Palm Sunday Sermon, On the Silent Cry, April 10th, 2022

Reflection:  On the Silent Cry… 

‘The hope whose ground is not in certainty but in its abyss, its void; …

God who is not the winner but prefers the midnight of hunger…”

(From The Silent Cry by Dorothee Soelle) 

On this day of Palms and Passion, the Sunday of Christ’s Paradox before entering into the holy week of the cross and Easter, Jesus rides on a donkey on the road to Jerusalem, in a story mixing exultation and exhaustion (among the people), glory for the nation-saving King and the suffering of the servant for all (that is Jesus). 

I imagine that if these ongoing juxtapositions of the opposite realities of the life of Jesus had happened in my life, it would be exhausting. Think of Covid. One day, we feel that the end of this long pandemic tunnel is in view, but the next day that hope meets quick disappointment. The tunnel’s end, alas, is just another bend, one of the many curves of this long, winding passage. The light from the opposite end is still so dim. The repetition of hoping and letting go, “almost there” and “not yet”, further parches the dryness of our souls and deepens the weariness. 

 

How dry is it? Here’s my story to tell: Just after New Year’s, I finally called the piano tuner to come to our house and check our Yamaha upright piano which we bought 2 years ago. When he was almost finished tuning, thinking that I would hear some compliment like “It’s a good piano.”, I asked quite inquisitively, “How is the piano?” The tuner’s face was not as cheerful as I would wish, and he said sternly, “Your piano is suffering. The humidity reader I put on the piano cannot even read how dry it is in here. It cannot read when humidity is below 15 percent. This is the driest home I have visited this month…” I was so shocked. What he meant was that the living room, where I was, is… a desert! A desert to both the piano and humans. 

 

A humidifier in a Manitoban Winter home is just like the spiritual nourishment we need for the dryness of our souls through this Covid desert. 

What today’s Gospel suggests, the spiritual nourishment we need for the dryness of our souls through this Covid desert, or for any other kind of spiritual desert we go through, is that Jesus offers the mystery of God’s paradox, and shows us how the contradictions of life’s betrayal and blessings can be - are indeed, part of God’s invitation for us. He’s saying that the paradox of palms and passion is the path!

 

What?

That exultation and exhaustion in repetition is not just a curse.

What?

What is important is our attitude, more than how rocky, parched, dry, or rough the road is. We don’t want to be on this rocky road, this endless tunnel. But see Jesus. He rides on a donkey on that road, at the pace of the colt which shares the burden with its mother, slow and patient and steady, the long road to Jerusalem, where the tombstone would never be removed without a miracle, and where Easter must bloom like the crocus in Isaiah’s prophecy, in the middle of a parched land, over-run by drought.

 

Some months after our dear member Linda Murray died, her partner, Gerry, called me and asked me to visit and help him give away some of her books in the house. Among many books, I found The Silent Cry, written by Dorothee Solle (explain about the author briefly) on Linda’s bookshelf. Her signature on the first page (show it on powerpoint) was special. Linda treated her books well, leaving every book to look brand-new.

 

Linda… I remember her through three unforgettable episodes. First one: One Sunday after service, she emerged from the assembled congregants, stopped in front of me, and said “Hi, I am Linda Murray. I’ve been quiet so you may not know me, but now I would like to introduce myself…”

 

The second scene was after one of the Advent services in 2017. (One month later, in 2018, she passed away.) She was looking up at me, her eyes overflowing with tears, and she said something like, “I cannot foresee what would come next, but I will be away for a while…” That time, I was told that she, the survivor of cancer long before, was suffering from the side-effects of compound medications.

 

The last scene was at a coffee shop - - our last visit. Linda opened the door and came in. She could not hide her exhaustion; she was visibly weaker, not even able to eat properly. But we had scheduled a meeting for coffee, so she dragged her tired body, out of curiosity and commitment to someone she cared about, and she was so hungry. I do not remember what we talked about that day, but I do remember how she taught me something words alone cannot convey. It was grace. That incredible human quality of honouring, being driven by conviction, commitment, and care even for just one friend. I firmly believe it is close to, it resembles the divine quality Jesus must have shown on the road to Jerusalem, the road of paradox, exultation and exhaustion, fulfilment and hunger - the profound hunger that does not come just from physical need but the deepest longing for communion within.

 

That’s the true Easter that passes on generation after generation, as long as God still creates new things amongst us and in creation on earth, (like a crocus as the sign of spring, still surrounded by melting snow), and as long as we plant the invincible name called Hope (which Emily Dickinson sings in her poem, “I sow my pageantry / In May —”). I remember, in December, a month before Linda departed from us, I asked her what message she would like to hear from the church, and she answered, “Hope”. At the time, a certain word-arrow pierced my brain at lightning speed which I didn’t say out loud — “How can anyone find hope from someone else‘s words, when it can only be generated from within by their own self…”

Crocus Damascenus Herbert  (Crocus in the desert)

But Ha Na, my soul, doubtful Thomas, you should know that Hope abounds, you can hear it, touch it, embrace it, convince yourself of it, when friends, family, creations are able to share it. Everyone has a piece of it, and we need each other. We can hear words of hope from each other. We definitely can hold it high with each other. We can expect it, express it, when we intentionally put our small pieces together to make the whole circle of hope, and therefore, hope abounds. It becomes the seed for us to plant in the ground. Hope ripens when we can share it. Hope breeds more hope. 

 

Here are a few quotes from the book The Silent Cry about the paradox, the mystery, the hope of this day, of these times. Hope is distant, and at the same time it is also near, within our reach.

 

‘The hope whose ground is not in certainty but in its abyss, its void; …

God who is not the winner but prefers the midnight of hunger…”

(From The Silent Cry by Dorothee Soelle)

 

From the chapter, The Paradox

“One thinks of such expressions as ‘darklight’, ‘sadjoyous’ ‘bittersweet’, ‘eloquent silence’, ‘filled emptiness’, ‘acquired dispossession.’”

 

’Other bold word images are “whispering silence,’ “fertile desert,” “soundless tone,” and “silent cry”.’

 

“A song of the contemporary Dutch community-based movement contains this stanza: 

 

The desert shall bloom, it shall laugh and rejoice, 

Water shall run and it shall glisten, 

The thirsty come and drink

The desert shall drink and it shall bloom.” 

 

This is the traditional mystical image of the desert… inspired by Isaiah. 

 

There is a poem, originating in the circle around the mystic, Meister Eckhart, and passed on anonymously, in which paradox comes in the form of verbs: 

 

“O my soul, go out; God, come in! 

When I flee from you, you come to me.

When I lose myself, I find you…” 

 

Fleeing and coming, losing and finding become one process. 

Palm and Passion, 

Exultation and exhaustion, 

The cross and Easter… 

Become one process with God. 

Easter sermon: Easter, 3 AM, 5 AM, 9AM… and in May (John 20:11-18) April 17th, 2022

 Scripture: John 20:11-18

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Reflection:  Easter, 3 AM, 5 AM, 9 AM… and in May

 

— Easter: 3 AM — 

 

It is extremely significant that Easter did not come at daybreak. 

 

The rising of the Human One of God was not synchronized with the rising of the astronomical sun of our heliocentric interplanetary system.

 

The light of day did not cause Easter. 

 

The light of day only revealed to human sight the Easter event that had already occurred “while it was still dark” (v. 1).   (Charles G. Adams)

 

Our greatest blessings often come to us when we can barely see them - when we have no reasonable right to expect them. Sometimes there is no empirical, political, social, or economic cause for hope, but still, we hope. We don’t always see the goodness, the blessings in which we believe; we persist in believing more strongly in what we have not seen than the things we have seen. Sometimes we look for love and justice and cannot find them; but we still love and serve people who do not love us or seek justice for any but themselves. Sometimes people will think we have no reason or right to rejoice, but we still rejoice. All through the night of doubt and sorrow, eternal life is affirmed. Throughout the night, so dark for us, everlasting love is demonstrated. The ongoing presence, in our work and ministry, of the ancestors of our faith is made possible by God. The dawn can light the sky with its unique beauty, because the significance of Easter has already bloomed during the night. Easter does not come at daybreak. It calls us before the light breaks, still in the dark. We can sing Hallelujah, and sing it quietly to our hearts, to God, even when everyone else is asleep, at midnight, at 3 AM, at 5 AM… still in the quiet, dark abyss.

 

— Easter. 5 AM — 

 

“But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet.” (V. 11)

 

The tombstone is already rolled away. The body of Jesus which should be there, inside the tomb (not the two angels - regardless of how breathtaking they might look), IF EVERYTHING WAS ALL RIGHT, is gone. Then, Mary figures out what must have happened: “Somebody came and carried away Jesus. EVERYTHING IS NOT ALL RIGHT!”

 

— Easter. 5:30 AM — 

 

What we see with our own eyes does not always show us the truth and lend us the right information. In the Easter account we read today, Mary wrongly assumes the human one she sees standing in the tomb is a gardener (because Jesus must be dead; He can’t be standing, alive!) who must have the missing information to help her understand why the body of Jesus is gone. But only the voice of the gardener tells her the truth — the human one is not a gardener, but the risen Jesus — , and leads to understanding, when “Jesus said to her, “Mary!””. Somehow, her sight fails to let Mary recognize the Risen One by seeing, but the voice she’s hearing, opens her spiritual eyes and heart. 

 

The light of day did not cause Easter. 

 

Easter faith does not require the aid of light, of dawn or day. 

 

The daybreak on the first Easter morning is not cause – it is correlation. 

 

Today’s Easter story teaches us that faith understands that Easter is not just one day of the year. Easter is always with us, most powerful in those miraculous moments, the moments of decisions and understanding that open our heart by hearing, by honouring. We can honour the presence of Easter’s activity, even when the daylight to aid our seeing, foreseeing, searching and seeking the evidence to believe is so weak and dim.

 

Easter is Every Awe-Struck Time of Eternal Revolt/Resurrection of love, kindness, justice, compassion. 

 

Then will we go together to climb the hill of death and walk down to the valley of oppression to roll away the rocks that hold our beloved ones, our neighbours in tombs, knowing that nights are, and powerfully can be, and ought to be, the times of Easter, not needing to wait until dawn, but while darkness surrounds us still.

 

— Easter. 9 AM — 

 

Two days before the “worst blizzard in decades” arrived here, in Manitoba, Min-Goo and I went out for a walk on the Seine River trail we adore. (We just do it, whenever we can!) 

 

The signs of Manitoban spring, beautiful and fresh in its unique way which makes my heart race and renew itself, were everywhere. As soon as we opened the door and went out, we heard that the songbirds had come back. I could recognize five or six different kinds of song tones and style. They never let go of the golden chance to sing whenever the Sun is higher and warms the earth. That morning, a raccoon visited and Jah-bi and I enjoyed watching him doing some secret thing on top of the fence, which had been exclusively a squirrels-only highway. (Only the raccoon knows what it was doing there alone.) The geese were busy too. On the trail, each goose couple was so focused on gaining weight and asserting their territories, one of them, the male one, stood right in the middle of the trail and never moved, no intention to give way for me, and hissed at me, when I naively asked “Who are you?”. We soon noticed it was not only wild animals who were busy, but the trees, looking dead, were displaying the energy of Easter all over… For example, snow was slowly and gradually melting everywhere, but there was the significance of Easter around the trunk of each tree! We saw every tree had its own circle, a ring of no-snow on the ground around them! (Show the picture) The Spring circles under the trees were everywhere! We asked, “What is that?” The whole woods became a tree circle polka-dot skirt… 

Obviously, the only answer that can resolve this discrepancy of the different speeds of snow melting — between the no-snow circles around each tree and the rest of the forest —  is to understand that there must be astounding activity going on between the trees and the earth, even if we might not see those Easter activities in our eyes’ sight! We learned in our high school science classes that every movement of any object, any being, (in other words, when it “works”), creates energy - the “work” causes heat! Even in this cold, even if it is unnoticeably, by human eyes, gradual and slow, the trees have already started their thermal activity - - Easter activity - - changing their surroundings and themselves with heat and light. In the meantime, God’s love, the cosmic love, powerfully flows within the body of the earth, through the trees from root to branch, through rivers, birds, raccoons geese, … It makes me wonder, “If we are like a tree, are we creating snow-free circles around us, God’s Easter activity zone, releasing love, changing the world, recording the signs of spring? The Creator’s glory?”

 

Easter. In May. 

 

Another thing I enjoy these days, other than gossiping about wild animals, is watching the show, Dickinson, on Apple TV, Emily Dickinson’s coming-of-age story, starring Hailee Steinfeld. I have a favourite Dickinson poem, and I have chosen to share this poem with you on this Easter Sunday, because when I first read the poem, I could find a gardener, a tomb, Easter, and the master of the Easter Pageantry… The Risen Jesus as a cosmic song of God’s perpetual love. 

 

All these my banners be.

I sow my pageantry

In May —

It rises train by train —

Then sleeps in state again —

My chancel — all the plain

Today.

 

To lose — if one can find again —

To miss — if one shall meet —

The Burglar cannot rob — then —

The Broker cannot cheat.

So build the hillocks gaily

Thou little spade of mine

Leaving nooks for Daisy

And for Columbine —

You and I the secret

Of the Crocus know —

Let us chant it softly —

"There is no more snow!"

 

To him who keeps an Orchis' heart —

The swamps are pink with June.

 

May the mystery of Easter, which is wild and transforming even while it is still dark, gift you, accompany you, touch you, strengthen you, and may we recognize God’s assurance that we will, you will, sow Easter pageantry in our own May time.

Hymn:  VU 186    Now the Green Blade Rises

Fawn Lily, Roberts Memorial Park, Yellow Point. Photo credit: Linda Crane