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Champagne!March 23, 2008 Easter Sunday When I was a young boy, we lived in a small cluster of homes that was located adjacent to large tracts of forest and undeveloped land. I’m imagining that 45 or more years later, that wilderness has experienced the bite of the bulldozer and the transformation of suburbanization. But back then, it was a young boy’s mysterious kingdom for exploration and discovery. Our small community was populated with many children who would spontaneously organize the typical games and intrigues that kids conjure when left to themselves. These were more innocent times, at least it now seems so to me; parents more trusting of the larger environment, and children thought safe enough to roam far and wide so long as the deadlines of lunch, dinner and dark were observed. It seems our culture has lost most of that innocence in the intervening decades, and now I wonder if ever we were as safe as everyone assumed. But I had a wonderful time exploiting that freedom, and nothing terribly threatening ever happened to me, although, on one occasion the community became mobilized thinking something bad had befallen one of my young companions. As I recall, we were all playing at Bobby’s house and had decided on the old standby of hide and seek – our rules allowed us to go anywhere we could reach within the time it took the person who was “it” to count out loud to one hundred. We could hide in the house, around the house, or in the dense woods erupting at the edge of the lawn. I don’t remember who was “it”, but not Bobby or me, so off we all scattered when the word “go!” was shouted out. Eventually everyone was rounded up except Bobby, and the way we played, once you were caught you joined the hunt to look for the others. Well, we couldn’t find Bobby and finally yelled out that we gave up, he won, to come on in – but he never came. Initially we shrugged it off, thinking he must have wandered into some other activity. But when dinnertime came round, and his mother asked for him, we told her that we had been playing hide and seek and Bobby had not returned. She called out from the front porch of the house in the manner of the mothers in our neighborhood when a deadline had arrived, but still no sign of Bobby. She went inside and retrieved Bobby’s father to whom we retold our story. The worry set in then and his dad began shouting out Bobby’s name circling the perimeter of the property while his mom called up some nearby homes to which he may have wandered off. No luck. No Bobby. No one had seen him since he had gone into hiding. The sun had not quite set, so Bobby’s parents suggested we form into little teams, walk the neighborhood and explore the darkening woods. By this time other parents became involved and pretty soon most of the neighbors were out and about shouting Bobby’s name. Some had retrieved flashlights. I don’t know how many minutes or hours elapsed by the time his dad decided to call the police. As he dialed the number he happened to casually lift the drape of material hanging to the floor on the small table holding the phone and there was Bobby fast asleep. As his father told the tale, he yelled out, “Bobby!,” to which the bleary-eyed boy responded, “I thought you guys would never find me.” Well, Bobby’s dad hoisted him up on his shoulders came outside and called everyone in to spread the word that Bobby was found. As I recall, there was a lot of laughing and crying and carrying on. No anger or irritation anywhere, just great good feeling that Bobby was alright. Someone exclaimed that it was a miracle, which, of course, it wasn’t, since all that had happened was that Bobby had awakened from a secret nap. Even so, Bobby’s recovery led to a spontaneous community barbeque. Everyone went home to retrieve something that could be shared with others and we had a fine party. From my distance now many years later, I’m thinking we wound up celebrating a lot of things that night, important things that went unnamed but surely felt. Things like family, community, life, love. Hopeful things, powerful things. Things redolent with meaning. I had my first taste of champagne that night. I knew from other experiences that our community was not perfect, that life wasn’t perfect, that people weren’t perfect. I knew some of my friends at the barbeque had major problems; Tom’s father punished him in ways he didn’t want to talk about; Dora’s mother was really sick; and Charlie’s dad was an alcoholic. Families fought, some broke apart. For that matter, I had my own emerging issues, even though I couldn’t have said so at the time. Still, that night, nearly everyone I knew in the neighborhood spontaneously showed up, all because Bobby had been found, at least that was the excuse everyone gave. This small memory has stuck with me over the years. I suppose that has something to do with a child’s experience of genuine fear preceding the relief. But then, too, the party was memorable. Very memorable, because it hadn’t been planned and because it was really joyful and it lasted well into the night. In fact, I think it’s the party that prompts the memory. I suppose other neighbors have long forgotten the episode, but on at least one impressionable young mind, a lasting image has remained. I think Bobby’s misbegotten nap provided the occasion for the neighborhood to touch that transcendent, hopeful place born from love. Now, friends, as a matter of scale, the stories about Bobby and Jesus reside on opposite ends of the spectrum. And after all, Jesus is the reason for all the hullabaloo today. Jesus’ story is far from sentimental. Bobby’s invites that description, although, I’m quite aware the outcome could have been very different and I could have a very different tale to tell. As it is, it turned into a celebration story which is why I think it has dogged me this week as I’ve been brooding on resurrection. Because, after all, celebration is the name of the game today. Glorious celebration that, as you can tell, we have planned to a fare-thee-well. We’ve spared no expense, gathered up wonderful talent, chosen celebration music, opened wide the doors, cleaned the place from top to bottom, assembled a wonderful feast downstairs for the whole community (to which you are happily invited), arranged a great party for the children, all in the name of one who was thought gone for good, but then shockingly, experienced as miraculously alive. In his case, the word miracle has resonance given that the memory of that event dates from 2,000 years ago and we’re still making a great commotion about it. Granted, our celebration isn’t exactly spontaneous. You had to prepare to be here today. You marked it off in your calendars: March 23rd, Easter, 11a.m., Christ Church, corner of Park and 60th, New York City. Best to arrive a little early. Hope it doesn’t go overlong because of reservations or other plans for the day. Actually, I’ve been coming round to the idea that we don’t celebrate nearly well enough. If we actually took to heart what we say happened 2,000 years ago, I’m thinking we’d find ourselves with just a bit more of that spontaneous spirit my childhood community had when Bobby came out from under the table. Because by way of comparison, what we say today is that somehow the real Jesus came out from the tomb to get God’s real new creation under way. Now I know that sounds like gibberish to a lot of people, but take Easter away and there’s no Christ Church, no New Testament, no Christianity. We would hardly remember Jesus given that most everything we know about him comes from writings sprung from resurrection consciousness. There would be no, “Love God with all of your heart, soul, mind and strength; love your neighbor as yourself.” No Good Samaritan, no Sermon on the Mount. Yank resurrection out of the world’s lexicon and it is very difficult to imagine human civilization in the year of our Lord, 2008, or even say such an outlandish thing. There’s hardly a human venue of activity that remains untouched from the story we tell today when you stop to think about it. Even those who think resurrection speaks hokum would have to admit that if not fact, it had astonishing power as fiction. This is where I’m wondering if our celebration falls short. You know, following Easter all the clergy tend to want to sigh with relief and go on vacation. But as N. T. Wright [1] suggests maybe this is a festival that should last the whole week where every day begins with champagne before morning prayer. In fact, I suggest that you take me up on this if it won’t get you into trouble. As a mark of the season of celebration stock up on champagne and every morning of this coming week hoist a glass into the air saying, Christ Is Risen, Christ is risen indeed! Thanks be to God! Do it with a heart of spontaneous enjoyment. Then go about your day and see how it evolves. During the season of Lent we sometimes encourage people to give something up to sharpen their capacity to empty themselves of all that obscures their spiritual vision, clogs their relationships with God and neighbor and generally wreaks havoc in their lives. It’s a fine discipline. But during the season of Easter it seems more appropriate to take on something new. After all, if Jesus is truly raised, and if he truly does usher in God’s new creation, it stands to reason we could already anticipate what God has in mind for us. “If Good Friday means putting to death things in your life that need killing off if you are to flourish as a truly human being, then Easter should mean training up things in your life that will become fruitful and life-giving.” [2] Here’s a suggestion inspired by N. T. Wright, during the Easter season, during these next fifty days, “take on some new task or venture, something wholesome and fruitful and outgoing and self-giving. You may be able to do it only for six weeks, just as you may be able to go without beer only for the six weeks of Lent. But if you really make a start on it, it might give you a sniff of new possibilities, new hopes, new ventures you never dreamed of. It might bring something of Easter into your innermost life. It might help you wake up in a whole new way. And that’s what Easter is all about.” [3] This would be the truest celebration of all – a transforming you that participates in a transforming world. Doesn’t it seem that if we leave here today and nothing changes that we’ve had only the form of a celebration but not the substance? Do you not agree with me that our world cries out for change? Change running the gamut from our individual lives, into our homes and immediate relationships, then out into our communities of care – just like the one I shared with Bobby – broadening into ever widening circles of concern, confronting the difficult obstacles that block, separate and otherwise crack families and communities wide open causing them to bleed with pain? Imagine if each one of us determined to take this celebration to heart, I mean really to heart, and took on just one new venture, something fruitful and self-giving inspired by the astonishing work Jesus accomplished on our behalf. You can sense that this would be quite a beginning because this room is jam-packed with latent capacity for good. Look around the room. Consider if everyone determined to live into the promise for change that Jesus’ resurrection invites. I tell you we’d have to order a heck-of-a-lot more champagne, that’s for sure. ___________________
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