Let it Go, Let it Go, Let it Go

Gospel Reading:
John 20:1-18

Lay Preacher: Robyn McGuire

What’s familiar is what I most want to
And it’s all I know to hang onto
And if we’ve no place to grow
Let it go, let it go, let it go

As Robyn McGuire reminded us this week, we do hang onto a lot of things. Because of our human nature, we tend to “get comfy” with our own individual forms of “the familiar”. We fluff them up, feed them, care for them, nurture them, and, yes, hold onto them. In part, we can allow them to define, at least in part, who we are. That’s not entirely a bad thing, but this week Jesus reminds us that we can hold on too much. He showed us that change is inevitable and we should, if not embrace it, be prepared for it and to accept it. Much transformation requires, first, letting go.

Robyn reminded us of all that we hold onto: our jobs, our pets, our relationships with friends and family, our comfort zone. She associated letting go of at least some of these with the process of grieving, that we grieve whenever we sever a part of ourselves from our being. And that grieving takes many forms unique to our individuality.

Robyn points out how “the questions” asked in the Gospel are thought provoking.

First, Jesus asks us all:

“What are you holding onto?” This question requires self-reflection for all of us to answer. Often our reflections reveal things we would not have imagined. When you examine all that you “hold onto”, you can appreciate, in that light of reflection, how much weight you are carrying by holding on. Is it good? Or only familiar?

The angel asks Mary, “Why are you weeping?” and “For whom are you looking?” When the familiar takes exit and we are face to face with change, sometimes our disorientation will leave us in a daze. We do a double take. As Mary did at the tomb when she realized Jesus was no longer there. When we look at things from a new perspective, it is important then to ask ourselves “What are you looking for?”

In the movie Dead Poets Society, Keating tells his students “Just when you think you know something, you must look at it from a different perspective!” He has them all line up and approach his desk and stand on top of it to SEE what the room looks like from “up there”. Just when you think you know something, approach it from a new light! What a message to hear in the throws of Pastor Johnsons sabbatical. Jesus implores us to not hold onto the familiar for its own sake. He says “Watch. I will make a new thing.”

Mary discovers at the tomb that things have been transformed, made new. The angel asks her why she is weeping. Weeping for change? Because her familiar Jesus is no longer? What growth does not involve some form of transformation? Some leaving of the old and stepping out into the new?

Pastor Johnson returned to Mt. Zion this week. He shared stories of his personal transformation. We witnessed a man embracing the new, self avowed (as described by Krista) that he was “not a looking back kinda guy”. But it might have taken some hindsight to help catalyze the transformation. I only yesterday was privileged to listen to Robyn’s sermon of late July. With it came the message of the journey of a caterpillar to chrysalis to pupa to magnificent butterfly.

She was right. The Easter story transcends Easter. It is a message for other times – even the quiet cool evenings of late July.

She summarized beautifully by quoting Pastor Johnson in a voice reminiscent of the angel at the tomb.

You will not find your old friend here. He has changed. He is , in many respects, not the person you knew before. He has gone on.

“I was called to Mt. Zion. Mt. Zion is my home. I’m glad to have Mt. Zion to come home to. I will return wiser, stronger, with a new fire in my belly. This is already clear. But I caution you – I will not be the same person – physically, mentally or spiritually. I’m not sure exactly what shape that will take, but it will be a spectre of a new person with new ideas and new passions.”

In a lot of ways, who we are owes itself in many ways to who we were. But we need to reflect how much of who we were we will continue to carry around and hold onto. A sabbatical is the time for that sort of reflection. When we recognize that the journey best embraces making a new thing, we can grow into that beautiful butterfly.

I can’t help but hear a collective voice … as we come to terms with the new person Pastor Johnson has become, as the tombstone has been turned away, as the cocoon breaks open, a cloud of witnesses happily says …

“Welcome home”