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Sermon Index

ROLLING AWAY THE STONE

by the Reverend Phyllis L. Hubbell
at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore
on the 15th of April 2001

READING

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go and anoint [Jesus]. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another. Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb? When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. (Mark 16:1-4)

SERMON

One of our favorite authors, Rachel Remen, writes in her book My Grandfathers Blessings of a very disturbing dream she had one night. The dream had only a single image, but it was very vivid. Remen saw a daffodil bulb planted in the earth. But a very large, heavy stone lay right on top of it, so the poor daffodil couldn't grow. For several weeks, Rachel kept seeing this image. She mentioned the dream to a friend. Her friend suggested that there might be a conversation going on between the daffodil and the stone. She suggested Rachel listen in. Remen writes:

With surprise, I realized that I knew this conversation well. The rock was saying, "Its a dangerous world. DONT BLOOM! I will keep you safe." I began to laugh. "That rock sounds just like my father," I told her. She laughed. "And mine." she said. Still laughing, she asked me if I could hear the other side of the conversation. What was the bulb saying to the rock? "I need to bloom," I told her. "Blooming is my whole purpose for being alive." We sat together thinking about this for awhile. Then she frowned. "It should feel good to have that heavy rock between you and danger, shouldnt it?" She asked. "But it doesnt, really" Suddenly my eyes filled with tears. I had no idea why. "Dont bloom!" "Its a dangerous world out there. Let me keep you safe."

How many of us have heard those words, have even internalized those words? We as parents and grandparents say them to our children and grandchildren. I was just reading a letter to Ann Landers this week from a mother who left her 11-month-old baby alone for what she thought was thirty seconds. When she turned back to her baby, she found the child had gotten into her purse and swallowed 6 pills she had discovered. Luckily, the mother was able to save her child, but we know that the same thing could happen to us. It can only take a minute, 30 seconds for something to happen that will forever change our lives. It is a magnificent world out there, but it is fraught with danger.

Rachel Remen had already faced danger when she was just 16. Already in college, she went to sleep one night in her dormitory and didnt wake up until 6 months later. That night in her dormitory, Rachel had suffered massive internal bleeding and gone into a coma. That's how she and her family discovered that she had Crohns disease and would be chronically ill the rest of her life.

While Rachel was in the hospital still in a coma, her doctors told her family that even if she recovered, the prognosis was grim. Rachel would be an invalid for the rest of her life. She would have to undergo "many major surgeries." She wasnt likely to live past 40. Return to college was out of the question. "Respectful of their expertise and frightened for [Rachel's] life, [her] father accepted every word."

But Rachel did wake up from her coma. The 6 months of unconsciousness did not change her desire to be a doctor. Her father was argued with her. From her hospital bed, Rachel announced that she was returning to college. Her father told she couldnt go. He said he wouldnt pay her tuition. And then my mother spoke up for the first time

"I will pay your tuition," she said quietly. My father was aghast. "And where will you find the money to do that?" he challenged her. She went on as if he had not spoken. "I have had a secret bank account for many years," she told me in the same even tone of voice. "You can have it all."

Although Rachels mother was a nurse, although she was used to deferring to her husband, this time she stood up to him and to the doctors. She signed Rachel out of the hospital against medical advice. Although she had never taken an airplane before, she flew with Rachel back to college and lived with her "for the next six months, taking [Rachel] to [her] classes, sometimes pushing [her] wheelchair when [Rachel] was too weak to walk, caring for [her] until [she] could manage for [herself]. Then her

mother left [Rachel] there on her own and went home."

When her mother left her, Rachel was far from well. She was still very weak, 25 or 30 pounds underweight. She had to watch what she ate. The powerful drugs she took changed her appearance. There were times when Rachel despaired. But she didnt give up. Somehow she discovered the strength she needed to graduate and go on to medical school.

Years later, Rachel asked her mother why she had done it. Rachel was her beloved only child. Her mother knew that Rachel might have to drop out of school before graduation. Might never be able to get through those long nights without sleep that medical school requires. Might not have the stamina to practice once she did graduate. All the stress might have caused a serious relapse. She might have died without her family by her side. Why had she supported this crazy dream? Rachel writes:

"I was terrified for you," she told me, "but I was even more frightened for your dreams. If they died, this disease would have claimed you."

"There are many ways to die, Rachel," she told me.

Sometimes choosing life means risking death. It is a dilemma we all face for ourselves, for our children, even for our aging parents. We are offered our dream job. But it means taking a cut in pay. Or moving to a different city. What if we find we don't like it after all? What about all the friends and family we leave behind? What if a recession comes and our pitiful savings are wiped out? How will we live? Some big rock hovers above us telling us to stay put where it is warm and safe. Or what if it is someone living even closer to the margin? Someone who has lost the way? Someone who has succumbed to addiction, who is getting deeper and deeper in debt? Someone in an abusive marriage? Someone whose life is crumbling. Suppose that person is offered a way out treatment, a job in another state, a place to stay? But taking the offer means giving up the little safety and joy that remains in the old life, for there are almost always moments of joy even in the worst conditions. The new brings with it risk and uncertainty. Loss of whatever dream led you instead to despair.

I cannot even imagine the choices that some of us face sometime in our lives. The ones that take courage. The ones that say what kind of person we are. The ones that take integrity. But I do know that all of us face them. Decisions that make sleep impossible. Decisions that make our stomachs tighten. Decisions that will change our lives forever. Decisions we dont want to make. No matter how bad our pain, it is pain we know.

Let us stay buried in the ground a little longer, protected by that nice big stone.

Jesus lived in a time we can hardly imagine now. He gave up the comfort and security of home and family. He turned down a place in the family business to wander from place to place, dependent on the kindness of strangers. He had no monthly salary to draw on. No house to retreat to at night. No spouse to hold him when the crowds were small, or the danger mounting. No social security. No health insurance.

The scriptures don't tell us of the discussions he and his followers must have had about where they were going to get the money to eat. Who would put them up in the next town they visited? How could they support all the hangers-on?

I struggle each Easter, when it is my turn to preach, to understand the meaning of this story for us. What does it, can it, mean for those of us who are Christians, and for those of us who are Buddhists, pagans, humanists, pantheists, or some other of the wonderful variety of spiritual seekers who come in this door?

I was speaking with Unitarian Universalist minister Vanessa Southern a few weeks ago. She was the minister of the National Memorial Universalist Church in Washington, D.C. for several years. National Memorial is a Christian Universalist church. Vanessa said that in ministering there, she had learned to find comfort in her own life in walking along with

Jesus in his life. In making the stories come alive in her sermons she began to understand their relevance for her. In imagining that she was there the night before Jesus was arrested. Frightened, he went out with some of his friends to pray. He knew they were coming for him. It didnt take supernatural powers to know that the Romans thought he was attracting too many followers. He was scared. You know how it can be in the middle of the night. Jesus prayed that night for his life. But if this was Gods will, he resolved that night to follow it. Not to leave town. Not to hide with friends.

Jesus came back to find that those he was closest to had fallen asleep. They couldnt even stay awake and warn him of danger. Imagine how utterly alone he must have felt. Just as we sometimes do. Just as we do. The story of Jesus reminds us that we are not the first to face fear. Whatever our fear is about. Even if, like Rachel Remens mother and father, we fear death itself. Were not alone. Were not the first. Someone else has walked this road before us. Someone else has faced something far more frightening than most of us will ever face. Moreover, the worst happened. Jesus died a horrible, shameful death, but it didnt matter. The story of Jesus conquers death itself. Death is not the ultimate loss.

Whatever happened that Easter morning, when the women got there, someone had rolled away the stone. And because of that, whether or not we are Christians, whether or not we believe in miracles, we can still find hope in the story. We are no longer the first to face despair. We are no longer alone. The story of Jesus teaches us that the only true death, the only ultimate death, is the death of hiding from life. Of choosing lies, of choosing fear, of choosing to stay buried in the ground covered by a stone.

The stone is not evil. It offers us protection for a time. It allows us to grow strong enough to face the light. But there comes a time when we need to push it away. The stone may be very heavy. We may not know what waits for us beyond the stone. But the Easter story tells us that we are not alone. Our calling on this earth is to bloom. To shine in the sun. To revel in the rain. To grow. To be beautiful. To dance in the sun. To bring joy.

Today is Easter. Once again, the old, old story is told. Once again, life triumphs over death. The daffodils are shouting their last hurrah for this year, but they will live again next year.

Let us roll away our stones. Its time to bloom. Happy Easter.