Easter Day At The Top Of The Slide

LUKE 24:1-12

I remember Chessington when it really was a zoo and you went there just to look at the animals. None of this theme park business with “white knuckle” rides to scare the living daylights out of you.

They did have some slides though – right out the back – big green things towering into the sky rather like “Wars of the Worlds” invaders.

I remember following the stream of whooping children as we rushed across the grass towards them. I remember climbing the little green steps, pushed and jostled by those, like me, who couldn’t wait to get to the top.

The climb seemed to go on forever – as if we’d touch the sky.

I’m sure the slide rocked from side to side with the number of children clambering up the frame.

These were the days when no one had heard about “risk assessment”

I remember at last getting to the top.

My turn to slide.

I remember looking over the edge at the long flight downwards and realising all of a sudden I could not do it. Not for anything.

I turned to try to push my way back past the children behind me.

They wouldn’t let me past. “Scaredy -  cat – scaredy cat” they began to chant.

“Get down that slide mate – before we push you down” said a seven year old bully.

Let me confess to you that I always find the readings for Easter Day to be a bit disappointing. There’s not much happening that’s positive..

Our Gospel has the women running from the tomb in a state of terror whilst the men dismiss the whole thing as an idle tale.

There’s a positive spin in the final verse with Peter going to the tomb alone and being amazed – but I have to tell you that in some of the more ancient manuscripts – this verse is missing.

The truth is that the enormity of the resurrection takes some getting used to, so no wonder responses are tentative in scripture and maybe in our own hearts too.

The good thing about the Gospels was that you knew where to find Jesus.

He crops up in familiar stories and great words of teaching.

He’s either striding out in front of His disciples or else he’s arguing with the religious, he’s healing an individual or he’s sitting with a group doing some storytelling.

After the resurrection, we’re no longer quite sure where He is.

But we’re told He’s about.

By a lake one minute and on a country lane the next.

Miles away in Galilee or right there with you in a locked room.

The resurrection sets Jesus free to inch his way into our lives in whatever way he chooses – but he never forces his impact upon us – we have the choice

whether to acknowledge His risen presence or not.

To keep him at arms length we create for ourselves this festival of ducks and rabbits and eggs and celebrate an end to forty days without  chocolate, and even in the church there’s a danger that this festival day ends up being – well, nice and cute.

When really this morning brings each one of us to the top of the slide.

And we see that what lies ahead is a tremendous freedom.

We see that the freedom of the risen Christ becomes our own gift.

But it involves the risk of letting go and of being driven by a power you can’t always contain.

 Here’s where it gets scary.

When we go so far as to say – that because of Easter – heaven and earth have collided.

Jesus experiences humanity in a new way on Good Friday

We experience divinity in a new way on Easter Day.

We can no longer pin Jesus down but we know he is about.

In improbable places and unlikely people.

Places like here. People like you.

Leading us to a faith that can no longer be compartmentalised.

That forces us to go against the flow of popular opinion.

That makes us see that the whole world is sacred along with every person in it.

That makes our worship and the whole of our life at St Matthew’s an increasingly strong reflection of this truth.

My mum and dad were waiting anxiously at the foot of the slide.

“We told you that you wouldn’t like it” they scolded “but you’ll have to come down now, you’re blocking all the other children”

And down I came – my hands holding on to the side of the slide so that by the time I got to the bottom they were red raw and I was howling with pain.

Couldn’t let go you see – couldn’t trust myself to it. All too powerful.

Here’s the tragedy of Easter Day – to only give yourself half to it.

I’d love to take you all back in time on a church outing to Chessington and find the field with those old slides in.

 To climb up together and then see how we all come down.

R  8.4.07