at the First Congregational Church of Stoughton

United Church of Christ

Things have been breaking around here lately.

A couple of weeks ago, our organist and choir director Al Dubois fell and broke his leg. He is now back home after surgery and some rehab, and we wish Al the best as he recuperates. Many, many thanks to Adam Isbitsky for filling in these past few weeks, especially today!

To add to Al’s broken leg, a few months ago, the Chair of our Board of Deacons, John Baglole, slipped on the ice and shattered his ankle. As a matter of fact, John is the third member of our church family this year to fall and severely break an ankle. It’s good to see you out of the hospital and back on your feet, John, even if you are hobbling around.

Maybe something has broken in your life, too – not necessarily bones, but maybe a relationship, your confidence, your heart.

In his poem “The Widow in the Bye Street,” John Masefield depicts a widow watching her only son hang for crimes against the state. In the sea of faces, her hopeless gaze stands out. As the trapdoor opens and the rope finishes its work, she realizes she is now alone in the world. As she crumbles to the ground sobbing, she mumbles through her tears about broken things “too broke to mend.”¹

Life can do that to you. We all experience brokenness – it can come in the form of financial hardships, health issues, tough times. Maybe you’re sitting here this morning, feeling that your life is “too broke to mend.” Maybe you have been knocked flat on the ground by grief and loss and despair and hopelessness, feeling that your life is so shattered that things cannot be made right again.

Maybe it’s a relationship that has been broken by unkind words or alienation; maybe it’s our health that has been broken by an addiction or a grim prognosis. Some of us experience the brokenness that comes from the loneliness of living alone, or from chronic depression which can keep others away, or the hovering fear of meaninglessness. Perhaps we have lost someone we love and today can feel the cold absence of their empty place in the pew. Maybe it is simply the weariness of life that has broken us.

And if we cannot claim a brokenness in our own life, then we can certainly find enough reasons in the world every day for our hearts to break open for another's pain, another's burden. We need only to read the paper or listen to the news to find brokenness. The earthquake in Italy, the massacre in Binghamton, New York, children murdered, a war that rages on, tragedy upon sorrow. Yes, hearts and lives can break easily and often; it is part of the human condition.

The Gospel of John’s account of the first Easter is a story about broken things that feel “too broke to mend.” It too is the story of a young man being executed by the state in the presence of his mother, a story of the broken promises and loyalties of Jesus’ disciples; of the broken spirits and hearts of Jesus’ followers.

When Jesus is crucified that first Good Friday, more than just a human body dies. The hopes and hearts of hundreds of people are broken by his death, for they thought he was the Messiah. From the first day he appeared in Galilee preaching the Good News of the Kingdom of God, he dared them to imagine a different world, a world based on love and generosity in which the last would be first, the hungry would be fed, the lowly uplifted, the stranger welcomed, and injustice fought.

On the final night of his life, the disciples’ Master and Teacher washed their feet and broke bread at a Last Supper with them; then Judas betrayed him, Peter denied him, and the rest of his disciples abandoned him. And then he was arrested, flogged, crucified, and laid in a tomb, brutally killed by people who felt threatened by him, by people who neither knew nor understood him.

The Gospel of John tells us that Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb on that first Easter Sunday while it is “still dark…” -- not just the darkness before the break of dawn, but also the dark night of her soul; the darkness of her broken heart, her broken hopes and dreams; the darkness of life without the Light of the world. Without her Lord, Mary can no longer feel the presence of God; all she can feel is a brokenness, “too broke to mend.”

When she gets to the tomb and sees that the stone has been rolled away and the grave opened, Mary can only guess that robbers have stolen Jesus’ body. Long after the disciples have seen for themselves and returned home, Mary lingers outside the tomb, weeping. We can imagine that she is thinking back on all that has happened, the many lives that Jesus has touched and transformed from brokenness to wholeness. And – broken-hearted -- she is thinking that now it’s all over.

As she stands there, remembering and weeping, she sees a man near the cave. He speaks, and there is something in his voice that sounds so familiar. “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” In the dim light she cannot see his face and thinks he must be the gardener. But the Voice speaks again: “Mary.” And suddenly she knows – it is him! In that instant, everything changes. Jesus is alive again – the foundation and fulfillment of her hopes, the face of God turned toward her in love. Where there was brokenness, now there is wholeness. Where there was darkness, now there is light. Where there was despair, now there is hope. Where there was death, now there is life.

Yes, the crucifixion is a story of the broken-hearted. But the resurrection is a story of healing, of mending, of wholeness. Ours is a faith of an empty cross – not the brokenness of Jesus’ crucifixion on Good Friday, but the joy of his resurrection on Easter!

Christ is risen – and he is here to heal our brokenness, to transform and make new, to do for us what we can not do for ourselves. Because Christ lives, we never have to dwell in brokenness alone, for he is always here reaching out to us, picking us up, helping us to stand up when we fall. For that is the literal meaning of the word resurrection – “to stand up again.” John Baglole and Al DuBois know that kind of resurrection.

And so does Paul Barnes. Last fall, Paul lay in a hospital, his body ravaged by infection. The only solution was to amputate his foot. It’s been a long road of recuperation and rehabilitation back for Paul and many months confined to a wheelchair. But today, thanks to a prosthetic, the love and support of his wife Dana, and God’s grace-filled healing, Paul can stand up again. That’s Easter!

And then there’s Mike Williams. Not that many years ago, Mike suffered a massive stroke which left him in a coma and on life support for more than a month. The doctors asked his wife Jayne permission to pull the plug – and she said no. And Mike, we are so thrilled that you are here with us, especially this morning, to share your gifts and your faith with us in a just a few minutes. That’s Easter!

And there are many ways the Risen Christ helps us to stand up again – not just physically; indeed, sometimes, we won’t be able to stand up again physically, but we can stand up again emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Because in the midst of our brokenness, Jesus reaches out to us with a compassion that does not deny our suffering but transforms it.

There are many ways we can go from Good Friday brokenness to Easter wholeness.

When our hearts have been broken, and Christ heals us so that we are able to love again – that’s Easter.

When we are broken by anger and hatred, and Christ frees us to offer reconciling forgiveness, that’s Easter.

When we are broken by an anguished and hopeless despair, and Christ pulls us back into the light – that’s Easter.

When our hopes are broken, when we lose a relationship, when illness visits, when death intrudes – and the Risen Christ gives us strength to keep on going – that’s Easter.

Easter invites us to look at the broken places in our lives and see where God is working to bring new life. With “Easter eyes” we can look at tragedy, at disappointment, at rejection and heartbreak to discover that they’re not the ends we thought they’d be. We can look at our losses and find that God has more to give us. We can look at our failures and our defeats and discover that God isn’t finished with us yet. And we can look at death itself and know by the grace of God, it isn’t the last word.

Because of Easter, our hearts and our lives are never “too broke to mend” because the Risen Christ, God with us, enters into our brokenness, into the very heart of our suffering, and helps us to stand up again, to go on, to live life in all its fullness, the way God intends.

Our hearts and our lives are never “too broke to mend” because of Easter. The stone has been rolled away, the tomb is empty, and Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Amen!

¹John Masefield, The Everlasting Mercy and The Widow in the Bye Street (New York: MacMillan Company, 1917), p. 221.