He is not here…

I remember my one and only Easter as a full-time student pastor far too vividly. It may be the only 'do-over' in egg hunt history. It was a beautiful day, but the sun was quickly blotted out by an untimely false start at the third through fifth grade egg field. There was an apparent miscommunication – I blame other people – and a handful of kids were somehow allowed to start hunting before the masses had made it to the starting gate from their hot dog lunch.

Oh, it was an ugly, ugly scene – tables were overturned, tears were flowing, blood was shed…or was it just ketchup? Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but it wasn't my proudest moment. Adults had to recover eggs from children with overburdened baskets, order had to be restored, angry parents assuaged and eggs re-distributed across the asphalt parking lot – it was more a mad chase scenario than a hunt, I guess. The irony was thick, instead of a 'triumphal entry' I had created an 'angry mob.' I'm certain I heard chants of 'crucify him, crucify him' pointed in my direction. I had leveraged an event that involves a competition driven by greed – enhanced with monstrous prize eggs – to celebrate the selfless life and death of Jesus. In the midst of the hunt I had forgotten what it was we were supposed to be searching for.

The 'hunt' for Jesus began early in his ministry. He was constantly surrounded by crowds, many following him from town to town. When he took a boat across the sea, the crowds met him on the other side. Certainly they were enamored by his message…and his miracles. Like children at Easter, many were probably hoping to find a prize egg.

After a long day of caring for the sick and afflicted in Capernaum, Mark reveals that Jesus sought a quiet place of solace the next morning (Mark 1:35ff). After his disciples finally find him, in what must have been an exhaustive search, they chide Jesus for his absence – "everyone is looking for you!" Jesus calmly responds that it's time to move on. Jesus appears to have had little interest in being the hunted. His driving motivation was not to be the center of attention, but rather to bring attention to the needs of communities, and to challenge the social, political and religious boundaries that diminished (and continue to diminish) the lives of so many.

Eventually the 'hunt' for Jesus takes a decidedly disastrous turn. The crowds that praised him vanish – apparently all the 'prize eggs' had been found. They are replaced by moneychangers, rich young rulers and religious authorities hell bent on his destruction.

Few stood by the cross as he died, and only three, two Mary's and a Salome, visited his tomb. In the end, the hunt for Jesus comes up empty. As the angel tells them, "He is not here…" (Mark 16:6). The message brought fear and trembling, and maybe the anger that only true mourners could hold for their beloved – "Where are you?! Don't you know that everyone is looking for you!"
Yet, Jesus' posthumous call to his followers in Mark's Gospel was simple… 'it's time to move on.' Begin again. Challenge the authorities again. Put the rich young rulers in their place again. Heal the sick again. Comfort the afflicted again. Seek justice again. Be willing to die for it…again.

I've spent the better part of three decades trying to wrestle Jesus from his hiding place – "Damn it, Jesus! Don't you see the trouble in our world…do something! Don't you know that everyone is looking for you!" I think I've become just deaf enough to the Christian cacophony to finally hear Jesus calmly whispering, "Damon…it's time to move on. Why are you still standing by my tomb? Don't you see – it's the world that needs to be resurrected, not me."

"He has risen…he is not here" – those words are not a comfort, they are a challenge…and they leave me trembling. – D. Christian Nix, 4/22/2011

Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally

I recently returned home from a workshop in Charlotte, NC. I spent three days rehearsing my freshman year in college so I can (hopefully) pass a professional certification exam in the near future. We covered material I had hoped to never see again from chemistry, physics, and economics…things like "PV=NRT" and "F=MA" (If you know what those letters mean, I feel your pain).

While doing a basic mathematics refresher I was reminded of a phrase I hadn't heard since middle school – "Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally." As most of you know, it's a mnemonic device designed to help you remember the order of operations when solving math problems – Parentheses, Exponents, Multiply, Divide, Add, and Subtract. It's critical that you follow that order or you'll end up with the wrong answer. Thinking back, I always felt like subtraction got the short end of the deal (and I realize thinking about things like that makes me a bit strange). Why was it always last? As if it was the least important part of the process.

In life, subtraction can be a painful thing. Yet, growing up requires a great deal of subtraction – progress always requires a bit of 'letting go.' Moving from school to work we reduce a great deal of our previous leisure. Then, if we become parents we let go of the rest of our leisure! We eliminate, or at least attempt to eliminate, vices, habits and attitudes as we mature. Relationships are ended for various reasons – some good, some bad. And, saddest of all, we experience the subtraction of loved ones from our lives in the passing of time. All these subtractions have a great impact on who we are and who we become.

So, too, with the 'Christian' life and the life of religion and faith in general. By the time we're adults our theology is an amazingly complex mass of refined, yet often conflicting, beliefs. Often these beliefs become fixed as we seek some sense of certainty in our less than certain lives. But, what about that subtraction bit? Is there any room for subtraction in our personal belief systems? After building such a fine calculation of faith, what could we – what would we – possibly let go?

Jesus was the master of subtraction. He was always subtracting burdensome and unnecessary rules as detailed in his many encounters with the Pharisees. From the sick and outcast he subtracted the social stigma that bound them to the lowest places in society. And he even subtracted undeserved honor and status from the rulers and elite who often came with their 'brilliant' questions. Jesus established a mission of subtraction – removing pain and injustice wherever he went.

I think much of this occurred because of Jesus' willingness to subtract from the orthodoxy and religious and cultural norms of the day. This stands out to me particularly in Matthew 5 in Jesus' repeated refrain, "You have heard that is was said…but I tell you…" How did Jesus arrive at such different conclusions about life and faith than so many of his contemporaries, including John the Baptist? I've often wondered if it was the outgrowth of a great subtraction from his own life – the death of a loved one, a personal experience of injustice or simply the incongruence of a 'certain' faith amidst clearly uncertain times.

Regardless, Jesus seems to have set about the process of 'subtraction' as an adult. He unraveled the calculations he'd been given – undoing the additions, multiplying what had been divided and dividing what had been multiplied, inverting the exponentials and finally, and most graciously, removing the parentheses of exclusion. Life was no longer a problem to be solved, but a community of people, places, cultures and beliefs that had value and worth in and of themselves.

I've been about a journey of subtraction myself the last few years. I believe far less than I did before…yet, I also believe so much more. Constants have been replaced with variables, and I'm growing more comfortable with leaving them unsolved. – D. Christian Nix, 4/6/2011