April 8, 2007: Just How Credible A Witness Do We Need?
Luke 24:1-12 Isaiah 65:17-25, Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Eileen Parfrey -- Springwater Presbyterian Church

My friend, Julia, heard Franciscan priest Richard Rohr last weekend and reports that he says we can only "get" this God stuff if we've done it badly. Rohr thinks that it's better to be the prodigal brother because, until we squander our money, energy, and time on what does not feed, we won't know for sure there is something that feeds us better. Only when we've come to that dead end can we humbly go home to ask for what does feed. Or, in terms of our Lenten series on healing, we can't be healed until we know we need to be healed. "Salvation" comes from "salve," to heal, so salvation comes to those in need of healing, resurrection comes only to the dead.

Hearing Rohr speak reminded Julia of a woman in her congregation, already in frail health when she arrived. One Sunday after church, the woman collapsed at a restaurant. The waitress had first aid training and there was an EMT in the next booth, so they kept her going until the ambulance came. She was already intubated and fighting for life when Julia arrived in the ER. Even unconscious, the woman would not stop struggling and let go of the body. When her family came, they had her taken off life support, but rather than die the woman, through sheer force of will, woke up. Julia remarked to the woman's doctor on this resurrection-she who was dead is alive! The doctor, also part of her congregation, turned and said, "But she has not been changed."

That's it, friends. I've tried to find a definition of "resurrection" for you that isn't Biblish, something that will make sense for how you live in 21st century Oregon. Here are the fruits of my labors (so far). Resurrection means getting to start over, being given another chance to get it right this time. Sort of like when you learn to ride a bike, and you fall but get up and start peddling again. But resurrection also means that the past doesn't matter. Maybe you skinned your knee when you fell off the bike, but in the excitement of finally balancing and peddling at the same time, the sting is OK. It still happened, whatever "it" is. The divorce, the words you wish you hadn't said, that your mother's favorite vase broke. The past is still the past. The consequences will still need to be lived out, but the implications no longer hold you. In other words, resurrection means that shame is unnecessary. Resurrection means you aren't stuck, that you discover your options aren't "either/or." Marry this person or be single and lonely the rest of your life; get into this school or learn to flip burgers. Resurrection means having options. Single for now but not lonely; do an apprenticeship instead of school if you don't want to ask if they want fries with that.

When I talked about healing relationships the Sunday before last, I mentioned five stages to forgiveness, similar to the stages of grief: denial (didn't hurt), blame (it's your fault), bargaining (I'll forgive if . . .), depression (it's all my fault), acceptance. Think of resurrection as the fifth stage, the change that comes with the acceptance. Not "there was no death." The relationship was frightening, terrible words were said, unbelievable actions were taken. Worship attendance is down, volunteers are hard to find. Pollution is killing fish and forests, polar caps are melting. Resurrection doesn't mean denying the facts or even the past, it means "I can accept this because I have been changed."

The Greek word for repentance is metanoia, meaning change. Change is part of resurrection, but it's more than learning from the past. Death is necessary. It's not a pleasant experience, as the term "dead end" helps one to believe. Part and parcel of this death is discouragement, hopelessness, what's the point, no other options, stuck, nothing. Similar to the depression stage of forgiveness, death is the stage that says nothing will ever be any different. But "dead end" as in "nothing else after this" is not the way of creation. Salvation's take on death is more like compost. I love compost. Compost is closer to the messiness of resurrection. Literally, compost is stinky, some runniness in involved as part of the process, and it is definitely not esthetically pleasing. No longer vegetable peels and coffee grounds, but something on its way to becoming dirt which becomes tomatoes, or maybe chicken feed which become eggs which become breakfast. Compost is transubstantiation on a biological level-conversion of one thing into another. Resurrection is our spiritual compost. What is dead, past being useful, changes form and gets a new life. What we call in Biblish, resurrection.

The frail woman in Julia's congregation lived another three months after willing herself awake from her restaurant collapse. It was no resurrection. Her life, in fact, was harder and more painful. But as Richard Rohr says, we only get this God stuff if we've done it badly. That's the thing about salvation. Why would I ask for healing if I didn't know I was sick? If I think things are just fine the way they are, why would I want "new" life? We recognize resurrection because we know our death.

No, friends, if it's resurrection we are changed. The tomb is empty, and whether or not you believe the flesh and bones were literally made alive again, resurrection means more than "the body is gone." Anyone willing to put up with disgusting activity can empty a grave. But that's more believable than "what was dead is now alive." The flesh and bones are gone because they have been changed. A person can deny loss, brokenness, sickness, even death. "Doesn't hurt!" That's no different than tossing your food scraps into the landfill or grinding them in the garbage disposal. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of the food chain, no further life or benefit. But if you take that same food scrap and acknowledge the worth of even its death, transubstantiation of composting means new life comes from even that death. Stink and runniness notwithstanding.

Death stinks. It's messy, and it's not convenient. But resurrection means we can ask a more pertinent question: is there healing? You remember, "salvation." A liberation theologian would say I'm over-psychologizing the subject, that resurrection means things are fair. That's what "acceptance" means: justice where there was once inequity. In relations between individuals, resurrection becomes mutuality. Rather than "me and my pain" the relationship becomes "what's good for us and how can we show compassion to others?" On a global scale, resurrection means the "haves" don't need to act out of fear that they've "gotta get theirs," while the "have nots" don't need to act out of fear of scarcity. Everyone acts as if there is enough as long as we share. On a congregational level, resurrection means an outward focus. Rather than passively accepting what comes their way, the congregation focuses on God in worship and on people outside the congregation in service.

I don't know just how credible a witness you're going to need, but resurrection means healing, and healing means more than just moving out of the tomb. Of course you will do that! But to heal, you yourself will be a witness. And your witness will be credible because you have experienced resurrection in your own flesh and bones, in your own life. Perhaps you are the most credible witness you'll ever have.

I don't know just how credible a witness you'll need, but resurrection is not something we get to be in charge of. Resurrection is not something we accomplish. But neither does it mean we can stay put. If it's resurrection, we gotta get out of the tomb. The fabulously good news is that it is God who does the work. Even Jesus could not leave the grave on his own. It is God who triumphs, God who defeats even the worst thing in the world, even death. Hallelujah!