[Propertalk] Fwd: [propertalk.topic] Two for the price of one

Sat Apr 23 15:35:25 EDT 2011

 Forwarded:

-----Original Message-----
From: Frank Fisher <f.fisher.obl.osb at comcast.net>
To: SBA <SBA at SBAbbey.com>; sermonshop.sermons.topic <sermonshop.sermons.topic at ecunet.org>; PRCL-L <PRCL-L at LISTSERV.LOUISVILLE.EDU>; propertalk.topic <propertalk.topic at ecunet.org>; midrash <midrash at joinhands.com>
Sent: Sat, Apr 23, 2011 12:48 pm
Subject: [propertalk.topic] Two for the price of one

Here's my two for the price of one special for today. ); The first sermon.

"Singing to Resurrection," is the one I'm actually preaching. The pericope

is Mark 16:1-8. The second, "Dancing in the Tomb," is an old one that some

might find useful. It uses the Lectionary text for the day from John.

Easter blessings!

PAX,

__

Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB

www.ffisher.net

Interim Pastor

First Presbyterian Church of Kewanee, IL

www.fpckewanee.org

Elmira United Presbyterian Church

www.elmiraunited.org

aka

Brother Oscar Romero

Oblate of St. Benedict's Abbey

Bartonville, IL

www.SBAbbey.com

"When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so

that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice."-Cherokee proverb

_____________________________________________________

"Most of us

go to our graves

with the music

still inside us."

My mother

always said those words

to me.

She'd laugh

as she spoke them.

Then she'd add,

"But you'll never do that

Salome.

You were born

with your song

on your lips"

I always joined in

my mother's laughter

as she lovingly stroked my hair

and spoke to me

about music.

Part of my own delight

came,

of course,

from her complete attention,

and her love.

But most of the joy

fueling my glee

came from

 the truth of her words.

For it seemed like music

 was on my lips

for every waking moment

of every waking day.

Every day at dawn,

I'd rise from my sleeping mat,

rush out the door,

and gaze with delight

at the expanse

of the sea of Galilee.

The red morning sun

reflecting off the water

would ignite my music

as my voice lifted up

in a morning Psalm

praising the Holy One

for all of creation's beauty.

And as I skipped from task to task

for the rest of the day,

my song never quieted.

Indeed

I never ceased 

my song of God's praise

until after the evening Psalm

when I closed my eyes

once again in sleep.

My music

gave voice

to the very center

of my life.

And at each step

 I took

along life's pathway,

my music seemed

to expand and grow

to match my life's new heights.

When Zebedee

and I wed,

my music truly blossomed.

Then,

when our sons,

James and John were born,

the joy they brought

made my songs soar afresh.

At that point

I was sure

there were no further heights

for my songs to reach.

I was very sure 

of that.

Or at least I thought

I was sure.

But then,

James and John

began to follow

the Master.

The first time 

those boys

brought me to meet Jesus,

I knew in an instant

any song,

I'd ever sung

was only a prelude

to the ones

 I'd sing now.

With my sons,

I followed Jesus

across high Galilean hills

and through dusty city streets.

And as I followed,

I sang.

I sang

of the blind regaining their sight

and the sick their health.

I sang

of sins forgiven

and of the good news

Jesus preached

to the poor.

Most of all

I sang of the joy

of finding the Messiah,

the true morning sun

who would long shine over Judah.

Every day

seemed to bring

a new crescendo of song.

It was almost like

something

was about to begin.

Then one day,

I,

and hundreds upon hundreds 

of others singers,

sang

as Jesus rode into Jerusalem.

"Hosanna in the highest,"

we trilled

as the Master neared the temple.

"Blessed is the One

who comes 

in the name of the Lord.

Hosanna in the highest."

But as we reached the temple

my song

caught in my throat.

I knew somehow,

as soon as I saw the sun

reflecting 

off its golden roof,

something horrible

was about to happen.

My music died

the day Jesus died.

As I watched him 

hang there

twisting in agony

on the cross,

I screamed

and screamed,

and screamed again.

I screamed and cried

until

I couldn't utter

a single sound.

That was fitting,

I thought.

For how 

could I make music

when Jesus

was dead.

And as I watched Joseph

take his body 

down from the cross

and carry it away

to the tomb,

I knew

my mother

had been wrong.

There were no songs

 left to sing;

no music

left to make.

I would

go to my grave

with my music

locked down deeply 

inside me.

Slowly,

ever so slowly,

I began to move

through my new

joyless,

non-musical world.

I ate,

slept and washed

like one

whose very mind

had shut down.

Gradually

I began to respond

to the others around me

and to understand

they too

were feeling pain

of unimaginable depths.

I reached out to them

for comfort

and they 

reached out to me.

Their presence

kept me alive

in those days.

It was my gratitude

for their presence

that made me agree

to accompany the two Marys

back to the tomb

on the first day

 of the week.

I certainly didn't want to see

the decaying body

of the Master 

I'd so loved.

But I knew

I couldn't let the others

face its presence 

alone.

We stopped in the market

as it first opened

and bought the spices we needed

to anoint Jesus' body

in the way

 taught by the law.

Then,

step by dragging step

we made our way

toward the place

Jesus had been laid.

On the way

we suddenly realized

we'd brought no one along

to help us

 open the tomb.

We knew

we hadn't enough strength

to do it alone.

Yet 

we also knew

we couldn't face another

agonizing trip such as this one.

So we continued walking,

heads held downward in despair,

wondering all along

what we'd do

when we were confronted

with the 

immovable 

grave stone.

But as we neared the tomb

something

made us look up.

And we saw

someone

 had already

 rolled the grave stone

 away.

Dropping the spices

we ran to the tomb's door,

ducked our heads

under its low entrance

and stepped inside.

Jesus wasn't there.

In the place

where Joseph

had laid his body

there was a strange man sitting.

He was 

dressed in dazzling white.

My eyes 

locked 

with the man's eyes

as something 

deep inside me

unlocked

as he said,

"Do not be alarmed;

you are looking

for Jesus of Nazareth,

who was crucified.

He has been raised;

he is not here.

Look,

there is the place,

they laid him.

But go,

tell the disciples

Jesus is going ahead of you

to Galilee.

You will see him there

just as he told you."

That something

unlocking

deep inside me

opened fully

with the man's words.

And at its awakening

I screamed out

in fear and amazement.

Both Marys screamed out too

and together

we three 

ran as fast as we could

away from the tomb.

At first,

we were so stunned

and frightened

that we couldn't speak.

And when my voice returned

it wasn't speech

coming forth from my mouth.

Music instead

came forth.

The music

I had felt

would go with me to my grave

bubbled forth

and arose in a song of incredible gladness.

I sang

all the way to Galilee.

I sang to my risen Lord

as I sat with Jesus

by the side of the lake.

And now

I sing across all Judah

and out into the lands

to the gentiles.

I will not go to my grave

with my music

still inside me.

I will go there instead

singing alleluias

to my Lord and Savior.

And I will sing 

through death

into the new life Jesus gave me.

Alleluia

I will sing.

Praise

I will sing.

Thanks

I will sing.

Thanks

to the risen Christ

who died and arose

for such a one

as me.

Hymn : "The Strife is O'er"

To God alone be glory.

Amen.

___________________________________________

To Joseph of Arimathea,

from Mary of Magdala;

Greetings to you,

brother in Christ.

I can see your face now Joseph.

You're smiling

because you know whenever I'm being formal,

its because I'm trying desperately

to keep from laughing.

And I bet you know why

 I'm laughing.

Yes Joseph,

they caught me again.

All those stuffy people of Magdala,

found out 

I've been sneaking out of the town 

again.

Before the morning light appears

on the first day of the week,

I've been sneaking out of town

to the tombs.

Now Magdala

may be a cosmopolitan place,

but its still small enough

for me to know 

everything 

about everyone.

So I know

which tombs are empty,

and which are sealed up.

So I go straight 

to an empty one,

and as the morning light dawns,

I enter it

and begin to dance.

They really think 

I'm strange 

brother Joe.

Sometimes  they think 

those seven demons 

are back;

the ones 

the Lord cast of out me.

Some of them say 

they want to lock me up.

But my family's important here

so  they really wouldn't dare 

do that.

They just don't understand.

But I know you understand

Joe.

For you saw my first dance

in a tomb;

a dance remaining vividly 

in my mind

no matter 

how many years 

have passed.

I remember 

how it was 

to watch Jesus die.

When he said,

"it is finished,"

and breathed out 

for the last time,

it felt like the Romans 

had taken one of spikes

they used to nail Jesus 

to the cross

and jabbed it 

into my heart.

And when they jabbed a spear 

into his side

it felt like 

they'd hit me with it too.

They were going to throw his body

 to the wild dogs Joe;

the ones

 that always gather 

at the foot of a cross

and wait 

for their upcoming meal.

You know that of course.

For you were there.

I was so grateful

when you took his body down 

and helped Nicodemus carry it

to the tomb 

in the garden.

I didn't really 

want to leave him there.

It was better 

than having him fed 

to the dogs.

But it wasn't much better.

He wasn't buried 

with his family.

When his flesh decayed

no one would take his bones

and put them in the ossuary

with the bones of his ancestors.

For all eternity

no one would remember.

It would be almost as disgraceful

to him

as his death on the cross.

I started crying then Joe.

And I cried all that night,

all the next day,

and all the next night.

>From deep in the city

we could hear the sounds of rejoicing

from the houses of those 

who wanted him dead.

But around us

the only thing breaking the silence

was the sound of sobbing;

a sound that went on,

and on,

and on

until the sound of tears falling

seemed to fill the whole world.

Then,

in the darkness

on the morning of the third day,

I heard another noise.

It sounded like singing.

At first it was gentle and pretty

like the song

 the shepherds say the angels sang

in the sky above Bethlehem

on the night Jesus was born.

But then the song changed.

It got louder

and louder,

and louder.

Even though

 I couldn't make out the song's words.

I somehow knew

they were ones

of sheer, 

raw,

unadulterated power.

I ran to the window

to see if I could make out 

who was singing.

And I saw a blinding light

coming from the garden

where we'd buried Jesus.

I had to find out 

what was happening there,

so I ran out the door

and raced toward the tomb.

I was half way there

when I heard another sound.

It sounded a little like the sound

a tool maker makes

when metal is struck 

with a hammer.

But it was so loud

my ears almost couldn't bear it.

It almost seemed like

a giant chain

had been snapped in two.

And mixed in with the metallic sound

was the grinding 

of stone on stone.

When the sound stopped

I uncovered my ears

and started running 

toward the tomb again.

When I got there

the stone 

you'd put across the entrance

was shoved aside.

Someone had taken Jesus!

How could someone be so cruel

as to rip him

from the peace of his tomb?

Hadn't enough been done to him

while he was still alive?

So I turned around 

and ran back to the house

to tell the others.

They were horrified.

And they ran out the door 

to go look for themselves.

"Maybe,"

they said,

"we can find out who took him

and bring his body back."

It seemed forever

until they returned.

They came back

and said the tomb was empty.

They said the burial cloths

were rolled up 

neatly in one spot

and the cloth 

you'd put on his head

was lying rolled up 

in another place.

"Why would a grave robber 

unwrap him,"

I asked.

"We don't know,"

they answered.

So I went back out the door,

more slowly this time.

There didn't seem to be

any real reason to hurry.

And my returning grief

dragged at my steps.

It seemed like it took forever,

but I finally found myself 

standing 

outside the tomb.

 I just stood there

while my tears

 made a puddle 

on the ground.

I don't know 

how long 

I stood there.

But suddenly 

I noticed two figures

sitting on the burial niche.

One was sitting

 where we'd put his feet.

And one was sitting

 where we'd put his head.

They were singing 

the same song

that made me look out the window

before the sun rose in the sky.

But one of them 

stopped for a moment

and spoke to me.

"Woman,

why are you weeping?"

Between the tears

I gasped out,

"they've taken my Lord.

I don't know 

where they've put him."

There was a movement 

behind me then.

I turned around.

It was just the gardener.

He asked me,

"Woman,

why are you weeping?

Whom

 are you looking for?"

I wanted to ignore him

and not let him 

intrude 

on my grief.

But maybe he knew

where the Lord's body 

had been put.

So I sobbed,

"Sir,

if you've 

carried him away,

please,

please

tell me

 where you've put him.

I'll go there

and take his body someplace

where it'll be safe."

Then I heard my name.

The gardener 

called me by name.

Only it wasn't the gardener.

When I heard the word "Mary"

I knew it was the Lord.

"Teacher,"

I cried,

"Oh my beloved Teacher."

I was going to embrace him

but he stopped me.

"I've not yet ascended ,"

he said.

"Go.

Tell my sisters and brothers."

And I went.

I danced and twirled

through the streets 

of Jerusalem,

with my feet 

hardly touching 

the cobbles

as I sang the news

to everyone I met.

"I have seen the Lord!

I have seen the Lord!

I have seen the Lord!"

They still

 don't understand

Joe.

They don't understand

why I come to a tomb

on the first day 

of the week

and dance there

while the sun rises 

in the east.

But what else am I to do

on the day 

when our Lord arose?

I have to dance.

I have to dance

as the song I heard

 on the day 

when the Lord arose

rings 

in my ears and heart.

Dancing is harder now

Joseph

then it was 

on that resurrection morning.

I'm getting old.

Soon,

I know

 I will brought to a tomb 

by others

and my body 

will not return 

with them.

But Joseph

when that day comes

Don't let them walk 

to the tomb.

Tell them

 to pick up my body

and dance

and sing,

and laugh

as they carry me there.

And I 

will be dancing too.

For I know 

I'll have heard the Lord

call me again 

by my name.

And as I dance 

after the Lord

I'll hear the song

I remember so well.

You remember the words

don't you Joseph.

Somehow 

I knew what they were

after I saw Jesus 

in the garden.

Tell them 

to sing those words

as they dance me

 to my tomb.

Christ is risen!

Alleluia!

To God alone be glory.

Amen.

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