Holding Emptiness

                                                                image from Jon J Muth's Zen Ties

John 20:1-18

 When my kids were little, my favorite books to read to them were written and illustrated by John J. Muth. He writes magical stories with magical illustrations that all reflect the importance of kindness, mindfulness, patience. In his “Zen” series, Muth writes about Stillwater, a giant panda who lives next door to three siblings, Karl, Addy, and Michael. This giant panda, unaware that giant pandas don’t typically live in traditional human neighborhoods, takes them on wonderful journeys through their own minds, never leaving their neighborhood, simply by teaching them to observe and be mindful of the world around them. Everything is filled with wonder, if we just pay attention, if we just have eyes to see. One day, Stillwater’s nephew, Koo, comes for a visit. After Stillwater picks Koo up from the train station, they gather at a nearby park where they spread out a blanket and have tea together from red plastic cups. When Koo finishes his tea, he says to his uncle, "My cup holds emptiness now. Where shall I put it?” My cup holds emptiness. Not, “my cup is empty.” The cup is still holding something, even if it is just emptiness, according to Koo.

So I want to thank you all for coming to worship today, even if you feel like your cup holds emptiness. Maybe you’re here because it’s tradition, or maybe you’re just here because it makes your grandma happy, or maybe you’re just here because you were told there would be a delicious brunch after. Whatever the reason, thank you for being here, for participating in the witness of this empty tomb. Presbyterian darling and theological giant, Karl Barth, said that "what brings people to worship - not just on Easter, but any day - is an unspoken question clinging to their hearts and minds, and that question is simply this: ‘Is it true?’” So I’m also hoping that a part of you, even if it is just a tiny part, is here to ask the question, “Is it true?” So often we parade Easter around as if it were just for the “true believers,” but if we read the resurrection stories closely, we will find that that first Easter Sunday was a day of confusion, questions, and doubt. So, welcome to Doubter’s Sunday, to all who participate. Cheers to you, with our cups that also hold emptiness.

Let’s listen to how this resurrection story today also holds emptiness.

Mary Magdalene goes out to tend to Jesus’s body, as is the custom, when it is very early in the morning. It is so early, in fact, that it’s dark, the sky is empty of light. And instead of finding the tomb covered by a large stone, she finds the stone has been moved, the entrance empty of anything blocking her way. And so she starts to run. She finds Peter and the disciple whom Jesus loved and tells them that the tomb is empty, there is no body. The tomb holds emptiness now. And she is distraught. Peter and the other disciple run off, leaving her in the dust, and they run toward the emptiness. They have no idea what they will find, and still, they run - they race - toward it. I imagine their flip-flops clapping away on the hard dusty road as they literally race toward the tomb. But the other disciple, who’d probably spent more time sprinting during recess, beats Peter to the emptiness. And he stops in his tracks. What he sees is astonishing. He sees…nothing. The grave clothes are empty. The linen wrappings that held the body hold nothing now. When Peter finally catches up to him, Peter doesn’t hesitate; he enters the empty tomb. He looks around, and sees, essentially, nothing. Just the same empty linen wrappings, the face cloth folded neatly to the side, with obviously no face contained within. The tomb is empty. The tomb holds nothingness. They look around, see the emptiness, and then…they go home. 

But Mary is astonished by the emptiness, bewildered by the emptiness, and fighting despair because of all of this emptiness. And so she sits by this emptiness and weeps. She stays with the emptiness. Even when the emptiness in the tomb is replaced with angels, she is distraught. Nothing can fill her heart except Jesus. Even when the emptiness in the tomb is filled with Jesus himself, she only sees the gardener. But when he fills the tomb with her name, when he says, “Mary,” she turns to him, she recognizes him, lunges toward him. Jesus is present, right there, right in front of her, simply in the saying of her name, but when she tries to hold on to him, Jesus tells her not to. It’s not time to hold on to him. It’s time to hold on to the emptiness now. And he sends her off, to spread the news of this emptiness to the rest of the disciples. He says, “tell them that I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” He instructs her to tell them about the empty entrance, the empty tomb, the empty grave clothes, he tells her to not cling to what is here in front of her, but to tell them that Jesus is leaving, ascending, joining with the Father who is now everyone’s Father, connecting back to God who is now everyone’s God. The first sermon after the resurrection is preached by a woman who preaches of emptiness. She carries emptiness to the disciples and proclaims this emptiness as the best of news. Jesus isn’t here. He’s risen. The tomb is empty. Alleluia. Where once my cup held the broken body of my Lord, now, it only holds emptiness. Alleluia.

Our story ends with a wondering, “what will happen next?” With an empty tomb, anything can happen. With a risen Savior, anything is possible. When first the emptiness brought Mary despair and brokenness, now it fills her with potential, possibility, the emptiness of the unknown. Doubt turns to wonder, and curiosity, and the future is just a cup, waiting to be filled. It’s all potential, now, a world empty and open, welcoming your contribution to the cup. 

The resurrection disrupts all of our expectations. Mary expects a tomb, filled with a body. She finds a tomb, holding nothing but emptiness. Everything is turned upside down. The whole paradigm has shifted. Suddenly emptiness is everything. 

Resurrection is everywhere there is emptiness. Resurrection is found in the empty cups and the empty seeds and the tombs, cracked open, empty. 

Let’s proclaim today “Doubter’s Sunday,” a day for us all to revel in our own emptiness, because that is where our salvation is found. So I encourage us all to take a moment to just hold emptiness today. Hold the empty. Be the cup that holds the empty tomb, the vessel that holds the absence that is the resurrection, the nothing that becomes, for us, everything. Because Jesus is ascending to be with God, so that all things can hold God’s presence, all things, especially the empty ones, can tell of the resurrection of Christ. Jesus has emptied the tomb and is now uniting with God so that we can now see that all things, even death, even emptiness, hold the presence of God. 

Let us run toward the emptiness - our unknown futures, our risky relationships, our aching hearts - with the wild abandon of the disciples. 

Let us sit and weep with the emptiness - our fear, our doubts, our uncertainties, our despair - with the present persistence of Mary Magdalene. 

“My cup holds emptiness now. Where shall I put it?” Koo asks.

Stillwater answers him, “Hold on to it. We can fill it up again and again.”

The world is filled with the empty tomb. It’s filled with the emptiness of God, which is, simply, the presence of the resurrected Christ. Let’s lean in to the emptiness. Let’s run toward the risen One. Who knows what we will find? If we look closely with wonder and expectation, even the nothing that we find will be a kind of resurrection.

“Is it true?” You ask. 

Does your cup hold emptiness now?

Alleluia. And amen. 

Thanks be to God.

To See the Face of God

Hear these words from the Gospel of Luke: 

44 It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, 45 for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. 46 Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”[e] When he had said this, he breathed his last.

47 The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said, “Surely this was a righteous man.” 48 When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. 49 But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.

On April 8th, 2024, just 10 days from now, in the middle of the day, the sun will disappear. At least, for those of us who still happen to be on this part of the continent. And the sun won’t really disappear; rather, it will be hidden from view by the moon, hence the name “solar eclipse.” And it won’t entirely disappear unless you find yourself in the “path of totality,” which cuts through the heart of the United States, up through Erie, PA and beyond. If you’re in that path of totality, the day will turn to night, and you’ll have the eerie experience of darkness when darkness isn’t supposed to be. 

Now there are all kinds of warnings out there about the dangers of this particular day. People might be so amazed by this phenomenon that they forget that staring at the sun can have dire consequences. In fact, according to NASA, “Except during the brief total phase of a total solar eclipse, when the Moon completely blocks the Sun’s bright face, it is not safe to look directly at the Sun without specialized eye protection for solar viewing. Viewing any part of the bright Sun through a camera lens, binoculars, or a telescope without a special-purpose solar filter secured over the front of the optics will instantly cause severe eye injury.” There will be one moment, and just one moment, when it will be safe to look directly at the sun, and that is precisely when it is completely hidden by the moon. Other than that on moment, we risk serious damage to our eyes.

How strange that we’ll be able to look at the sun only as soon as its light is blocked out.

Now according to the Gospel of Luke, it is precisely when Jesus dies that “darkness came over the whole land” and the sun stops shining. Some folks say, that it is at this precise moment that the astronomical phenomena of a solar eclipse also happened, although historians and scientists have yet to prove that this was the case. Nonetheless, Luke records a strange occurrence where the sun just disappears, something has blocked it, something has ceased its shine, something has blotted it out, precisely at the moment of Jesus’s death on the cross. And, precisely at the moment of Jesus’s death, precisely when the sun is blotted out, the centurion sees and understands what has happened, responding with praise to God. And, precisely at the moment of Jesus’s death, precisely when the sun is blotted out, “all the people who gathered to witness this sight saw what took place.” And precisely at the moment of Jesus’s death, precisely when the sun is blotted out, “all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching,” seeing. 

How strange the people are able to see as soon as the lights are turned out.

This reminds me of the story of Moses in Exodus 33. Moses has these meetings with God at the appropriately named “tent of meeting,” but the Israelites don’t get to go near it. In fact, they can’t even see it, for God is hidden by a “pillar of cloud.” Now when Moses asks God to show him God’s glory, God responds, in part, with “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” God then arranges it so that Moses is able to see God’s back, but God’s face “must not be seen.” And so, like the sun, the face of God cannot be seen without some dire consequences.

Another story, involving Moses, is one we’ve talked about recently. It’s that strange story of the poisonous snakes in the desert, and all these people who are getting bit and dying. So Moses erects a bronze image of a snake, puts it up high on a pole, and anyone who has been bitten and looks up at that image is instantly healed. Later, in John 3, Jesus brings up that story, and says, “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.” 

When the sun is blocked, it is then that we can look upon it.

When Jesus dies, it is then, in that darkness that we can see.

How strange it is that in order to find healing for ourselves, we must look upon the death of God. 

Can you hold all these stories together? Can you see the thread that connects them all?

When the sun’s rays are no longer seen, it is then that we can look upon it.

When the sun stops shining and Jesus dies, it is then that the centurion and the crowds and Jesus’s followers are able to see.

When God hides God’s face, revealing only God’s back, it is then that Moses can see a glimpse of who God is.

When we look upon the cross, when Jesus is lifted up, it is then that we can see eternal life.

It’s only in total darkness that we can bear to see the face of God.

This is what makes this Friday, “good.”

When we look upon the cross, we see the face of God.

In Elie Wiesel’s Nobel Prize winning masterpiece, Night, he tells the semi-autobiographic story of his experiences as a Jew during the Holocaust. He depicts horrific event after horrific event, almost to the point where you and the main character, become numb to them. The abuse is so terrible that you stop really seeing it. The stories are so horrifying that you must simply look away. Toward the end of the book, Wiesel is describing the hangings that would occur in the camp from time to time, often punishment for small infractions, but meant as a symbol to the rest of the prisoners of what happens when you do not toe the line. They would be be gathered into the courtyard for these hangings, forced to watch until the punished died, and then forced to line up and walk past their bodies as they hung from the gallows. One day, two men and one small boy were sentenced to death. The soldiers kicked out the chairs from under them, and the two men, being heavier, died within a few seconds. The boy, however, too light for the rope to fully snap his neck, hung there, struggling between life and death, for over a half an hour. As the prisoners marched in line to witness these deaths, one man calls out in despair, “Where is merciful God, where is he? For God’s sake, where is God?” And Eliezer looked to this small struggling boy and responds, “Where is he? Here he is. He is hanging here on the gallows.”

You want to see the face of God and live? You must enter the darkness. You must let your heart break. You must be taken to the edge of your faith. You must wait until the day turns into night before you can see. It’s only in total darkness that we can bear to see the face of God. Come to the cross. Enter the darkness. 

Today we are in the path of totality. 

Look directly at the Son. 

Thanks be to God.