the powers that be captured him and mocked him, beat him, and killed him while the people looked on or even joined in. Tell them about how he was buried in a cold tomb hewn out of the rock, sealed there presumably forever, like every human who had died before him. And then tell them how Mary found that tomb empty three days later.

            Preacher, just tell the story they came to hear.

The story they need to hear.

            Tell the story you need to hear.

Because it’s also true that you have tombs of your own. If you’re preaching on the first Sunday of Easter, chances are good that you’re in parish ministry. You’re tasked with so much with so little support. You’re responsible for reports to the local denominational body and preparing for Bible study and pouring a ton of effort into sermons that a very limited number of people are likely to either read or hear. You’re answering emails with silly questions and consoling people who are upset over the color of the carpet and maybe even wondering if this whole church thing is worth it anymore. There are moments of hope and joy and there are wonderful people, yes. But there’s a lot of loneliness, too.

The church can indeed be a lonely place, especially if you’re the pastor and you’re the only person your age in your parish, as is the case with many millennial pastors.

It’s been pointed out many times before that Mary doesn’t recognize Jesus at first. She comes to the tomb, overcome with death’s effects, overcome with grief, weighed down. And the risen Jesus calls her name.

Because the Good News is that God is still loose in the world. Through the closing churches and the angry emails and the frustrations and the loneliness, God is still loose, undeterred by the Church’s failures, even the failures that are our own.

            Through it all, God still finds a way to get to us. Not even death could stop God.

So let go of trying to find a new take on Easter. Instead, consider preaching that Jesus is loose: in wine and bread, in water and words, in human bodies and broken souls. Jesus is loose and that matters, regardless of — well, anything else.

Preacher, Jesus was risen long before you arrived on the scene. Your job is simply to give ‘em hope — so just tell the story. Tell them that

            “Death took a body, and discovered God.

            Death took earth, and encountered Heaven.
            Death took what it saw, and was overcome by what it did not see….

            Christ is Risen, and death is defeated!

            Christ is Risen, and demons are cast down!

            Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice!

            Christ is Risen, and life is loose!”^[2]

            Jesus is loose. God is loose. Love is loose in the world, coursing through your church sanctuary and every seemingly forsaken corner of the world and our own hearts.

That is all they need to hear. And just maybe, it’s all you need to hear, too.

Go get ‘em, Preacher.

 

The Rev. Anna Tew is a 30-something Lutheran pastor serving Our Savior’s Lutheran Church (ELCA) in South Hadley, Massachusetts. A product of several places, she was born in rural Alabama, considers Atlanta home, and lives in and adores New England. In her spare time, Anna enjoys climbing the nearby mountains, traveling, exploring cities and nightlife, and keeping up with politics and pop culture.

 

 

 

^[1] Gail R. O’Day, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 2, p. 377.

^[2] John Crysostom, Easter Homily, (paraphrase)