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12 April 1998
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Again, welcome to St. Margaret's on this Glorious Day, this Day that the Lord has made. Look around at the colors, the beautiful flowers, revel in the wonderful music of this day, music of victory and triumph. It is a glorious day.
I invite you to see the day with the eyes of a child: Laura
was visiting her
grandmother in the country. One evening, they sat and enjoyed
the panorama of stars in the heavens—such sparkling brilliance
the little girl hadn't seen, living in the city with all the lights.
She was in awe of the beauty and said to her grandmother, "If
heaven is so beautiful on the wrong side, what must it be like
on the right side." Let us come to today's glory with the
eyes and faith of a child like Laura.
To truly appreciate what it is we celebrate this day, we must
go back to
Good Friday and darkness. Easter becomes all the more vibrant
and brilliant when contrasted with the darkness of Friday. Come
with me as I tell a story from our own day about death and resurrection
and faith. Our storyteller is Cindy, a mother, a public health
educator who combines her knowledge of biology with her skills
as a teacher to help others become and stay healthy.
In my dual profession as an educator and health care provider, I have worked with numerous children infected with the virus that causes AIDS. The relationships that I have had with these special kids have been gifts in my life. They have taught me so many things, but I have especially learned that great courage [and faith] can be found in the smallest of packages. Let me tell you about Tyler.
Tyler was born infected with HIV; his mother was also infected.
From the very beginning of his life, he was dependent on medications
to enable him to survive. When he was five, he had a tube surgically
inserted in a vein in his chest. This tube was connected to a
pump, which he carried in a small backpack on his back.
Medications were hooked up to this pump and were continuously
supplied through this tube to his bloodstream. At times, he also
needed supplemental oxygen to support his breathing.
Now, Tyler wasn't willing to give up one single moment of his childhood to this deadly disease. It was not unusual to find him playing and racing around his backyard, wearing his medicine-laden backpack and dragging his tank of oxygen behind him in his little wagon. All of us who knew Tyler marveled at his pure joy in being alive and the energy it gave him. Tyler's mom often teased him by telling him that he moved so fast she needed to dress him in red. That way, when she peered out the window to check on him playing in the yard, she could quickly spot him.
This dreaded disease eventually wore down even the likes of a little dynamo like Tyler. He grew quite ill and, unfortunately, so did his HIV-infected mother. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to survive, Tyler's mom talked to him about death. She comforted him by telling Tyler that she was dying too, and that she would be with him soon in heaven.
A few days before his death, Tyler beckoned me over to his
hospital bed and whispered, "I might die soon. I'm not scared.
When I die, please dress me in red. Mom promised she's coming
to heaven, too. I'll be playing when she gets there, and
I want to make sure she can find me." (1)
Yes, it is a heavy story, almost too much to bear. Right up
to yesterday afternoon I debated with myself and the Holy Spirit
about using it today. Among the many
stories I could have used, might have used, I kept coming back
to this one. Do you remember the words of Jesus on that day he
blessed the children? While scolding his disciples, and just before
he blessed the children, Jesus spoke: "Truly I say to you,
whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will
not enter it at all." Mark 10.15 (NASB)
Stories about children grab our attention, don't they? What makes this story so compelling is that it is about a 5 year old. Our defenses are down. We're available and open to children, our feelings are unprotected. The story grabs us, and we can feel the ache of our arms and hearts to bring comfort to bring hope to make it all better and we can also feel our helplessness and powerlessness in the face of a virus whose cure eludes us. This taste of yearning and powerlessness grabs us before we can prevent it. It pierces our hearts.
I suggest that, in this, you have experienced the same feelings
that ran through the disciples from the moment that Jesus was
wrestled away from them, falsely
accused and maliciously condemned. You have tasted the ache and
despair of those disciples as Jesus was beaten, scourged, and
mocked. You have sampled the
powerlessness they felt as the crowd, shouting "Crucify him,
crucify him," had their way. In listening to Tyler's story
you and I were transported to the foot of the cross with Mary,
the mother of Jesus.
Having been grabbed by Tyler's story, humbled by his courage and his faith, and further humbled in our knowledge that he was only 5 when he died, you and I have tasted the tears of Peter who at the moment of crisis even denied knowing Jesus. You and I, as we measure our courage and faith against Tyler's, know the humility and embarrassment (if not shame) of the disciples who ran from Jesus out of fear for their own selves. Tyler's story has the power to plunge us into the darkness of Good Friday.
But like our own sacred story of the death and resurrection of Jesus, Tyler's story isn't only about death and darkness. The real power in his story the real beauty in his story and ours is about life and light. He preaches a wonderful Easter sermon. Let this young man teach us now.
As he pulls Cindy into his confidence we learn afresh that receiving the kingdom like a child involves telling the truth. Without excuse, denial, or diplomacy he simply announces: "I might die soon." He tells the truth. And then in a testimony that both astounds and thrills us he says "I'm not scared." What? Not scared? But you're going to die.
And here we discover another element of childlike faith. Clearly,
as a child, he has trusted his teachers, most especially his mother.
No doubt he had a million
questions, children do. No doubt he was encouraged to ask them
and encouraged to keep asking. What an example of faith he sets
for us: our faith need not be silent or unquestioning, and our
faith will best be served by finding teachers we can trust. You
and I turn to the Holy Scriptures, here as we worship, and in
the quiet of our homes. You and I turn to each other in the community
of this parish. We ask our questions and we develop a trust in
our teachers. We welcome the kingdom like a child.
But the real punch, the Easter proclamation in Tyler's faith, story, and teaching comes in his final words that he and his mom are going to heaven, that they will be reunited, and will enjoy their new life. Tyler's faith is without guile or pretense, and at our best our faith looks a lot like his. Probably he could not recite the words of our creed but he gives powerful expression to truths we hold, Easter truths that dawned as Jesus rose from the dead that first Easter morning: he believes in the communion of saints ("mom promised she is coming to heaven, I want to make sure she can find me"), he believes in the resurrection of the body ("please, dress me in red—so she can find me"), and life everlasting.
And something else I love about his faith: when he enters into glory, when he arrives at his new home, when he is welcomed into the fellowship of the saints in light, Tyler is going to have fun; he is going to play and play and play. Now that is Easter faith my friends, that is Easter faith! Amen.
(1) Cindy Dee Holms, "Please Dress Me in Red" in A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul. Health Communications, Inc., Deerfield Beach, FL, 1996
The Rev. Daniel Rondeau
drondeau@stmargarets.org
12 April 1998