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Pass on the Whole Story
A Homily for Easter Sunrise Service
Given by The Reverend Kathie Davis Thomas
on April 4, 1999
at Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
Bethesda, Maryland
Pass on the whole story . . . the whole story of Passover, the whole story of Easter, the whole story of each one of us
here, the whole story of our ancestors. First, let us remember Passover. Passover, began this past Wednesday night,
which remembers the story long ago when the Jews were slaves in Egypt, when a prophet Moses came to tell them they
could be free. When a Pharaoh denied the Jews the right to leave, Moses performed his magic, and led his people out
of Egypt. When a people were ready to give up and their leader encouraged them by saying that God would be with
them. When indeed the Red Sea parted. A story of making it to the promised land. A story remembered on the same
night every year, the story of Moses, of the escape of a people, of their joy, their surprise, their transformation. The
story now in the words of Alla Renee Bozarth:
And Moses spoke to his people of love and discovery and transformation. Pack nothing. Bring only your determination
to serve and your willingness to be free. Don't wait for the bread to rise. Take nourishment for the journey, but eat
standing, be ready to move at a moment's notice. Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind -- fear, silence,
submission. Only surrender to the need of the time -- to love justice and walk humbly with your God . . . Begin
quickly, before you have time to sink back into old slavery. Set out in the dark. I will send fire to warm and
encourage you. I will be with you in the fire and I will be with you in the cloud. I will give you dreams in the desert
to guide you safely home to that place you have not yet seen. I am sending you into the wilderness to make a new
way and to learn my ways more deeply. Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings that even your
closest friends will have to learn your features as though for the first time. Some of you will not change at all. Some
will be abandoned by your dearest loves and misunderstood by those who have known you since birth and feel
abandoned by you. Some will find new friendship in unlikely faces, and old friends as faithful and true as the pillar of
God's flame. Sing songs as you go, and hold close together. You may at times grow confused and lose your way.
Touch each other and keep telling the stories . . . Make maps as you go, remembering the way back from before you
were born. So you will be only the first of many waves of deliverance on these desert seas. It is the first of many
beginnings. Remain true to this mystery.
Passover celebrates the possibility of an inward transformation by surprise. Easter does as well -- let us remember.
Jesus spoke to his people of love and discovery and transformation. Then he died and the story tells us that he
reappeared, that he was resurrected. For some Christians it is a resurrection of the body, for some a spiritual
resurrection. Whatever the belief system, my colleague, the Rev. Roy Phillips says, "Too many of the religiously
orthodox will insist that Easter is about history, a long ago news event that happened following the death of a great
prophet in a far-away land. But the true spiritual significance of Easter," suggests Phillips, "is not a mere matter of
history. What happened in history in the 'Christ event' points to an inward transformation." Easter is about a new way
of perceiving, a new way of trusting, a new way of acting. [Phillips, Roy. CLF Newsletter March 88]
In the Gospel of John, the story of an appearance of Jesus after his death is told. It tells us of the evening of the first
day of the week, and the doors of the house in which the disciples are staying are locked. The anxious disciples are
shut tightly inside. And a suspicious world is shut outside. The disciples are missing Jesus desperately, speaking to
one another of his work with them, wondering what will happen next, when he suddenly appeared to them. The story
tells us he defied locked doors and locked hearts and locked vision. Our rational minds tell us this is impossible, that
the disciples want to know Jesus again, so they imagine his presence among them. But listen to another story, a
modern one told by Presbyterian minister Susan R. Andrews, (pastor of Bradley Hills Presbyterian Church, told in
Christian Century, March 24-31, 1999). One of Rev. Andrews parishioners had just lost her husband. It was coffee
hour and the widow was helping with the food table. Andrews relates:
It had been six months since her husband had died, and we had yet to touch base in an unhurried way. As soon as I
approached, her eyes welled up with tears. She tried to smile and be brave, but the ragged edges of grief had ravaged
her face. After a few moments, she looked around to see if anyone was nearby, and then she began to whisper, "I had
a terrifying experience last week. You'll probably think I'm nuts but I have to tell someone. You know," she went on,
"the nights are the worst. I hear noises in the house, and I can't get used to sleeping in the bed alone. It must have
been three o'clock in the morning and I was staring at the ceiling, willing myself back to sleep, when all of a sudden it
happened. Bob came back. He came back and crawled into bed with me. He didn't say a word. He just appeared --
and then faded away. I felt immediate peace and warmth and hope, and now I don't feel so alone." Then, glancing up
in pink but eager embarrassment, she asked, "You don't think I'm crazy, do you?"
That pastor did not, and I do not. I cannot explain what happened, but I know this story, for it is one I have heard
from others. It is the story, for me, of the appearance of Jesus to those who were bonded to him in a deep spiritual
love. There are things of the spirit that my rational, even skeptical mind cannot understand. The memories of the
teachings of Jesus, of his caring and love for the marginalized, for the hungry, for the sick of body, for the sick of
heart; for me, it is the experiences of these teachings which are the resurrection of Jesus in the world -- a resurrection
of the spirit of the teachings of Jesus in our bodies. It is by remembering and letting in the blessing, by letting down
the locks of logic and grief, prejudice and fear, that we will be resurrected. Easter, too, celebrates an inward
transformation by surprise.
And, finally, we remember our ancestors. Let us pass on the stories of all those we have loved. My grandmother and
yours, -- or perhaps your mother or father or grandfather or uncle or aunt if you were lucky -- have given us
experiences of love and discovery and transformation by their presence in our lives.
This is my story. From a very early age, I was blessed with a depth of loving that is all too rare for many on this
earth. I was loved by my grandmother whose gentle touch and kind words I can still feel and hear and savor. When I
was little, I used to go visit her in Brooklyn, New York. She lived in a big brownstone, on a tree-lined street, in a
house with wonderful tall-ceilinged rooms, overstuffed closets with wardrobes overflowing with treasures. For my
grandmother Anna and her sister Mamie were, besides landlords of many properties, hat makers and dressmakers. My
grandmother would let me look through the drawers of the wardrobes, dress up in the clothes and hats I found there,
letting my little-girl imagination run riot amidst the velvet and ribbons and lace. Grandma Anna and Aunt Mamie put
most of their money in banks, but also liked to hide some money in the house, just in case the banks failed. They
would tuck it into boxes, inside socks, in pockets of dresses, in old wallets. And if I found a roll of bills or a cache of
quarters, they would sometimes let me keep a few bucks worth. I still dream about searching for treasure in the backs
of those wardrobes. The other day, I came across a box of my grandmother's lace and buttons that I had saved. The
memories came flooding back, memories of my grandmother, her flowered, lace-collared dresses, her delicate skin
scented with powder, memories of homemade ice cream sodas sipped at the kitchen table beside the coal stove,
memories of stories my grandmother wove from the memories of her childhood. Tears welled up in my eyes. Because
I had rediscovered that box of little treasures, I had also discovered my grandmother again and all the love and care and
lessons in life that she had given me. Even though she has been dead for more than 30 years, it was as if she were right
there beside me, talking to me again.
Today, we honor Passover and Easter. The Jews and the Christians had discovered something. Like going into the
wardrobe and finding something hidden away in a box. They found love -- the love of Moses for his people, to help
them find the Promised Land; the love of Jesus in the way he treated people. The love of a husband, so real he
reappeared. And the love of a grandmother, an unconditional love, never to be forgotten. In remembering, the Beloved
comes back to us.
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