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Well, every once in a while, God gives a little nudge that rocks our world, turning it upside down, demanding our attention and reminding us who's really in charge.
In our Gospel account, that happened when the three women discovered the stone had already been rolled away, and inside the tomb was a young man apparently hanging around waiting for them,
so he could give them their marching instructions, instructions to tell the other disciples that Jesus would meet them in Galilee.
For these women, when they encountered this messenger, Plans B and C went out the window.
And my own Plan B went out the window last Sunday, also, after I had settled myself comfortably in the front pew with the other clergy,
somewhat disappointed that I couldn't sit with "my" people, but resigned to enjoy the experience anyway. That's when Rev. Valda tapped me on the shoulder and said,
"Right there where it says 'Remarks,' I want you to speak." What?! With no notice?! With no manuscript?!
And so, hoping for some sort of agenda that I assumed I had missed, I asked, "What do you want me to say?" Shocked, she said, "What do I want you to say?!"
"From the heart?" I asked. "From the heart!" she replied. And I knew right away that the lovely, little prayer tucked in my pocket would never work.
And like the women in our story, I, too, was seized with terror and amazement. I wanted to take my cue from the women in our scripture reading and flee from the scene.
But God had other plans. My self-confidence spiraled out of sight and my fear welled up within me as charismatic speaker after speaker drew applause and responses shouted from the audience.
I knew what God was calling me to do. But I couldn’t imagine being the one to do it. God always calls us to give witness to the truth.
And my witness to the truth was not only to denounce the violence against Trayvon Martin, but to denounce the violence against all God's children, including the LGBT community.
I wasn't at all sure how that would be received. Would the applause die down to disgusted silence?
Would I be detracting from the vigil's focus by letting people know that we have to speak out against all violence, not just racial violence?
Would I be setting myself and our church up as a target if I described us as a "*** people?"
Would my truth be ignored, invalidated, and rejected? Author Clarence W. Hall is quoted as saying, "Easter says that you can put truth in the grave, but it will not stay there."
That's what happened when truth in the person of Jesus Christ was placed in the grave. That truth simply could not stay there.
And my friends, that's what happened, last Sunday at St. James United Methodist Church.
God gave me the voice to proclaim that our church is part of a global movement of churches dedicated to the human rights and human dignity of all people.
I said that we speak on behalf of not just the black Trayvon Martin's, but the Jewish Trayvon Martin's, the Islamic Trayvon Martin's, the *** positive Trayvon Martin's,
and the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Trayvon Martin's. There. I had said it.
I was prepared for a response of stunned silence. A bit of murmuring. Maybe a smattering of polite, restrained, and obligatory applause.
But a miracle happened. Instead of the expected, "Who invited him?" I'm told there were "Amen's" and "Preach on's."
It's hard to give witness of what exactly was said because, you see, people were clapping.
And it was more than the polite, restrained applause I had anticipated. They heard our truth and they lifted us up with their support.
This past week, a young stranger from the Greek Orthodox Church popped into the office asking for my prayers and blessing. As we made our way up to the sanctuary to pray,
it became clear he was familiar with MCC churches. Before the prayer, he asked how many worship here on Sundays,
and I replied that attendance was generally between 30 and 40, immediately following that with the usual explanation of the homophobic stigma of Waco...
to which he replied, "You know that's more in your own heads than in the heads of anyone else."
You can put truth in the grave with an excuse of Waco’s homophobia. You can put truth in the grave with your expectations of how others will receive you.
Easter says that you can put truth in the grave, but it will not stay there.
Sooner or later, it will roll away the stone you have placed in front of it or have silently watched others place in front of it.
Sooner or later it will walk out free and resurrected with or without you. This morning’s story is not just a story about the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
It’s a story about our own resurrection. We have been called to proclaim the truth and we have been called to rise up with Jesus Christ.
Phillips Brooks, Episcopal clergy, best known for being the lyricist of "O Little Town of Bethlehem," said, "Let every man and woman count [themselves] immortal.
Let each catch the revelation of Jesus in [their own] resurrection. Let each say not merely, 'Christ is risen,' but 'I shall rise.'
May we rise up to the freedom that comes with boldly living out and speaking out our truth before others.
May we rise up to the discovery of the miracle that we are not alone, but rather, lifted up by a surprising number of saints who support us
and believe in us, even when we don't believe in ourselves. And may the Easter experience for each and every one of us
be a letting go of the fear that entombs us and an embracing of the resurrected life. Amen.