I Have Seen the Lord

It must have been an agonizing time for the disciples. Do you suppose it was in the Upper Room they were holed up following Jesus’ crucifixion, death, and burial on Friday? Wherever it was imagine the scene.

The doors we’ll learn later are kept shut. Are the windows shuttered, also? Most likely. The present a picture of frightened men. Certainly they had something for which to be frightened. Jesus was dead.

All men must die; they knew that. It wasn’t the fact of death that transfixed these men and women, it was the unexpected complication of events that within a week’s time sent them from fervent expectation to the establishment of the kingdom of the Messiah to the horrific trepidation of the betrayed.

I was trying to come up with some way to convey the terror that those disciples must have felt hours they were huddled in that space, hidden from sight, the stench of the smell of fear permeating the air. I thought of the times I’d been afraid. There was the time I stood at the door of that airplane and for the first time looked at the ground waiting to consume me when I jumped. There were the many times I’ve faced a challenging crisis, that caused me to tremble to by very core. And then I smiled. I realized I’d never felt for myself a true sense of terror. But I had witnessed it.

Back when I was around eleven or twelve we were spending our usual several weeks on Tybee Island near Savannah while my daddy was on active duty with the Air National Guard. We did this every summer. This particular summer, Mother and Daddy must have been in a romantic mood. They decided to go dancing at the club on the boardwalk, about three blocks from the little house we rented. That was fine, except they expected me to babysit my little brother.



As I remember it, I was doing my elder brother duties with some sense of responsibility. But they must have danced too long, because I grew tired of playing those stupid little boy games with him. Instead, I entertained him with wonderful stories of the depraved crazy killer who had wandered that island since the days of pirates, whose sole purpose in life was to find innocent little, unsuspecting kids and to torture them before drinking their blood. (Now understand I’m about twelve. And I’m seven years older than my brother.).



I’ve got to give it to him. My brother Bill held up. I didn’t seem to make a dent in his resistance to the terror I was trying to place in his heart. He laughed at me, nervously, mind you, but nevertheless he summoned up the gumption to chuckle at the story. I finally gave up. My plan to terrorize the little kid whose very existence had trapped me in that little house when there were adventures to be had on the boardwalk came to naught. I gave up. I told him to get ready for bed.



That was when the blood curling scream escaped his childish lips. That was when he lost control of his bodily functions as he came tearing out of the bathroom where I had earlier suspended the hangman’s noose from the light fixture. That was when he bolted past me with his britches down and ran in a terror to the boardwalk , burst into the dance club and proceeded to send my mother into terror. That was the night I witnessed pure, unadulterated, primal terror.

I suspect that was the terror the disciples were feeling as they hid away wondering what had happened. I suspect had some prankster arranged for the sound of marching Roman legions coming toward their hideaway Peter would have led the leap out the back window and scampered in panic to save his hide.



There they huddled in the alarm of their hearts. No doubt they tried to ease the tension with stories of remembrance. “Remember that night on the water when we thought we were going to sink?” “Remember that woman in Samaria he was talking to?” “Nathaniel, were you there that day when he put that mud on that blind man’s eye?”



And somewhere amongst the tales of remembering, somewhere in the pause between stories, the consternation would pull open the door of their security and the fear born of consternation would be resurrected. “Did you see that crowd when he came into the city? They were ready to make him king. What happened? I can’t believe it’s all come to this.”

There may have been whimpers. There may have been curses. There may have been the desolation of betrayal working on their psyche. But for sure there was fear.



I have no doubt there was a rancid smell in that room from Friday night until Sunday morning. I do know this: there is a smell to fear. It’s a smell that is unique. It’s not the smell of perspiration, but when you smell it you know it and you’ll never forget it. There is a stench to fear.



There is a stench to the church today. We are so afraid. We are afraid our way is being lost. We are afraid the general society is laughing at us. We are afraid we might become associated with those Jesus freaks. We are afraid people will think we do not love Jesus. The church today is paralyzed with the fear that results when the Lord of all the universe is closed up in a tomb, when the stone has been rolled against the door and we are entrapped in the darkness. And it smells in here. It smells of fear. And it will smell of fear until, until …..



“Early in the morning on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone was moved away from the entrance.” And the drama of Easter begins.

“Oh, Peter, they’ve taken the Master from the tomb and we don’t know where they’ve put him.” And Peter and John begin the foot race to the tomb. And there, it’s as Mary said. He’s gone. His body is gone. Oh, my God, he is gone. Gone from life; gone from death. They have added insult to injury. They have taken his body and denied him the dignity of a proper burial.



The head back, back to the closed room, the locked door, the dimness, the fear. And now the smell of fear is coupled with the aroma of despair, or utter disappointment. Suddenly, there’s absolutely no purpose in life. Suddenly, all that has been sacred has been profaned. Suddenly, it has ended. It’s over. The tears flow. The grief is unbearable and is compounded by the fear. It’s dark in the room. It’s dark in the souls of those who put so much faith in the one who is gone, the one who is no more.

Mary did not follow Peter and John back to the place of hiding, the dark dank place. “Mary stood outside the tomb weeping.” Mary was paralyzed, the fear, the utter betrayal, the unanswered questions, the dismay, the agony nailed her feet to the ground. Mary wept as her Lord had wept beside the tomb of Lazarus.



“Jesus said, “Mary.”



“Turning to face him, she said in Hebrew, ‘Rabboni!’…



Now here’s one of the most understated sentences in the gospels. “Mary Magdalene went, telling the news to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Master.’”

Mary went. I doubt it. I rather think Mary ran. Mary ran faster than any woman has ever run. Mary had seen the Lord. Picture Mary, breathless, yet not tired, pounding on the door. “Let me in, Peter. Let me in, John. I have seen the Master. He is alive. He has risen.”



Mary is afraid no more. Mary has found new life. Fear is banished ; Mary has seen the Lord.



There are many here this morning who know what fear is like. There are some of us afraid of our own failing bodies. There are some dreading the impending separation from our loved ones. There are those who are fearful of our financial situation, knowing the precarious position we are in. There are those here fearful of marital problem. There are those who are fearful of death itself.



And when we are terrified we are locked in a cold, dark room, paralyzed, enveloped in the stench of the fear. And life is but an oppressive weight of darkness.



It is only when we are able to cry as did Mary, “I have seen the Master,” we shall be let loose from our fear, set free from our darken room of depression. When we can say as did Mary, “I have seen the Master,” we shall no longer fear even death itself.

Jesus is waiting for you this morning. Jesus is waiting to roll away the stone of the tomb of your fear, to set you free. Close your eyes. Look! Can you see the Master!”



“He is alive, Peter. He is alive. And he’s gone before us even as he said he would. We don’t have to be afraid.”

Comments

[Anonymous Visitor]

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