SERMON: The
art of noticing
Mary stood weeping
outside the tomb. This week was full of weeping for me. It often is on Holy
Week, but this year feels more poignant than ever. With every reminder of this
pandemic, my heart shatters a bit more. The way community (in a time when it’s
needed more than ever) feels hard and hollow makes me cry. The empty schools,
an empty church during Nancy’s funeral. The inability to share hugs, the
strange suspicion I feel every time I walk in a public place. The grief felt by
a nation and world. All of it makes me cry, especially when I hold it up to the
sorrow of Jesus’ passion story, the one we re-live each year during Holy Week.
And as difficult as these days are, I’m beginning to believe that our tears can
be an anointing, if (that is) they serve to clear our vision and lead
us to notice love—all around us.
I’ve been taking
daily walks the past few weeks (my neighbor says the other day, “I’ve seen you
out a lot lately, Emily!) Yes, for sanity, for a little exercise, but mostly to
clear my mind. Here’s what happens in my brain during the course of a walk. I
begin with things feeling heavy. Too much to process. Yet with each step, and a
steady internal monologue, sometimes prayer- I sift through the loads of
information in my head- and let a lot of things go. It’s like a process of
releasing what clouds my vision. And I know when it’s working, because mid-way
(usually somewhere on the Taylor hill leading to Harrison) something shifts: I
start to smile a bit. I hear the difference in pitch of various songbirds. I
see the bouncing tail of the squirrel as a dog barks in its direction. I become
more attentive to the things that had always existed around me, I just didn’t
notice them before.
And the rest of
the walk heals my soul. I decided on a phrase for this phenomenon that occurs
on my walks. I call it the art of noticing.
Mary too went on a
walk one Sunday morning- and it began with heart heavy. Grief at losing a
mentor and friend so young. The terror of having watched his brutal death. The
sheer emptiness of being without the person she found most beloved: Jesus. She,
not one of the esteemed twelve that hold much of the Gospel story, it’s Mary
that is the first to notice. She of course clues everyone in, they run to see
an empty tomb- and then head home. No one noticing Jesus’ risen body just yet.
There was simply too much to process.
See the art of
noticing takes time and intention. It only occurs when we sift through our own
jumbled thoughts and feelings long enough to release them for what awaits us next:
the joy of seeing love—all around us. It works something like this: we
notice first that we are not the center of the universe. That’s key. Only then
can we begin to appreciate our symbiotic existence with all the good that
surrounds us.
On that steep walk
up Taylor, this week the blue house offered folks sidewalk chalk and a simple
note asking us to leave a message. And friends, that drive is filled with
positivity and love. My favorite is written right on the sidewalk: the message
is this: “Do Not Give Up.”
Maybe
Mary saw that message too, because unlike the other disciples at the tomb- Mary
does not go home. She insists that she be reunited with her friend Jesus. Her
time and intention pays off. Her eyes are opened by the love Jesus has for her,
calling her by name, “Mary, it’s me!” Can’t you see? I’m here among you. I want
you to tell the others for me. Love is here- love has conquered death, and from
now on, it always will.
That’s
the gift Mary receives as she practices the art of noticing. And she proclaims
it for the world to know: “I have seen the Lord!!!”
Jan
Richardson said it like this in our poem of invitation:
an
opening into the quiet
that
lies beneath the chaos,
where
you find the peace
you
did not think possible
and
see what shimmers within the storm.
This is the art of
noticing RESURRECTION. This is the story of Easter. And WE are Easter people,
even in the midst of a pandemic. Maybe especially now. We have the stories that
remind us to notice what shimmers within the storm. We are surrounded by love,
we are guided by shared faith, and we are inspired by hope that exists for us
all in the art of noticing what is good.
Here’s your Easter
challenge: Share with us one way you’ve noticed love
at work recently! Comment on
this video thread if you’d like. Here’s mine: as I allowed the tears of
anointing to clear my vision this week, I noticed that I have received many
notes and gestures of kindness from you all, more than I can remember receiving
in the span of a few weeks. Texts, cards in the mail, a small gift, flowers,
all if it speaking the truth that even when life feels hard, love has conquered
death, and it always will.
Or as my Easter
haiku says, “Can it be the truth? Resurrection wins the day? Yes! It always
does.
Friends, this is the
day Jesus invites us to notice the hope and love that surround us. Let’s do it
well!
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