EASTER A, March 27, 2005

I know you will find this difficult to believe, but I am an introvert – at least when I am out of my element. When I am in my element, which is the church, I find it rather easy to take front and center. But whenever I am out of my element, I usually try to find the nearest corner to hide. As I said, you might that difficult to believe, especially since I am a full-blooded Italian. Most Italians I know are extroverts: we’re loud, we’re noisy; we’re always waving our hands and arms when we speak. You can’t miss us.

One of my favorite Italian extroverts, and in his case that is redundant, is Tony Compolo. Actually, his full name is Dr. Anthony Compolo. Tony is a now a retired professor of sociology and religion at Eastern University, which is just outside Philadelphia. He spends most of his time and energy these days lecturing around the country.

Tony is also a Baptist minister and an evangelical. In many ways we have very little in common except our Italian heritage and that we are both ordained. But I love him. I could listen to Tony Compolo talk every day – but only in snatches. His excitement for the Gospel and the Gospel message overwhelms me but it also wears me out.

Several years ago I had the privilege of hearing Tony speak in person. He came to Spokane to address a community roundtable luncheon. He used a passage from the Prophet Isaiah to help paint a picture of what the ideal community should be and could be. His intention was to remind those assembled that it was part of their responsibilities not only to hold up Isaiah’s vision but to help make it a reality.

During the course of his talk – it was really a sermon – he told a wonderful story to illustrate his point to the assembled audience. Several years before he was part of what he called a Good Friday Preach Off at his Baptist Church that is located in the heart of the Philadelphia ghetto. It is now a Black Baptist Church. When Tony was young, it was an all-white Baptist Church and his father was a pillar of that church. But the neighborhood started to change and the white folks started moving out and black folks started moving in. But the Compolos stayed. Tony was raised in that church, went off to seminary, was ordained, and was made an assistant pastor.

There are six assistant pastors and the Senior Pastor. On this Good Friday all seven clergy got to preach. Can you imagine: seven black Baptist preachers preaching? The congregation must have had to pack a lunch. This was no typical three-hour Good Friday Service. It could have extended into three days given how long black Baptist preachers preach.

Well, as Tony tells the story, when it came his turn to preach, he was wonderful. He had "Amens" coming from all over the church. He said, "I was so good I wanted to take notes on me!" When his sermon ended, with a smile of satisfaction on his face, he sat down next to the Senior Pastor. The old man gave him a pat on the knee and told him he did good. When Tony leaned over and whispered to him and asked if he could top him, the old man said, "Just watch." And for the next hour and a half Tony did just that.

As Tony told the story, all the old man did was repeat over and over again, "It’s Friday but Sunday’s coming." It’s Good Friday when everything is dark and gloomy, when the world seems to be going to hell in a handcart; when nothing is going right. It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming. It’s Good Friday when a teenager with a gun enters his school and kills a dozen people and then takes his own life. It is Friday when car bombs kill and maim innocent citizens, when politicians play political games with a comatose woman just to get votes, when an oil refinery explosion kills and injures a score of people, when drugs snuff out young lives, when, when, when. It’s Friday, said the old man. It’s hell out there, but Sunday’s coming.

His point, of course, was very simple. When we are most depressed, when we are most lost and afraid, when it seems like our very own Good Friday, when it feels like everyone and everything is out to get us, Sunday is right around the corner. Easter is right around the corner. Or, as I would say it as a white preacher who thinks even twenty minutes in a pulpit can be an eternity for me to preach, let alone for you to listen; as I would say it on this Easter Sunday morning when this past week’s headlines make it seem like Friday will never end – there is always resurrection. There is always resurrection. No matter what happens, no matter how awful everything seems to be, no matter how grim the future may look, no matter how horrid the past: there is always resurrection.

I truly believe that. There have been times in my life, as there have been times in yours, when you and I were not so sure that there is resurrection, that resurrection was a possibility. There have been times in our lives when everything looked hopeless and we were felt helpless, where we had nowhere to go and no one to whom we could turn. There were times when we felt as if we were the one who was nailed to that cross and had done nothing, nothing at all, to deserve what was happening to us.

We’ve all been there. We’ve all been to our own Calvary. And we have been there more than once. Some here this morning may be there right now – in pain, suffering from some sort of hurt, feeling lost and alone, finding it quite difficult to celebrate Sunday, celebrate Easter, because it’s still Good Friday and you don’t know what’s so good about it.

Yes, we’ve all been there. Sooner or later, however, usually later than we ever desired, but sooner or later it was Sunday. It was Easter. It was resurrection. And once we experienced resurrection, we almost forgot what Friday was like. In fact, it was only after we had experienced our Easter, had experienced our personal resurrection to new life, that we came to understand why Friday was called, even could be called "Good".

We finally understood the good that was part of the pain, what was good about the pain, and the good that came from the pain. We need to remember our resurrections, those Sundays, those Easters in our lives that came after our Fridays, that made all those Fridays, at least in hindsight, Good Fridays. Resurrection brings new life. Resurrection often comes after much pain and suffering. But there is always resurrection. Always.

Resurrection and new life, whatever that new life will be like, will come in time to the people of Red Lake, Minnesota, to the families of those who died, and it has already come to those who were killed. Resurrection and eternal life will come to Terry Schiavo when she is finally allowed to die and resurrection and new life will come in time to her parents once they allow her to die in peace. Resurrection comes to all who die. Resurrection comes in time in this life and in comes in the life to come.

If all we are doing this morning is celebrating and giving thanks for Jesus’ resurrection, thanking God that Easter Sunday is the result of and reward for Jesus’ Good Friday, we will and can have a wonderful celebration. And if this Easter Sunday is like most Easter Sundays, that is why we are here today.

But while we are here this morning, this Easter Sunday morning, we should also pause to remember the many painful and pain-filled Fridays in our lives that became Good when our Sundays of Resurrection, when our Easters came. As that old Black Baptist preacher reminded Tony Compolo and the people gathered that Good Friday several years ago, so he reminds us. Whenever it is Friday in our lives, know that Sunday’s coming. No matter what, there is always resurrection. Somehow in some way there is always resurrection. Easter is never very far away.

Happy Easter.