Anything Could Happen
One of my more scold-y Unitarian Universalist colleagues–fabulous by scold-y–issued a warning a few weeks ago: “if you’re going to call it an Easter service, you better preach about Jesus and the resurrection; if you talk about baby chicks and blooming flowers and new life, don’t you call it Easter.”
On the one hand, I don’t completely disagree with her. Seldom an Easter goes by when I don’t read a gospel account of the resurrection, and I always, always reference the story in my sermon, and hey, there is a reason we’re doing Easter today and Earth Day next week. That is to say, to give each its due. On the other hand, however, I think my colleague is flat wrong. It’s the same miracle–resurrection, baby chicks, rebirth in the springtime of the year (whenever spring occurs where you happen to be). The same miracle. Life triumphs over death.
I have the same dispute with UUs who make the argument that Easter in a Unitarian Universalist church should only be about baby chicks and new life and never about Jesus and the resurrection because, after all, they insist, Christianity co opted more ancient pagan festivals, layering its own relatively young theology and mythology atop existing rites and celebrations of spring. To which, I say, yes, and it’s the same miracle. Some souls have ears to hear the metaphor of resurrection and some souls have ears to hear the metaphor of baby chicks. And it’s all the same miracle. Life triumphs over death. And in our Unitarian Universalist theologies, in our Unitarian Universalist sanctuaries and worship services, there is room enough for both expressions of the miracle.
“It’s a miracle.” The main character in this morning’s story (Rechenka’s Eggs by Patricia Polacco) utters that declaration at least five times.
It’s a miracle that the wild creatures find their way to her yard when other food sources are covered in snow. It’s a miracle when Rechenka lays the first brightly colored, intricately designed egg . BIt’s a miracle that the goose lays enough of those eggs to replace all the painstakingly decorated ones that were accidentally smashed. It’s a miracle that sent Rechenka to her in the first place. It’s a miracle that newborn calves are fed from their mother’s milk. And finally, it’s a miracle that before she migrated north with the wild geese, Rechenka left one more egg for Babushka. An egg from which a gosling emerged to become a companion for the rest of her days.
We, rational graduates of high school biology, know that the only thing in the story that can’t be explained by science, that therefore might rightly be called a miracle, is the fact that the goose Rechenka laid brightly colored, intricately designed eggs. All the rest is just the ways of nature. But aren’t the ways nature themselves miracles, even if we can explain them?
I’m thinking about a cartoon I saw this week. The top panel showed a bunch of eggs (with faces and arms and legs) carrying backpacks, satchels and book bags, standing in front of a school building The bottom panel showed a snake, a bald eagle, a crocodile, some chickens, a goose, a turtle, and and an owl sitting at a bar under a banner proclaiming 20 Year Class Reunion. Science and a miracle and a laugh all in a two panel cartoon just in time for an Easter sermon illustration! Of course, it wasn’t scientifically accurate–the eggs were all more or less the same size and shape, though a couple were different colors, and that collection of predators and prey couldn’t all enjoy a drink together at the same water hole. Nevertheless, the absurdity of such disparate animals sharing a common means of genesis is both the way of nature and something of a miracle. Even if we understand evolutionary biology and reptilian biology and oology and so on, really?…all these creatures and more come into being as eggs and emerge into life as all manner of birds and reptiles?! What else is it but a miracle?
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Matthew tells us that the disciples heard what Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women told them regarding the empty tomb, and words of the two men in dazzling clothes, who asked ‘why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen.’ “But these words seemed to [the disciples] an idle tale, and they did not believe them.”
So, so many things have seemed idle tales throughout history: the heliocentric model of the universe, the roundness of the earth, germ theory, the humanity of black and brown skinned people, the rights of women, the rights of gay men and lesbians, the very existence and humanity of trans and nonbinary and gender-fluid individuals, the humanity of kids (and adults) who are differently abled or neurodivergent (and the corollary believe that they have the right to education, recreation and employment, and the accommodations necessary to ensure those rights), the fact that AIDS is caused by a virus not a curse, the efficacy of vaccines against polio, measles, COVID.
All this and so much more, idle tales in their day. Even in our day. Not to be believed because the assertions didn’t fit with the way we knew the world to be–the earth flat and at the center of the universe; bad air at the root of disease (or worse, curses and sins of the individual or the parents at the root of disease). Not to be given any credence because those who proclaimed such things were unreliable witnesses. Unreliable because they were women. Unreliable because they were, they are people of science rather than people of “faith”. Unreliable because they were, they are liberals, socialists, immigrants. Not to be believed because the message challenged/s the empire, threatening to upend society, cut into profits, loosen the control of powerful people.
But it wasn’t an idle tale. The tomb was empty. Life triumphed over death and left that tomb. Maybe it was a man, crucified, dead, and resurrected to life, that emerged from the tomb. Or maybe what emerged was a faith that had died on that cross along with the man, and rose again with the belief of three women and the slow belief of the rest of the disciples, a faith that lives yet two thousand years later to challenge, in its purest, more radical form, the empire that would have had it buried forever in that tomb. Not an idle tale. Life triumphing over death.
It wasn’t an idle tale. The sun occupies the center of our solar system, the earth and the other planets revolving around it, though my colleague with a scientific education to rival his theological education tells me that the heliocentric model is itself imperfect. Still, even with imperfect advances in knowledge, life triumphs over death, as each discovery leads to other discoveries–often wildly unexpected and nothing short of miraculous. If astronomers and mathematicians had rested on the geocentric model of the solar system, venturing no further with their questions and observations and explorations, would this week’s news be filled with stories about the possibility of life on Planet K2-18b?
Germ theory wasn’t an idle tale. Microorganisms cause disease, and as doubters became believers, and believers instituted aseptic practices, and developed antiseptics and vaccines and other treatments built on that knowledge, life triumphed over what was once sure death countless times. Life continues to triumph over death when we embrace science, speak openly about how disease (including HIV) is transmitted and can be prevented, and prioritize public health funding.
It wasn’t an idle tale. Every human baby born into the world, every color, every gender, every race, every class, every legal status, cis and trans and nonbinary–every baby born into the world exists and is holy, who and as they are. And every time doubters become believers, life triumphs over death as rights are protected, supports and accommodations are put into place, authentic selves are acknowledged and celebrated–so that babies survive, children thrive, teens and adults choose to live.
It wasn’t an idle tale. None of them were idle tales. Because, as Kara Root wrote in one of this morning’s readings,
"the enduring force is not, after all, death, but instead it is Life, abundant and full… The tomb is empty… Anything could happen."
And one of the most miraculous things that could happen, that does happen, is the tomb becoming empty time after time after time, whenever we choose to call life forth from places of death. When we refuse to dismiss as idle tales knowledge and practices that upset the status quo but defend and preserve and cherish life in all its stunning diversity. And when we have the courage to change our minds about what is an idle tale and what is not, about what had been considered scientific certainty or established truth but might in fact be erroneous (like, the earth is flat) or propaganda of the empire (like, only white, male, cisgender persons born in the United States to parents who are citizens of the United States have the right to due process under the law).
The hard part of the message “anything could happen” is that anything could happen. We could, as individuals, as a society, as humankind, just as easily call forth death from places of life. And we have, time and again. We could be the ones calling truth an idle tale. And we have been, time and again. We’ve dismissed as idle tales the truths people tell us about their own lives and their own experiences. We’ve refused to call people by their names, use their pronouns. We’ve failed to fact check stories before sharing and amplifying them on social media. We’ve clung to stubborn myths like “it can’t happen here” and “I’m too insignificant to make a difference.”
Then Easter rolls around again, not only calling us to celebrate the triumph of life over death. But also calling us back to our proper place in the story—as the ones reporting what they saw, not the ones declaring it an idle tale. Easter calls us to be ready to witness miracles. Ready to risk ridicule by speaking the truth. Ready to declare the enduring force of life, however unexpected, however unlikely, however upsetting of the established order.
Anything could happen. Life out of a tomb. Life out of eggs. Life flowing from mother’s bodies into newborn mouths. Unlikely lifelong bonds–between humans, between creatures, between humans and creatures. Anything could happen. Let us have eyes to see, ears to hear, hearts to believe and voices to sing Alleluia.
Amen
