{"id":1724,"date":"2025-04-21T20:36:12","date_gmt":"2025-04-22T00:36:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/?p=1724"},"modified":"2025-04-21T20:36:14","modified_gmt":"2025-04-22T00:36:14","slug":"still-i-rise-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/2025\/04\/21\/still-i-rise-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Still I Rise"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-audio\"><audio controls src=\"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/Still-I-Rise-42125-8.29\u202fPM.mp3\"><\/audio><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">A Sermon for the Locust Grove United Church of Christ<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">by Rev. James Eaton, Interim Pastor \u2022 \u00a9 2025<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Easter Sunday Year C \u2022 April 20, 2025<\/h2>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bible.oremus.org\/?ql=612281960\">Luke 24:1-12<\/a><\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>Christmas begins with lights. On Christmas Eve, we gather here to look for the Lord, to celebrate his coming. The last thing we do is to light the candles. It\u2019s a wonderful moment: celebrating the one who came as the light of the world, we pass the light, candle to handle, one to another until the whole room sparkles and we sing. But Easter begins in darkness. The last thing we do on Maundy Thursday is to extinguish the candles, remembering the darkness to come on Good Friday. So we come to Easter from the darkness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Like a stage cleared in the final act of a play, John tells us the crowds have cleared out, first shouting, \u201cHosanna\u201d for Jesus come as king, later demanding, \u201cCrucify him!\u201d when the Romans and the city authorities arrest him and put him on trial as a terrorist. Peter denies him in the courtyard of the jail. Killed on a cross in the gathering shadows of sunset that marks the beginning of the sabbath, his followers fade away. Finally, it\u2019s left to a sympathetic rich man to provide for his burial and the body is stashed in a cave tomb, too late for preparation before <em>shabbat<\/em>, which starts as darkness begins and night takes over. Only now, in the darkness of the dawn, does anyone, a few women, venture to the tomb. They buy spices to prepare the body, to make the final arrangements and give some dignity to the dead. They are going to the grave and they\u2019re worried that the stone closing it off will be too much to roll away; they\u2019re worried they won\u2019t be able to get in to where Jesus lies dead in the darkness. It\u2019s early: John says, \u201cwhile it was still dark\u201d [John 20:1b]<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The burial caves of Jerusalem are on a cliff wall. Imagine walking along the a cliff, as the darkness turns into dawn, slowly, carefully negotiating the turns in the path, watching just the steps ahead, not the whole path, unable to see around the next turn. Carefully, quietly, the women walk the path, stumbling here or there, clutching each other to keep from falling, arms full of the precious spices. They know a large stone blocks the entrance to the tomb and they are already trying to think of a way to move it. You see how like us they are? They have a problem: they\u2019ve brought the things they will need to do their job and they are discussing how to deal with the biggest obstacle of all. Isn\u2019t that what we do?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now they come around the last curve. Are they still talking about the stone or has the nearness of the grave silenced them? Now they look toward the grave, discovering the problem they worried so much about isn\u2019t there: the stone is moved. Who moved it? How did they do it? The women don\u2019t know or seem to care. The grave is open; they walk slowly toward it, silent now I\u2019m sure, they come to the entrance and, they enter the cave and suddenly the darkness lightens and in the light there is a person sitting, dressed in white, shining with it. They\u2019re afraid: who wouldn\u2019t be, they came to deal with a dead man, not a live angel.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He says what angels always say: \u201cDon\u2019t be afraid.\u201d He shows them where Jesus had lain, they see the grave clothes they had intended to anoint with their spices which won\u2019t be needed after all. And he tells them what to do. The women run. Of course they run: wouldn\u2019t you? \u201cThey went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.\u201d, one account says. What about you? What about me? What are we to make of this story?&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Most importantly, that Easter is not only for Easter Sunday. The gospel of Mark starts, \u201cThe beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the son of God.\u201d All that follows, all the stories of Jesus\u2019 ministry and teaching, the story of the cross, this story of Easter is prelude, just a beginning. The good news is that it\u2019s not the end. In the failure of the worldly events, there is a space made by faith. In the vulnerability of the cross and the tomb, there is an empty place and God works in that wilderness, God is present in that wilderness, raising Jesus. The Pharisees cannot understand him, the Romans cannot kill him, his own followers cannot follow him but God\u2019s grace is so powerful it can overcome all of them. Go home, the angel says: go back to Galilee. He\u2019s not gone, he\u2019s still here: \u201cthere you will see him.\u201d Easter is a summons to see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maya Angelou is a poet who has seen in the long history of oppression of black people a reason for hope, an image of resurrection. She says, in part,&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>You may write me down in history<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>With your bitter, twisted lies,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>You may trod me in the very dirt<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But still, like dust, I\u2019ll rise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Does my sassiness upset you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Why are you beset with gloom?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u2018Cause I walk like I\u2019ve got oil wells<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Pumping in my living room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Just like moons and like suns,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>With the certainty of tides,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Just like hopes springing high,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Still I\u2019ll rise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Did you want to see me broken?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Bowed head and lowered eyes?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Shoulders falling down like teardrops,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Weakened by my soulful cries?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Does my haughtiness offend you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Don\u2019t you take it awful hard<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u2018Cause I laugh like I\u2019ve got gold mines<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Diggin\u2019 in my own backyard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>You may shoot me with your words,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>You may cut me with your eyes,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>You may kill me with your hatefulness,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But still, like air, I\u2019ll rise. [Maya Angelou, <em>Still I Rise<\/em>]<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There he is: rising in the sweep of history, bending history to the love of God, the justice of God a little bit every day. See him there: see his power there. See his resurrection there. To the violence of the Empire, of all empires, he says: \u201cStill I rise.&#8221;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But it\u2019s not only in the big things that Jesus can be seen. Terry Marquardt wrote about grieving for her grandmother and remembered,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>My aunt was with my grandmother during the last nights of her life, when the pain in her spine was so horrible that she hadn\u2019t slept for two days, and the medication had stopped working, and she was beginning to lose hope. It was too much to lay down, so the two of them were sitting in the living room at 2:00 in the morning when my aunt had an idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMom, let\u2019s have a party.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHow could I possibly do that,\u201d my grandmother said, motioning to her stiff body, kept awake by the sensation that it was being ground into dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cLet\u2019s try,\u201d my aunt said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And she started to sing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>My aunt sang the Mennonite hymns my grandmother had taught her, songs from my grandmother\u2019s childhood in a Mennonite farming community in northeastern Canada, songs that were sung in the fields, at their dinner tables, to greet the dawn, to end their day, on the way to church. My aunt and my grandmother sang all night long, until there was no pain, until my grandmother\u2019s nurse woke up and tiptoed into the room. \u201cI\u2019ve never heard such beautiful music,\u201d she cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-embed is-type-rich is-provider-embed-handler wp-block-embed-embed-handler\"><div class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\n<a class=\"m-story\" href=\"https:\/\/medium.com\/@Tanya.Marquardt\/grieving-our-dead-online-3416e1918a25\" target=\"_blank\" data-width=\"652\" data-border=\"1\" data-collapsed=\"\">View at Medium.com<\/a>\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>In that moment, in those songs, her grandmother was rising, and they were rising with her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>We thought the problem was how to give Jesus a decent burial, how to roll the stone away. But it turns out that the stone we worried about is already rolled away; Jesus is gone ahead. The empty tomb is God\u2019s message to the Emperor, to the soldiers, to the world, to the followers who have scattered that in the midst of death, still I rise. This is God saying, in the midst of betrayal, whether Judas and his double crossing kiss or Peter in his fearful denial, still I rise. This is God saying to the torturers and the prison guards and the judges and the crucifiers just following orders, still I rise. This is God saying that even when I feel abandoned on a cross and cry out asking why I\u2019m forsaken, still I rise. This is God saying, even from a tomb closed up tight, still I rise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>This is the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the son of God. It starts with fearful followers running away. In the days that followed, every one of them had to decide what to do about the news that he had risen; every one had to decide how to live when the tomb was empty and despite the plain sense of his death, there was this amazing experience where it was clear that he was saying, \u201cStill I rise\u201d.&nbsp; Every one of them had to decide whether to keep running or to rise with him, to look for him, follow him, to Galilee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Where is Galilee? It\u2019s where they came from, where they started. Jesus is going back to the beginning and starting over: that\u2019s where they will see him. Their lives are about to start over because these lives are lived beyond the fear of death. The great question about the Christian movement of the first century is what powered it, what allowed it to change history. The answer is the people Jesus changed; the answer is the people who saw him rise and took his resurrection as the pattern for their own lives. Jesus was risen and they said with him, still I rise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\u2019s the same with us. We are prepared to go to the grave; we are good at raising the money to buy spices, we can discuss how to move the stone. But are we ready to leave the grave and go to Galilee? Can we take Easter home, can we take it wherever we go? Still I rise, he says: despite what we thought, he calls us, invites us, forgives us, commands us. Come see me: come follow me.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He\u2019s gone ahead and when we see that, we\u2019re ready to take the next step, to let go of our fears, accept his forgiveness and follow him. Easter isn\u2019t a day, it\u2019s an invitation: come see me. The gospels tell us how he appeared over and over to people, and his message is always the same: love one another, see me, follow me, because still, I rise: even when you don\u2019t believe it, even when you don\u2019t understand it, still I rise. Peter denied him but it\u2019s Peter he calls back to tend his sheep. Mary ran in fear but it\u2019s Mary who first meets him on the way. Thomas won\u2019t believe him but it\u2019s Thomas who feels his wounds. To the powerful who prey on the poor, his presence says: still I rise. To the hopeless who cannot find the way out of darkness, he says, \u201cI am the light of the world\u201d\u2014still I rise. To us, to all of us, who come here, wondering, he says: still I rise. Come follow me. Come: because on your way, on your journey, you will see me: for still I rise.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Amen<\/p>\n\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Easter is an invitation to come and see Jesus who rises still. &#8220;Still I rise&#8221;, he says, come follow me. A sermon of encouragement for all<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[146,3,32],"tags":[192,35,237,98,67,172,33,5],"class_list":["post-1724","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mark","category-sermon","category-year-c","tag-discipleship","tag-easter","tag-grace","tag-hope","tag-jesus","tag-love","tag-resurrection","tag-sermon"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1724","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1724"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1724\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1727,"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1724\/revisions\/1727"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1724"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1724"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.firstreflection.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1724"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}