Easter Reflection - an unexpected shock

Mark 16:1-8

Have you ever seen a Bilby? They’re a very rare and endangered animal so I’d be impressed if you had. There’s been a move in recent years to substitute chocolate Bilbies for chocolate Bunnies at Easter time. Bilbies have big ears like rabbits, they’re about the same size. So if you want a pagan fertility symbol that is culturally relevant and environmentally appropriate, eat a Bilby for Easter!

I haven’t seen a Bilby, but I did see a Bandicoot once (Bilbies are part of the Bandicoot family – they’re also known as Rabbit-Eared Bandicoots). It was a notable occasion because I didn’t know what they were at the time. It was in Kakadu NP. I was camping by myself, in a little tent, no one for miles around. In the middle of the night I was woken by movement outside the tent, a snuffling, scratching sound – “there’s something out there!” I got my torch, upzipped the tent, snapped on the light, and there it was, this strange, outlandish creature. It looked like a giant rat with an extra long nose.

It’s the middle of night remember, I was half asleep, still half immersed in dream world, and in my dreams giant rats are the stuff of nightmares. So when I saw this strange thing, which I only later learnt to be a Bandicoot, my first reaction was horror – I stared at it in stunned amazement, grasping for connections, desperately trying to fit it into my experience, is it rabbit? No! Is it a possum? No! It wouldn’t fit, and I suddenly knew myself to be in a strange, foreign place with alien creatures – what monsters might lurk in Kakadu’s dark places? Was I about to be mauled by a giant rodent? – nibbled to death by a Bandicoot?

You might laugh, but fear of the unknown is a pretty basic human response, isn’t it? When things are beyond our understanding, outside our experience, it’s not unusual to feel deeply unsettled, frightened, threatened. And is that what is going on at the Easter tomb this morning?

Those women approaching the tomb don’t realise they are about to enter another world, a strange place where they will see an extraordinary heavenly creature, an angel – for the “the barrier between the divine and human worlds has fallen away” (A Costly Freedom, Brendan Byrne 2008 p255). A new creation is breaking in through that tomb.

Is that what we normally think when we consider Easter? The resurrection of Jesus is not just a weird and perhaps discomforting, but ultimately joyful story about a bloke getting up when he’s been down – it is that, but it is also a sign that the new life of God’s new world is breaking in to ours. And that is stunning and different and beyond what we have experienced before, and for the women at the tomb, utterly terrifying.

They are like new arrivals in a new world. I came to Australia as a ten year old, and I remember the feeling of entering a strange, foreign place. But at least I’d seen kangaroos on TV – all those years of watching Skippy – imagine what it must have been like for the first arrivals in 1788. One early settler, Barron Field, describes Australia as “a land of contrarieties, where the laws of nature seem reversed … where the swans are black and the eagles white; where the kangaroo, an animal between the squirrel and the deer, has five claws on its fore paws, and three talons on its hide legs, like a bird, and yet hops on its tail; where the mole … lays eggs, suckles its young, and has a duck’s bill” [Barron Field, Geographical Memoirs on NSW]. An upside down world – we can hear Barron Field trying to fit it into his experience. Comparing the unbelievably strange with the familiar – kangaroos like squirrels and deer, platypuses like moles. Everything they saw was like my Bandicoot experience. A stunning new world.

But if we take the arrival of the first fleet as an example of the Easter experience, then I wonder whether the women at the tomb are perhaps even more like those people who were already here standing on the shore when the white sails came billowing through the Heads – those for whom Australia was the known, the familiar, their home. Imagine them seeing the strange white men come, in their enormous canoes, with their strange clothes and weird woolly animals. Something radically new was breaking into the world of their familiar experience – it must have been like the barrier between worlds falling away. And the meeting of those two worlds would bring extraordinary transformation, for some, it would be cataclysmic – here we are because of that meeting of worlds. Fear is not the only possible response to such a meeting, but it is a reasonable one.

Come with the women to the tomb. Like a group of aboriginal women walking down to the shore to collect shellfish on January 26th 1788, they come. They have no reason to think that today will not be like any other. The journey to the tomb is a familiar experience, certainly not a happy one, but they know what death looks like, what it smells like, they have no reason to expect anything different today. Or do they?

Yes they do, because in Mark’s gospel Jesus tells his followers, clearly, unequivocally, and frequently exactly what was going to happen to him. He told them, ‘the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.’ Another time he said… ‘The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again. And once more just to hammer the point home, … they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.’ (Mark 8:31, 9:31, 10:33-34)

And today is the third day. Up till now things have gone exactly as he predicted. The women at the tomb should know what to expect, they should be prepared for the breaking in of that different world. They shouldn’t need to ask, “Who will roll away the stone?”.

But to be fair to them, sometimes it is hard to be prepared even when we have been warned what to expect. Think of recent warnings that have gone out around us: “The conditions will be the worst we have seen. Leave early or stay and defend; make a survival plan; prepare and protect, your property and yourself; pack a safety kit and a treasure box”.

And many people living in our fire prone regions were very well prepared, but what confronted them this time was beyond expectation, impossible to prepare for. Even some of the best prepared were caught by surprise, overwhelmed by the horror of what actually arrived. And how hard it must be to prepare months or even years in advance when there is no threat, when all is fine and familiar, when we’d rather be doing other things, when it is hard to imagine that life could be so totally disrupted, that beauty could become terror.

Who would have thought that Jesus, this gentle healer, this wise teacher, could be the victim of such brutal destruction. He warned them, but they still didn’t see it coming. Easter is like a bushfire carried by gale force winds in a time of drought – coming out of nowhere – changing everything – that big, that frightening. We know the paradox of fire in this land Australia: it is destructive and terrifying, but necessary and life giving – growth emerges from the destruction and death.

Easter brings new life, like a fire. It changes everything. And, if we are willing, we could be transformed by it too, and join the risen Jesus in transforming the injustices of the world. But change can be frightening.

Are we like the women coming to the tomb, bringing spices to anoint a corpse – prepared for death, but unprepared for new life, for a new creation? Do our “Alleluias” mask a deep desire to stay as we are and to let the world be as it is? Deep down are we frightened by what God might be asking of us, by the new thing God is doing in our world?

The women ran away in terror. Perhaps on some level we do too.

But this Easter, if we could see our world as the first white settlers saw Australia, and as the indigenous people saw the new arrivals, if we could see God’s wonderful, and unsettling new life breaking in around us – breaking in with healing, reconciling, saving power, like a cleansing fire – imagine how life could be. It would be like seeing a Bilby around every corner – shocking, stunning, amazing – seeing a Bilby every day and never getting used to it, never becoming complacent. “There’s another one!” we’d say with awe struck delight, “There is love! There is hope! There is peace! There is life! There is Christ!”

May Easter shock you this year, stun you, amaze you. For God is doing something new. It begins with Christ, and goes on in us. 

Reflection from St Leonard's College Annual Service 31/3/2009 - on theme of leadership.

A LEADER FOR OUR TIMES

It’s great to be here tonight to share in this celebration of leadership. We’ve just heard two bible readings, two ancient pieces of writing about leadership. I want to reflect with you further on one of them, the story from the gospel of John. Can this archaic story have anything to say about today? Let’s see. I’ve called this reflection “A leader for our times."

John the gospel writer tells us a story about a leader, a King – a surprising, unlikely kind of King who challenges our ideas of what a leader should be. Let’s put ourselves in that story. The King in question, of course, is Jesus. And here he comes, leading the way into Jerusalem.

A great crowd of people have heard he is coming and have gathered to welcome him. There’s a buzz of excitement – the King they have been waiting for, longing for, is on his way. They’ve got their palm branches ready.

Do you want to join this crowd? Are you also looking, waiting, longing for a leader – the leader who is going to fix things up for you, put things right, turn this problem plagued world around for us?

What sort of leadership do we need right now –personally, globally?

Some people look at the world as it is these days, sinking into economic quicksand, flooding and burning with environmental catastrophe, and they say, we need strong leadership to get us out of this. Some even say that it’s time for a benevolent dictator, a King in the good old fashioned sense, a wartime leader, someone to force change on us for our own good. Our current political leaders can’t do it, these people say, because they are crippled by compromise and the short term electoral cycle – its all about popularity for them and the leadership we need isn’t necessarily going to be popular. 

So some are saying. You might be among them.

When I was a teenager I used to worship Peter Garrett – I always knew he wasn’t really God, I knew it was idol worship, but if you can dance like that and sing with such power and passion at such an extreme volume, and do it all for the sake of a better world, then lead me and I will follow, Pete! He was a prophet … and now he’s a politician.

Does Peter Garrett reveal to us the problems with our democratic party political system in this troubled age? Does it take our prophets and our idealists and silence them? – turn them into yes men (and women)? If Midnight Oil ruled the world, we’d be alright, wouldn’t we? (perhaps). But, to quote the Minister for the Environment, if the blue sky mining company won't come to our rescue, if the sugar refining company won't save us – who’s gonna save us? Good question, Pete. Who is gonna save us? Jesus? Is he the leader we need?

This gospel crowd, in the story tonight, thinks so. They’re waving their palm branches now and shouting “Hosanna!” Hosanna means “Save us now!”

“Save us now, King Jesus. Fix our world. Give us what we need. Hosanna!”

What’s with these palm branches? Do you know this story? In the church we usually tell this story on the day called Palm Sunday – next Sunday. If you go to church then you’re likely to see people waving palm branches. Why?

This story tells of events happening towards the end of Jesus’ life. It tells of the day he comes to Jerusalem for the last time. Jerusalem, the big city, the centre of power, the seat of the Roman Governor. Jesus’ land was ruled from Jerusalem by a very unbenevolent dictator named Pontius Pilate – ruled with oppressive force backed up by the might of the Roman army. But in those days, there was a ground swell of people who were saying, we don’t want to live like this, we want our freedom, we want to be released from this terrible oppression, we want a new king to make our world better, to put things right for us.

And here they are waving palm branches – which is surprising seeing as palm trees don’t grow in Jerusalem. It’s not like they just grabbed whatever greenery was around. They have actually gone to a lot of trouble to get palm branches – they must have some significance.

And it is this, historians tell us, “the use of palm fronds is closely associated with Maccabean nationalism” (Maloney 184). Do you know what that means? No? Neither did I. But then I saw The Life of Bryan (?). There’re some Maccabean nationalists in that film. They’re the ones who say, “What have the Romans ever done for us?! Nothing! Apart from the aqueduct, sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, a fresh water system, and public health. Apart from that, what have the Romans ever done for us? Nothing!”

In the Life of Bryan we meet the Judean People’s Front and the People’s Front of Judea and various other revolutionaries, all based on the Maccabean Nationalists, Jewish radicals, freedom fighters, or are they are terrorists? – either way, in the Life of Bryan, they are very idealistic and utterly ineffective. Their leader Reg says, “We're giving Pilate two days to dismantle the entire apparatus of the Roman Imperialist State, and if he doesn't agree immediately, we execute his wife.” That’s if they can get her.

In a similar spirit, the gospel crowd is waving Palm branches – symbols of radical anti-Roman nationalism – like placards: “What do we want? Romans out! When do we want it? Now!!” But this isn’t the Life of Bryan, this is the Life of Jesus, and this is deadly serious. These palms mean the revolution has begun, lives are at stake. The crowd are waiting to welcome the king who will help them overthrow the Romans, the most powerful Empire in human history. They’re waiting for their king, and here he comes.

Crowd’s jostling. Can you see him yet? Is he here? Our leader, our liberator? No, all I can see is some bloke on a donkey. Hang on, isn’t that him? The face looks familiar, but on a donkey? He must have left his war chariot and his stallion outside the gate with his guerrilla army re-enforcements. He hasn’t brought his side arms in with him either, but perhaps he is some kind of ninja – his bare hands lethal weapons.

Or perhaps he is not going to meet our expectations at all, perhaps he is not the kind of leader we think we need. Perhaps he is not the warrior king, not the benevolent dictator, not the rock star president. No. In fact, I think this donkey rider is going to turn all our expectations upside down. Because in this story, a couple of days from now, he’ll be dead and the Romans will continue ruling his land for another 600 years.

That’s kind of disappointing, isn’t it? Not the first quality most of us would put on our “ideal leader” profile: “I’m looking for someone who will die just when I need him the most”. What’s going on here?

Once I was dropping a young child off at kindergarten. And I was in a hurry that day – things to do, places to be. I pulled up outside the Kinda, rushed around to get her out of her car seat, and as I was trying to undo the straps she turned and looked at me with open, innocent, enquiring eyes, and said, “Ian, why did Jesus have to die?” [that’s what we all want to know!]

Little kids can put you on the spot, can’t they? How would you answer that 4 year old? You’ve got 30 seconds at the most to give the simplest answer possible to the most profound theological question in all of Christianity, the question at the heart of our faith.

Why did Jesus have to die? – right when he was needed the most?

How do we make sense of the death of hope? Because that is what has happened – hope has died. He was to be the leader to take us into a new future, to turn our world around. Did that little girl realise she was asking about the future of the world and the quality of the life she will lead as she grows up? Probably not.

But Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, you know. You know there is so much at stake here. Why go and get yourself killed right when we need someone to save us? Here we are longing for a better world, a fairer world, a future without fear, an environment that sustains us rather than constantly threatening us, a safe home for ourselves and for the little children. We all want to lead useful and rewarding lives. We want employment, peace, justice, freedom. We long for life in all its fullness. But you go and die, leaving our palm branches strewn, wasted and shrivelling like the hope in our hearts. Why Jesus?

To be honest with you I don’t remember what I said to that little girl that day. The trauma was too great, I’ve blocked it out. Maybe I helped her down the path of hope and faith, or maybe I just confused her. For all I know, Jesus was the name of her pet mouse. But if I had that time over again, I might just let Jesus do the talking, using the words that he says in this story – a simple, beautiful metaphor. I love a good metaphor, and I reckon a metaphor is the best way to explain a mystery – probably the only way in fact. Will that satisfy you?

[there might be some early childhood educators here who are going to tell me that a 4 year old is too young to understand metaphors. That’s your problem – its your job to talk to 4 year olds with their little concrete minds and difficult questions – I’m steering clear of them! I think we’re all mature enough here tonight to handle a metaphor aren’t we?]

Why die, Jesus – taking our hope with you?

And Jesus says, Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

Think about that image. A tightly packed grain bursting with the potential for life – buried and forgotten, seemingly dead and gone – but then sprouting, rising up, growing, flowering, fruiting, supplying nourishment and abundant life for other creatures – making more seeds to fall and to spread and to grow.

That’s the story of Easter. And isn’t that the sort of leadership we need? – leaders whose lives give life? – leaders who will die – metaphorically at least – who will plant themselves in the places of challenge and darkness, and grow themselves and help others to grow towards the light?

Think about it. Who is the leader that we need? What sort of leader are you looking for? What sort of leader do you want to be?

Let us pray