"The Sun at High Noon"
The risen Christ is the light that sustains us
Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Dr. Andrew Stirling
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Text: Revelation 1:9-20
Almost 12 years ago to the day, Marial and I visited Cape Town, South Africa. It was 38 degrees Celsius that day - one of the hottest days of the summer! We got on a tug boat with a number of clergy and theologians and sailed over to Robben Island, off the shore of Cape Town. This was the place where Nelson Mandela and the Rivonia Group were imprisoned before their eventual release. For many years, it was their home.
As we stepped onto the island we had a sense of awe and foreboding, for while it was no longer the place that confined Mandela and his friends, it was still an ominous sight. We went into the old cells where they were held. Then we entered the adjacent exercise courtyard and stood baking in the noon-day sun.
The concrete walls were high and the floor was made of cracked stones and tiles. Very rarely, in a few spots in the corner, there were shadows. Despite all the noon-time sun, the place seemed intense and foreboding. There was one respite from the heat: In the middle of the courtyard, dandelion weeds grew through the cracks and two yellow flowers bloomed.
In his diary about what life was like on Robben Island with the Rivonia Group, Ahmed Kathrada, one of the inmates, wrote: “Those flowers that grew in the cracks were the only sign of beauty, the only sign of hope and growth in those terrible days in that courtyard with all its heat.”
I can't help but think that so many of our lives have moments when we feel as if we are in a courtyard just like that. The walls are high with despair and we are uncertain about what the future might bring. There are cracks in our foundations and we have our doubts. We wonder at times whether God is really with us, and whether in the midst of the sufferings we have in this life there is a God who really does care and who really does love us.
Sometimes, our lives are like the shadows in the corners. They are consumed with darkness and death; we feel a profound sense of loss and wonder if there is any hope at all. Yet we try to paper over those cracks and pretend the walls are not there. We shine a light into the shadows that lasts only for a moment. Often, our efforts to deal with despair, doubt and death are just fleeting attempts to cover it all up when it appears there is no real solution, no end in sight.
It is like a picture I saw in a newspaper a number of years ago of some graffiti on the wall of a language school at one of Canada's best-known universities. Someone had painted, “Where will you be spending eternity?”
Below those words, a student had painted, “It looks like it will be in Latin 201.”
Well, don't you sometimes feel that way? Life is very often like that. Sometimes, it is very serious. For the parents of the young men and women brought back from Afghanistan in coffins, believe you me, those walls seem awfully high! For those who suffer from despair, doubt whether there is really a God at all and question if there is any meaning to life, those cracks seem ubiquitous. For those who have lost a friend or loved one or who are losing their health, it seems like those shadows are casting an even wider shade. It can be serious.
But there is good news! There is One who rises, who brings life, and hope and peace; there is One who shines as the Risen Christ in the courtyards of our lives.
John wrote these words to the people in the churches on the Island of Patmos:
I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. When I turned, I saw seven golden lamp stands, and among the lamp stands was someone like the Son of Man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet, and with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars. Out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.
At a time of enormous persecution of Christians, probably around 96 A.D. under the Roman Emperor Domitian, John wrote these words in a coded language. He tried to send a message to the seven churches of Asia Minor, which were also being persecuted, that there is hope. There is One who rises like the sun in the morning and reveals the light and presence of God.
The imagery is powerful. It is laced with references to the Old Testament.
The seven lamp stands are equivalent to what Zachariah wrote about in Zachariah Chapter 4, when the lamp stands are in the Temple, and their light shines as a reminder of God's covenant with his people.
That Jesus is the Son of Man is a reference to Daniel, where a messiah would come and rise up amongst the people to give them hope.
It is also a reference to the rising of others, as seen in the song in Judges Chapter 5 where Deborah predicted that the friends of God would rise like the sun at noon-day.
John told the persecuted churches that in the courtyard of all their troubles, Jesus of Nazareth would be there with them. They were not to lose faith; they were not to lose hope; they were not to despair. He would be with them.
I
My friends, that is the great statement of Easter Sunday, for he is the sun that rises when the shadows abound.
Ten years ago, an amazing movie was made called Amistad. It tells a story about slaves who were captured in Africa and were on their way to Cuba. While they were at sea, some of them broke loose from their chains, overwhelmed the crew and took over. The Captain promised to return them to Africa, but unbeknownst to these slaves, he was taking them to the United States instead. When they arrived on shore, even their leader, Cinque, didn't realize what had happened. They were all immediately imprisoned.
As they awaited their fate, they sat downcast in the jail. The walls seemed very high, but in the corner a man named Yamba was reading a book. Yamba could not read English, but the pictures in the book conveyed the story. Cinque went over to him and said, “Yamba, you don't seem worried.”
Yamba replied, “I am not worried. This book is amazing!”
He explained that the book told a story about a people who were captured and imprisoned, but became free. Afterward, they saw a child who had a halo around his head that shone like the sun. Everyone seemed pleased to see this child, who grew up and healed the sick and broken. He helped people who were in need and everywhere he went, the sun seemed to go before him. However, some people didn't like him, so they killed him - they nailed him to a piece of wood, and he died.
Cinque said to Yamba, “But that's hardly good news, is it?”
Yamba answered,
No, look, there's more! They bury him, but they can't hold him. He rises and lives; notice how the sun is still with him. That is what is going to happen to us. No matter what else we experience, we are going to be like him. I know it! We are going to be like him, and we will be there in glory!
Yamba, the slave, understood what the Bible testifies. The disciples on the road to Emmaus two days after Jesus died were downcast because they believed there was no chance of their Lord and Saviour ever being with them again; he appeared to them like the rising of the sun at high noon. When Mary went to the tomb to prepare the body with perfume, he appeared like the rising of the sun at high noon. When Pilate thought he had washed his hands of this Galilean trouble-maker, Jesus appeared like the rising of the sun at high noon. When the Sanhedrin thought they had solved this Nazarene movement, he appeared again, rising like the sun at high noon. When Peter felt worried and dejected because he had denied Jesus, Jesus appeared like the rising of the sun at high noon. When Saul, who later became the Apostle Paul, was on the road to Damascus to persecute Jesus' followers, Jesus appeared to him like the rising of the sun at high noon. When the early Christians were persecuted at the hands of Nero, Domitian or Diocletian, he appeared to them like the rising of the sun at high noon. Whenever they felt that their courtyards were full of death, Jesus appeared to them like the rising of the sun at high noon.
So it is for us today. It is our great statement of faith. Sure there are times when we have doubts in Jesus Christ. Who doesn't have them? Even the greatest in the Bible had them! But we need to ask him to come, to rise in our hearts like the sun at high noon. When we feel we cannot cope with the uncertainties of the world around us, the fears, dangers and problems, we should just ask him, and he will arise in our hearts like the sun at high noon.
In his Epilogue, Robert Browning put it so magnificently:
That one Face, far from vanish, rather grows,
Or decomposes to recompose,
Become my Universe that feels and knows.
The sun at high noon.
II
He is also the sun that rises and sustains our life, not just in the shadows. The great New Testament writer, N.T. Wright makes the point that the resurrection of Jesus is about the ultimate victory of God. For those who are his followers, for those who know and experience him, he is the King, rising up like the sun, says Wright, as a sign of victory over sin and death and anything that might hold us.
My friends, that is still true, even to this day! As I look out on this congregation, I realize that many of us are here because of the church that was in the past; there were great glories and wonderful days at Timothy Eaton Memorial Church. With the Easter flowers today, we remember those who have gone before us, who know and are being sustained by the sun that rises at high noon.
In our current challenging times, in a day of empires, powers, questioning and doubts, in a day when Christendom seems to have lost its final finger grasp on the reins of power, we need to be reminded that we exist because we worship a risen Christ - the Christ who will rise like the sun at high noon.
We also gather here today to look to the future, to look into the eyes of our children and to look to the generations that are to come. For as surely as Christ is with those who have been persecuted before, as surely as Christ is with us now in our hearts and in our lives, he will live beyond us into eternity. He will rise like the sun at high noon. All of this is because of a Galilean Jew who was crucified and buried in a tomb.
Harry Pritchard tells a beautiful story that I read in Leadership Magazine some years ago, about a boy he taught in his Sunday school class. Phillip was eight years old and he had Down Syndrome. You would think that in Sunday school a child like that would be warmly received, well looked after and loved, but unfortunately it wasn't quite so. Phillip was still a social pariah; he lived on the edges, in the shadows. He didn't go to all the parties or attend all the events, but he was there every Sunday.
As Pritchard planned his Sunday school class for the Sunday after Easter, he wanted to give the children something wonderful and special to do. So he bought each one of them a hollow, plastic egg. He said, “I want you to go out, find a symbol of new life and put it in the egg. Then we will open them and have a look.”
The children went out into the beautiful, sunny day. Each of them found something, put it in the egg and brought it back. They opened them up, and one of them had a beautiful flower in it. The little girl explained, “The flower is a symbol of new life.” Everyone went “Ooh” and “Ah.”
A little boy brought a magnificent butterfly that he had trapped, and said, “See, this is a symbol of new life.” And everyone went “Ooh” and “Ah.”
A little smart aleck had put a rock in his egg. When asked what the rock meant, he said, “I haven no idea, but I bet nobody else has one!” There is always one eight-year-old like that, isn't there?
They went through them all, and finally they came to the last one. It had nothing in it. They all made fun of it and said, “Well, somebody couldn't come up with an idea.” Finally, they realized whose it was - it was Phillip's. Phillip had nothing in his egg. They all went, “Oh well, that is Phillip, you know. Phillip doesn't get these things.”
So they asked Phillip, “What is this?”
Phillip just said, “The tomb was empty.”
A few months later, Phillip died. He had contracted a virus and unlike the other children, he did not have the physical resources to fight it. The children from his Sunday school class went to his funeral, and rather than putting out all the usual symbols to remember a friend - flowers, a cross or a teddy bear - they simply brought an empty egg. They placed it on the communion table and said together, “The tomb is empty.”
My friends, this Easter, again, the tomb is empty! The One who was in it can rise in us like the sun at high noon! Hallelujah! Amen.