Easter Celebration
Rev. Elizabeth O. Banks
Worship Associate: Susan Steinbach
April 8, 2007

Chalice Lighting by Susan Steinbach

We light this chalice to mark our entrance into sacred space together. Who among us has been suffocating, imprisoned, lost their courage or lost their voice? Who among us is bound by grief, regret or fear? Who will choose to step out from darkness and death into the light? Who among us in this sacred space will roll away their stone?

Call to Worship (written by Susan Steinbach and Beth Banks)
based on Luke, Chapter 24

Walk with me to the next town, Cleopas - you're someone who was there to experience the teachings of Jesus - who knew him like I did. (reminiscing) What has happened in our city this week? How are we going to continue without him? The greatest leader we have ever known has been taken from us - he had a sense of vision like no one I had known before – and he was murdered right before our eyes. It breaks my heart to think about it. How can such torture be a part of our lives?

Do you remember Cleo, how he healed those who were ill, how he spoke truthfully to those in power, how he forgave us when we disappointed him or when we didn't live up to our own ideals?

There will never again be someone so willing to challenge the leadership of this country, who thinks about what is best for all people and not just for the wealthy, the men, the able-bodied, or the employed. I can't stand it - I don't know where to turn. My heart is broken. Is yours too, Cleo? But then, did you hear? They went to look for him where he had been buried and he was gone. His body was gone! He died, I saw it myself - but what can we make of it? (conspiratorial) He’s vanished!

(Looking surprised at Cleopas). )

There were just the two of us walking together, Cleo, and now I see a third has joined us…… You seemed to come from nowhere - and you say that everything we've been talking about is news to you? Where have you been this last week? You may be the only one - the only one - who doesn't know of our great loss.

So, dear stranger, it's getting dark, and Cleopas and I won't get much farther on the road today - I am so tired from these events and all the days that led up to it. Don't go on by yourself - stay with us and have something to eat. Stay with us for awhile. We've been through hell. We could use some companionship. Let’s get some something to eat and a glass of wine.

Readings: Traditional Biblical Reading, Luke 24:13 – 24; 28 – 31

That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

And he said to them, “What is this conversation which you are holding with each other as you walk?” And they stood still, looking very sad. Then one of them named Cleopas answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened in these days?” And he said to them, “What things?” And they said to him, “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all people., and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him.”

So they drew near the village to which they were going. He appeared to be going further, but they constrained him, saying, “Stay with us, for it is evening and the day is now far spent. So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.

And their eyes were opened and they recognized him – . . .

Contemporary Reading: Making the House Ready for the Lord by Mary Oliver

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but still nothing is as shining as it should be for you. Under the sink, for example, is an uproar of mice – it is the season of their many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves and through the walls the squirrels have gnawed their ragged entrances – but it is the season when they need shelter, so what shall I do?

And the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;

what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will come, Lord; you will, when I speak to the fox, the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,

as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

Easter Sermon by Rev. Elizabeth O. Banks

Unitarian Universalists become uncomfortable when we hear the word ‘Lord’ applied to either a person or any Being that would hold itself over the others of the world. Lord is a word that implies having dominion over others. But consider Lord as a sacred person who hears the stories of many and sees the larger patterns of life. Take it a step further, think of Lord as being not just a person, but an experience of transcendence – a time of crystal clarity about life.

We can prepare the way for the Lord in our lives, but we cannot know when the Lord will arrive. The Lord is likely to come when we least expect it – and in places that we would not look for that which transcends our everyday-ness. Part of the joy of living is that in each new day this kind of Lord may be found walking beside us, and here’s an even more delicious thought - at first will not be seen. It could be here right now.

When Rick and I married I was well into my second ministry. Neither of us had any experience with being a couple with one person in the role of minister. Within a short time Rick was no longer stunned to overhear a phone conversation at dinner, “Oh sure, you can drop off her ashes here at the house,” or be woken up by 2:00am emergency calls from the hospital.

He became used to the tumultuous times that sometimes come in the life of a church, as well as the much more common outpouring of affection people share together. But we had no guidance for life together in the church.

There was an older couple in the congregation and the husband, Bert, invited us to their home for soup after church several times a season. “Perhaps a Sunday afternoon lunch or an evening dinner,” they said. In case you haven’t heard this, Sunday afternoons have a special place in the evolution of time. First there was darkness, then there was light, and sometime in between the creator designed Sunday afternoon for sacred ministerial naps. And yet the request came gently, repeatedly, without ceasing. And this from a man who was a retired Episcopal priest!

Finally, Rick and I agreed that we would say yes, after all, we didn’t want to have to duck the invitation any more. All we knew was that they were lovely people and that for some reason they didn’t remember the Sunday afternoon ritual.

That Sunday afternoon we arrived on time, and as soon as we walked through the door, I started to suspect that we had made a terrible mistake. “Would you put your shoes here? Settle yourselves on the sofa, a glass of wine or tea? It’s always cold here in the winter - so put that comforter over yourselves . . . yes, Alice made it.”

Smithsonian magazine, the New York Times, old philosophy books and the latest publications of social commentary were in small piles around the room. We eased ourselves into the sofa, sipped our before dinner drinks and talked about the state of the world. Then Bert blurted out some general observation about church that came from years of perspective on the job, a quip that seemed blasphemous at the time. I decided I really liked this man.

We had made a terrible mistake, and it was in not accepting every invitation they had made to us. In that one household we found a mentor for each of us. People had been walking with us who had wisdom and who could lift us from the every day, and we did not recognize them. Our eyes were not opened until we sat together and broke bread.

“We can prepare the way for the Lord, but we cannot know when the Lord will arrive. The Lord is likely to come when we least expect it – and that is part of the adventure – the joy in life.”

Thomas Merton was a Trappist monk who lived in the Gethsemani monastery in the Kentucky woods. Perhaps Merton’s most popular book is Seven Story Mountain, when he shares the story of his young adult years and his decision to enter the monastery. Despite taking a vow of silence and choosing to live alone in a hermitage on the grounds of the monastery, he remained a prolific writer for his entire life.

His early 1960’s book, Seeds of Destruction, he explored the deep-rooted racism of American society, and he predicted that there would be open racial conflict in the near future. He was criticized for passing judgment on society when he had voluntarily set himself aside from the world. How could a man who had taken a vow of silence and whose goal in life was to passively pray for the world, know the hard reality of life?

But the liberals and conservatives were all humbled when the future told by Merton unfolded even more dramatically than he had foretold. In the end it was said that Merton had seen and spoken more truth from his hermitage out in the forest than most activists had seen and spoken from the city streets. Take heart, for as many problems as we are faced with today, the one who can imagine solutions that are radically different from what we know – may be found in a place we have not imagined.

It could also be that “the Lord” will not be embodied in one personality, but in a moment of unexpected connection, a moment of powerful change that Unitarian theologian Henry Nelson Wieman called creative interchange. In these ‘a-hah” moments, we suddenly see life with such clarity that we are changed – forever.

The movie Encounter Point was produced by an Israeli, a Palestinian, North American and a Brazilian producer. Without naming it as such, the movie was all about the Lord as a-hah between people. This Lord is not a person, but as a moment in itself.

When there are enough of these a-hah moments between people, these epiphanies start to change the world – one way or another. Perhaps the day is gone when one person will hold the power of a transcending message to save humankind. Maybe the world is so complex that many voices will be needed to bring the saving message for all.

Encounter Point opens with Robi Damelin, an Israeli, whose son David was killed while protecting the occupied territory.

“Sometimes I'm very angry with myself that I didn't protect my child. So what do you do with this pain? Do you take it and look for revenge and keep the whole cycle of violence going, or do you choose another path to prevent further death and further pain to other parents?” She speaks for peace, protests against a cycle of killing that continues to take more sons and daughters. She stands with others whose signs say, “We buried our youth. Protect the living children.” The story of the Lord as a-hah and being found unexpectedly and in unlikely places is shown over and over again.

There are regular gatherings of grieving parents who meet to find understanding in an unlikely place. In a gathering called The Bereaved Forum they meet with those “from the other side” who have experienced profound losses of loved ones. Two hundred and fifty Israeli and two hundred and fifty Palestinians ask tentative questions about the life of another. “Oh, you are the head of a school . . . . “ “Tell me about your daughter.” There is palpable tension and also a sense of having found an understanding heart – in the ones they have every reason to hate. All of the families had lost what had been precious to them, and they let others see their deepest suffering.

Palestinian Ali Abu Awwad was 16 when he was making bombs with some of his friends, and the bombs detonated prematurely. Ali was badly hurt and was taken to the hospital, which is where the police came to get him. He spent 10 years in prison.

What can you do with prison time as a young man? He started reading Jewish authors to get inside the Jewish mind and he was slowly changed. Then he started reading Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi, Nelson Mandela. He saw that some of their theories wouldn’t work with the Israeli and Palestinian conflict, but he became convinced that there must be another way than the violence that had been his path as a teenager. He reasoned that both sides have tried to find a solution through war for decades. It became clear to him that it is time to try something new, no matter how impossible the odds seem.

When he was released from jail he started an organization for youth when each side to meet each other and to speak of their grief, anger, even hatred – instead of throwing stones and explosives at each other.

Sometimes I'm faced with questions like: "How can you still do this after all you've been through? You could have great status in your society. You have the right to hate." But I tell them I don't have to love Israelis to make peace with them. And I'm not asked to forgive the soldier who killed my brother. I'll never forgive him.

He spent time in Palestinian hospitals talking with the injured youth, and tirelessly working to find a crack in their anger for, not forgiveness, but a willingness to be questioning. He asked them, “How is it that the violence does not bring an end to the anger and grief, but only continues the cycle?” How many of their sisters, brothers, cousins will be hospitalized, and for how many generations will the hospitals be filled with the victims?

Ali looked for this power of connection in one of the least likely places to find a desire for reconciliation – he went a place where young men, whose first response was violence, had suffered serious losses. Sometimes he would find a small piece of hope.

We may prepare the house, our lives, for the arrival of healing, guiding presence, and “a-hahs,” but they come – in their own time. They may be found where we least expect them, and will often appear when we are looking in the wrong direction. The person of wisdom, the moment of clarity may be walking beside us and we cannot recognize it for what it is. But far from being discouraged, take heart. Eyes, like hearts can be opened, and we will see.

Benediction by Rev. Banks

I will say it, as I have all morning,/ Come in, come in
Lord – come in although we do not/ recognize you for what you are –
Teach us to open our eyes/ for healing, friendship, peace/ in surprising and unlikely places.

May we go out in joy.

Amen