John 20:11-18a

Rev. Martin C. Singley, III

(This is the final Easter sermon I preached as pastor of the Community Church at Tellico Village – 4/20/2014)

The story of Mary in the garden is my favorite Easter story.

You see, we’ve all been to that garden where Mary wandered weeping that day. The garden where the weight of the world is upon us, where our broken hearts mourn some failure or loss, and where we do not know how or even if we can go on because life has caved in on us.

For Dot and her four children the garden was the garage attached to the house where Dot’s husband and the kids’ father had a while earlier that day ended his own life. The police escorted the family to the garage on that cold winter morning just a few days before Christmas and told them to stay there while they did their work inside. Dot and her children – like Mary – were in the garden, alone.

For Russ the garden was the driver’s seat of the brand spanking new family station wagon as he drove home from work. He had just taken a new job – his dream job with lots more responsibility and lots more money. Thus the new shiny car. What rejoicing there had been among Russ’ family and friends when he landed that great job. But now he was driving home with a pink slip clutched in his hand. Business had fallen off. He was new to the company, and one of the first to be let go. How would he tell his family? How would he pay for the new car? And the mortgage? And…? He was in the garden, alone.

For me, the garden was the musty pitch blackness of the cellar to which my mother had herded my sister, brother and me as the great Worcester tornado of 1953 roared through our city – our very neighborhood – leaving many dead and thousands homeless. As the storm swirled all around us and electrical transformers exploded outside, my mother told us children that if we got split up we should meet at the throne of Jesus. I was just 4 years old the first time I remember being in the garden.

We’ve all been to that garden alone. Illness. Divorce. Injustice. Addiction. Rejection. The Death of a loved one. Being bullied at school.  Losing the joy of life. Do you remember how you felt on 9/11, or December 7, 1941, or that famous date in your life when nothing made sense anymore and your life started spinning out of control?

We’ve ALL been to the garden alone. And before our lives are over, we will go to that garden again – and again – and again.

Today, Mary is in the garden alone.

And something amazing happens! The risen Jesus comes to Mary.

And he is a gardener.

Have you ever noticed that about the Easter stories? When the risen Jesus encounters the disciples he is never the Jesus they are looking for or the Jesus they remember. He appears as a gardener to Mary. On the road to Emmaus he is a fellow traveler who comes alongside the two disciples as they walk along. Out at the Sea of Galilee he is a beachcomber starting a campfire on the shore.

And the followers of Jesus do not recognize him at first because – well, because he is just – somebody who shows up.

“Sir,” Mary sobs, “they have taken away my Lord and I know not where they have laid him. If you know where he is, tell me, and I will get him.”

And then the gardener says, “Mary!”

And her eyes – or her heart – or her soul – or all three – are opened, and she recognizes him.

“RABBI!” she exclaims, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.

And then comes the most interesting part of the whole story.

Mary, in her joy at discovering Jesus alive, starts to throw her arms around him only to hear Jesus say, “No. Do not hold on to me…Go instead to my brothers and tell them I am returning to my Father and YOUR Father, to my God, and YOUR God.”

You see, Jesus is not someone you can hold on to and make a memory of. No, Jesus is ALIVE! And Jesus has more work yet to do! And now, so does Mary! Mary has a mission! Jesus tells her to go and tell her story!

And here it is in a nutshell:

When you – whoever you are – come the garden alone – life turned topsy-turvy – suffering the pain of loss -experiencing the hatred, violence and injustice of a world gone wrong – disappointed by weakness, failure and betrayal – captured by the destructive power of sin – hungering and thirsting for God to make you and the world around you whole – he comes to you. He comes to the garden.

Sometimes as a gardener – or a fellow traveler along life’s road – or a stranger on the seashore.

Sometimes he comes as a whisper in the quiet of the night – or as a beautiful beam of color through a stained glass window – or the lyric of a beautiful hymn – or in the silence of prayer.

Sometimes he comes as a martyr with a dream that his and other children will one day be judged not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character – or as a teacher who tells you she believes in you and sets you free to become all that God created you to be – or as a church that stands with the poor and dispossessed and works hard to affirm the dignity of all God’s children no matter who, no matter where, no matter what.

Oh, whenever you come to the garden alone, he comes.

Sometimes as a child crawling into your lap and kissing your cheek and whispering, “I love you” for no reason at all – sometimes as a mother telling her children that everything will be okay and if we are separated we’ll meet at the throne of Jesus.

Mary cannot hold onto Jesus because he has others to reveal himself to, and she has this story to tell about the time she met the risen Christ – and he was a gardener.

You never know where Jesus will show up next.

Or how he will come to you.

But from Mary and all the others we DO know what Jesus wants us all to know.

He is somebody who shows up!

And when he shows up in peoples’ lives they are transformed. That’s what happened to Mary and Peter and John and all the others when the risen Christ encountered  them. They become stronger, braver, more loving, and filled with a spirit of mission that drives them to go and make wrong things right, and broken things whole, and lost things found, and to proclaim the Good News of God’s love for everyone.

They become like that old violin in Myra Brooks Welch’s famous poem:

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three”,

But, No,
From the room far back a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its’ bow.
“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
“We just don’t understand.”
“What changed its’ worth?”
Swift came the reply.
“The Touch of the Masters Hand.”

And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered with bourbon and gin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master’s Hand.

–          Myra Brooks Welch

 

Today – on our last Easter together – in this beautiful sanctuary garden – I pray for you the touch of the Master’s hand, and the discovery that in all the gardens into which you come alone – you are never – alone.