Witnesses to life

A reflection for Easter Day, 2009 based on Mark 16:1-8

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land… Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”… Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. Mark 15: 33-37

The world is full of nails: big nails and little nails.

The world is full of people who cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

During the last few weeks, I have heard all sorts of stories which witness to

death:

· The ongoing war in Iraq. How many years ago is it now that American, Australian and British troops invaded Iraq? Before the troops arrived, there were wholesale slaughter, oppression and human rights abuses. But there has been no end to violence: both Iraqis and their liberators are still being killed daily. Just recently two more Australians were added to the list of casualties. Thousands of innocent people have died, and are still dying. And the nails that are used are patriotism, religion, democracy, might is right, military technology.

· Our headlines have been dominated over the last few months by what we have all come to call “the global financial crisis”. What were very recently proclaimed as booming economies are now poised on the threshold of collapse. The thousands of Americans forced from their homes by mortgage foreclosures are being joined daily by more and more people across the world who are losing their jobs. And, while payouts to executives are in the spotlight, there is yet to be an end to million dollar handshakes. And the nails that are used are greed, self-interest, lack of conscience, capitalism.

· We seemed to have stopped worrying about asylum seekers. But the number of people living in refugee camps around the world is still in the millions. That’s right, millions. Africans dying each month of HIV/AIDS are counted in tens of thousands. There are millions upon millions of people who have never seen clean water in their entire lives. And yet politicians ignore these realities, deny these realities. And the wars that continue around the world bear testimony to politics at the expense of compassion. And the nails are expediency, politics, self-justification, self-preservation.

· How many Australians do you think died on our roads in the past twelve months? In the last few years the figure has been around 1600 people killed per annum. That is more than 7 deaths per hundred thousand people. And I don’t have any figures on the numbers of people injured. One thousand six hundred lives lost. How many families is that? How many children orphaned, parents childless? How many friends devastated, workmates shattered, emergency workers numbed? And the nails are “It’s not my family”, “I don’t know them”, “It won’t happen to me”, “Let’s have one more for the road”.

If I pause for just one brief moment, there are so many witnesses to death that I feel overwhelmed. Witnesses to death: my TV screen and my radio and my newspaper are full of them, and if they’re not, they should be. And I want to cry out, “My God, my God.”

Where are the witnesses to life?

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome … went to the tomb… As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.” Mark 16: 1-6

He has been raised? He is not here? Where is he, then?

· The story is told of a German concentration camp during the Second World War. I wish I could remember the details properly, but the story goes something like this: There was trouble in the camp, and in reprisal, the German authorities decided that ten prisoners should be taken out and shot. One of those selected broke down and wept for his wife who would soon be widowed and his young children who would soon be fatherless. A young clergyman stepped from the crowd and said, “Take me instead of this man. I have no wife or children. Take me instead.” And there in the concentration camp was the risen Christ, witnessing to life.

· The renowned Russian author Alexander Solzhenitsyn wrote of his despair in the communist gulags. He told of the day he could take no more and put down his shovel and slumped to sit in the dirt knowing that at any moment a guard would notice his actions and would come and shoot him or club him to death with his own shovel. Another man stepped from the work detail and, saying nothing, squatted in front of Solzhenitsyn. After a moment, the man picked up a stick and drew in the dirt a cross. Then he stood up and returned to work. And Solzhenitsyn, with that cross in his heart, stood up and returned to work too. And there, in the gulag, was the risen Christ, witnessing to life.

· I heard a story about community gardens, and this account of how we might deal with those who come to us from elsewhere: A hospital in Melbourne has a community garden, a place where patients and their families can go to be surrounded by growing things, where they too can touch and feel life in all its greenness. Some time ago, an Afghani family came to the hospital from one of our detention centres; one of their small children was seriously ill. At one point, they were shown the community garden. The father was given a pair of secateurs and, without prompting, he began to prune the roses. The mother was offered some cuttings of basil and a bulb of garlic, and she began to weep. Seven years in a detention centre, and this was her first opportunity to hold these simple yet sacred symbols of her former life. And there in the hospital garden was the risen Christ, witnessing to life.

· How did you celebrate Valentine’s Day this year? One of the large charismatic churches on the northside sent some of its women to visit the sex workers in the Valley on Valentine’s Day. They didn’t go armed with bibles, or gospel tracts, or four steps for giving your life to Christ. Instead they took foot scrub and nail polish and massage oil and mascara, and those women spent their evening giving facials and neck massages and manicures and pedicures to the sex workers of the city. And there on the street was the risen Christ, witnessing to life.

· A month or so ago, an acquaintance of ours was diagnosed with terminal cancer. In a short space of time he was hospitalised and his death was obviously imminent. He was visited by a number of people including a young newly married couple. After they had left, he told anyone who would listen, “She’s going to have a baby.” Although the couple had told no-one, he was right. A week or so after his death, the grand announcement of the pregnancy was made. Even as he faced death, our acquaintance recognised the presence of new life. There, in the hospital ward, was the risen Christ, witnessing to life.

Where do you go for good news stories? Where do you hear stories of resurrection life, of the green shoots of life pushing themselves through the black earth? Not just happy, happy stories, but stories of adversity confronted, of pain and loss turned to joy and delight. When we hear those stories, what do we do with them? Do we share them? Do we hasten to spread the good news of life beyond death? Are we witnesses to life?

Let me share with you some words written by a member of this congregation, shared with her permission. It is a poem entitled “An Easter dream”:

“Wipe away your tears of sadness,
Sweet child of God,
For the golden sun has risen again
This Easter morn.

“Look no more at my tomb of humanity,
My brokenness has truly become whole.
Death’s finality has been conquered.

“Release your earthly burdens with mine.
Go forth with purpose, strive to new heights.
Proclaim the wonderment of the resurrection.”

Laura Brown 2009

The world is full of nails. Big nails and little nails. But the world is also full of witnesses to life. The stories go on and on and on: witnesses to the truth that life will always overcome death, that resurrection is God’s answer to the nails of this world. Story after story tells us that the tomb is empty.

Christ is risen.

Christ is risen.

Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Amen.