The Table of Grace - 3 Jeremiah 31.1-6; John 20.1-18
In the last week, I have encountered two different people who offered to pray for me. Both of them are living rough, outside, troubled, sometimes shouting at no one I can see, clothing disheveled, hair a mess, one shoe off, one shoe on. The first one remembers my name from being in worship March 1 and before that I had helped him find the food bank at Family Works. I don’t have an easy name to remember or pronounce. Every time he sees me, he says, “Tiare, God loves you. I’m going to pray for you. Jesus died for you.” In that tone of voice. I saw him this past Tuesday when he did his usual greeting, asked when we might have church again and could he have a Bible, please. I asked him not to shout as it scares people, especially children in the neighborhood. His name is Robert.
The other gentleman I met this past Wednesday. I was heading to Walgreens from the church for potato chips, I know pandemic eating, and then picking up a fresh salad at Lula’s, a small cafe on Interlake at 45th still allowed to be open for to-go orders. As I waited to order my salad, for about $10, I thought, “well, why don’t I get a second salad and give it to the guy sitting on the bench outside the apartment building I walked by? If I’m spending $10 bucks on me how about I spend $10 bucks on him? What if he’s gone, what if he hates salad, what if he starts yelling? Will the apartment dwellers get upset?” I got him a salad. I walked back by the bench, he was still there with his shopping cart unloaded, his clothes piled neatly, as if he were re-packing for a trip. “Here you go,”. “Is it hot food?” “No its a green salad, with black beans, good protein.” “Well, God bless you, I’m going pray for you. Thank you so much. My name is Gene.” As I walked away, he yelled, “Hey, I’ve got some bananas, want one?” I looked back, he had a string of 4 or 5 waving in the breeze. “No thanks, you keep them. God bless you too.” The Table of Grace
Whenever this happens, I shake my head, maybe to clear it, and say to myself, “Jesus, is this you? What am I doing? How could this be You?” It’s absurd, unbelievable, crazy even. Yet, Matthew 25 and all that. Hmmm.
On the first day of the week, in the dark, she went out to the tomb. She was numb with grief, couldn’t put a whole sentence together. The violence she had witnessed against the one she loved seared her mind, her heart, wounding her body, her tears. Every step was heavy. She wasn’t even sure why she was going there, her actions crazed by her sorrow. “Ah no, they’ve a taken Him away. NO, no, ‘ she cried out as she ran back to tell her friends. Her words sparked a race, looking in, the other two saw only cloth folded neatly on the cold stone slab where Jesus laid.
Mary Magdalene stumbled to the side, unable to swallow or even breathe. Her brain went flat, as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. “Woman, why are you weeping?” Two angels sitting straight backed, wings tucked neatly behind them, they spoke in unison. “They’ve taken Him away and I don’t know where He is. How can I grieve without a body?” She was so far gone it didn’t matter to her she was chatting with angels.
She turned, there was someone else she didn’t recognize.
“Woman, why are you weeping?” He said gently.
“If you know where He is, tell me. I want to care for His body as He cared for me,” She whispered. “Mary.” She fell to the ground.
All it took was for Him to say, “Hey Sweetie. Here I am. Do not be afraid. I am with you always. Remember? How we talked that over? I promised I’d be with you always?”
she looked up and said, “Rabbi, Teacher, its You. Oh my God. It’s really You.”
He said, “Go be My messenger. Tell them.”
She got up and ran like a wild woman, skirt lifted so as not to trip, hair flying out all around her.
“I have seen the Lord!”
Her first sermon, their first sermon, the apostle to the apostles. A woman. The Table of Grace
It was not only a tomb. It is a womb of new life. Hope’s midwife, Mary Magdalene. She saw, she believed, she spoke, told this truth. “He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.” Is it true? The unspoken question lingers.
Did the God of the cosmos disrupt the order of His own created nature to raise up this one we know as Jesus? This gospel writer says yes, even from the very beginning: “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. We have beheld His only glory.” Now at death’s defeat, The Word is going back to the Father to strengthen the tether of humanity to the heart of God. Jesus manifests the truth of the resurrection - our home is in the heart of God. For God so loves the whole wide world...
THIS TRUTH grabs hold of us, deep in our souls, stakes a claim as final sacrifice. We are His and He is ours. Now and forever. It is both risk and promise to submit your will to God’s love command. Robust doubts clamor to be heard. A shake of the head, “Is this You, Jesus?” Our disbelief pushes against the borders of our imaginations. Are they big enough to reveal God? Not hampered by finitude, God shadows our faith with tattered love, the cross wounds still borne, Eternity’s Magnolia, marred, yet beautiful. He’s alive, go tell someone. The Table of Grace.