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Jesus Is Here,
Resurrecting the Cracked and Hardened Heart

The Rev. Canon Renée Miller

(This sermon is also available in audio)


A day of unbroken heat—the kind of heat that blisters and sears the skin—the kind of heat that causes fissures and cracks in the soil—the heat that threatens to steal without restraint the moisture that gives and sustains life.

I live part of my life in one of the hottest and most arid places in the country—the large and desolate Mohave Desert. We have less than 3 inches of rainfall a year and in the summer the temperatures range from 115-120 degrees, and rarely drop below 100 degrees at night. Your skin can literally be scalded by coming into contact with the door handle on your car, or by touching the sidewalk with your bare feet. While it seems comforting to say, "Ah, but it's a dry heat," I can tell you that even dry heat can be so intense as to take the breath away.

It may seem odd that a person would actually choose to live in such a place! But, when I scan the dry cracks and sandy crevices that are faded and drear from desert's sun and I witness the soil blistered and fissured by that orb of sunlight, I begin to have a language for the condition that sometimes overtakes me—indeed overtakes us all—that condition called hardness of heart.

You know what this is like. You know when your heart has become so stiff that it is unpliable—unbending. And surprisingly, it doesn't take much for the heart to develop around it this inflexible crust.

Sometimes it is our anger at someone in our life or a situation in our life; sometimes it is a need to have things a certain way; sometimes it is a loss, a disappointment, or a betrayal; sometimes it is the emptiness of loneliness or the fear of our own inner shame that causes our heart to become petrified and paralyzed.

And like the soil that gradually splits and separates under the blazing heat of the sun, so our hearts begin to split and fracture under the heat of that anger, disappointment, loss, betrayal, loneliness, or shame.

We find ourselves less able to feel, less able to respond, less able to sing the song of joy, less able to open our arms to welcome others in, less able to hear the stirring of God's spirit within.

A pall of dullness settles over us and we start living a deadened life—and we don't seem able to pull ourselves out from the depths into which we have fallen.

We go through the motions of life but do not feel alive. We speak the words that we are required to speak, we laugh on cue, we do our work on command, but there seems to be no joy, no hope, no energy or enthusiasm.

It seems that in our current cultural context, these feelings overtake us quite frequently and our primary answer for dealing with them is to shop until we drop, read self-help books, take more Prozac, eat or drink more to avoid the pain.

Sometimes these things give us a little respite from the seed of dread we feel inside, but what our heart is really lacking is moisture. Like the desert, we are thirsty. We are thirsty for the mercy of God. A hard and parched thirsty heart can only be softened by the mercy of God.

Years ago I was attending a retreat that was led by two psychotherapists. One part of the retreat included being in one of two small groups, each led by one of the psychotherapists. The lights in the room where we met were softened and we were led through a reflective exercise. There were about twelve of us in this room, and suddenly a man began to weep. At first he tried to cover up his weeping, but unable to contain his pain any longer he gave full vent to his sorrow. We all sat rigid wondering how to proceed.

The leader of the group began to speak with the weeping man and soon the story of his hardened heart poured out. "I have just retired from my medical practice," he said. "I have been an obstetrician for 35 years. My father was a doctor and it was the expectation that I would be a doctor. There was no question, in fact, that this is how I would spend my life. But, I never wanted to be a doctor.

I've spent my whole life doing something I didn't want to do and now, for the first time, I feel as though my tears are washing away the hardness I've felt about my life for so long."

This could be viewed as a sad story, but it is really a story of the mercy and resurrection of God. In a dimly lit room with eleven other people a man's hard, parched and thirsty heart experienced that holy shower of mercy and a second life for him was begun.

This man was resurrected. This man had a new chance for life. This man's heart was beating and whole.

The Persian poet Jellaludin Rumi, who was born in the year 1207, had an interesting way of expressing such a resurrection:

I called through your door,
"The mystics are gathering in the street. Come out!"
"Leave me alone. I'm sick."
"I don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect somebody!"

There always seems to be a good excuse for not being resurrected. And it has more to do with the pattern of our current lives, than it does with the lack of faith that resurrection is possible. For in fact, we have already been raised with Christ, St. Paul says.

We're not waiting around for our physical death in order to see if we are going to be raised up. We are already raised, and so is everyone else for whom Christ died.

What is left is to accept the resurrected life here and now. And this resurrection begins with our heart. This is what the poet Rumi is saying. Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody. He wants to have someone say, "Yes, I will live the resurrection life. Yes, I will wear the resurrection clothes. Yes, resurrect me!"

So why do we find so many excuses to avoid resurrected life? Because we are really afraid of resurrection—afraid of wearing resurrection clothes. We easily jump to the conclusion that living a resurrected life means that we will not be able to have any more fun in life. No more parties, no more shopping sprees, no more of anything that is frivolous and delightful.

Instead our lives will become sacrificial and difficult. Rather than take that dismal path, we sometimes think it better to leave resurrection and holiness to others who are more spiritually adept and obviously suited to that kind of life.

Now it is possible to avoid resurrection by just such mental gymnastics. We can stay inside our hardened heart and say, "I can't come out. I'm sick." And we can do so for a long time—sometimes for nearly the whole of our lived life. But the voice will come, "I don't care if you're dead!! Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect someone!"

And you know what will happen? Our ears will hear and our hearts will soften because we actually desire to be resurrected.

And the way we can know if that is true is to pay attention to those surprising and uneasy moments when we realize that something is missing within us. Those times when we feel the cracks around our own hardened heart. Those times when we hope, we wish, we long, we yearn for something more.

We may not be able to name what that 'more' is but we know that we desire what is beyond mere enjoyment, intellectual pursuit, even spiritual discipline.

Taste, and touch, and vision, to discern thee fail;
Faith that comes by hearing, pierces through the veil.
I believe whate'er the Son of God hath told;
What the Truth hath spoken, that for truth I hold.

(from "Humbly I adore thee," Hymn 204, from The 1940 Hymnal, ©1940)

You know how this works. You awake one morning and realize that today is going to be just like yesterday and that tomorrow will be like today. In fact, it seems like all your days are just like one another. After a momentary reality check about your boredom your mind asks you, "What does it mean that all my days are just like one another? Isn't there more to life than this?"

Or, you go to the post office, pick up your stack of junk mail and begin flipping through catalogues. After your first desire to have something new, you suddenly feel a touch of anger and you hear the question in your head, "Why does everyone just want to sell me something? And why does it never really satisfy me?" Or, you read the Bible and don't understand it, you pray and nothing seems to happen, and you're simply sick and tired of trying to be 'religious.'

After your bout with guilt you realize that you want to see what is truly real, but don't know how to see it. In your head you hear the question, "Will all this spiritual 'stuff' really make a difference in my life?"

Or, you suffer the loss of someone you love, or you become very ill. After your shock and sorrow you suddenly realize that all the parties and the shopping trips can't answer the question that throbs inside your soul, "Why is this happening to me? How can I go on?"

Or, you see the end of your own life approaching quicker than you'd like, and you begin to wonder if your life has been lived well. After worrying about what death will be like, the question that slips across your mind is, "How can I come closer to the meaning and truth of life before it's gone?"

These are all examples of what it means to desire something within ourselves that is beyond the day-to-day "ho-hum" of life.

The dilemma is this: How can that desire, that longing be met? How can the desire to be resurrected—to be delivered from hardness of heart—be fulfilled short of joining a monastery?

Jesus gives us the answer. "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and gentle in heart and you will find rest for your souls." The Sanskrit word for yoke is yuga and literally means "that which joins."

Jesus names what we cannot name. "Come to me," he says. "Get into the yoke with me. Be joined to me. Walk alongside me, in tandem, and you will find the fulfillment your soul is looking for."

We need only two things to be resurrected: the desire that is yet unmet in our hearts, and the willingness to risk going to Jesus to fulfill that desire. Scripture is replete with examples of those that felt such desire and were willing to take the risk. Let me tell you about three of them.

It was on just such a hot desert day as I was describing a few moments ago that Bartimaeus the blind man, reached out to be joined with Jesus in the yoke of simple holiness. More than diseased eyes, he had, not a hardened heart, but a blind heart. He knew the religious formulas because he had grown up with them, but they had not given him genuine spiritual sight.

He heard Jesus coming by and his closed heart began to flutter and open as a tiny newborn robin trying out its wings for the first time. He was hearing "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody."

Bartimaeus wanted Jesus to stop. He wanted Jesus to notice him. He wanted Jesus to heal him. He wanted to see.

In the midst of the crowds clamoring around Jesus and the disciples who were trying to protect Jesus from those crowds, he wanted to stand out so much that Jesus would have a one-on-one encounter with him.

He cried out and the disciples tried to silence him, so he cried even louder. And Jesus stopped. "What do you want?" Jesus asked him. "I want to see."

When those empty visionless eyes were given sight, the blind heart of Bartimaeus began to beat wildly in his breast and his desire 'to see' became the desire for resurrection that joined him to Jesus.

"Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody." Bartimaeus was willing to step into the resurrection clothes.

In the black of the desert night where only stars and an occasional wild dog are seen, Nicodemus slipped away from his house to find Jesus. He was one of the bright, educated, religious leaders. He had greatness of age and stature.

He was filled with learning, spiritual words and practices of holiness. He had not a hardened heart, but a blank heart. He taught others and debated with others about matters of faith, but he was aware that something was missing. His status and place in the religious establishment made him fearful to seek Jesus in daylight.

But it was not only fear for his reputation that kept him from seeking Jesus in the midst of day. He also feared his own lack of understanding.

But he was driven to Jesus in spite of his fear. Though his fear could have held him back, he wanted to hear truth. He wanted to be exposed to the reality of his own folly. He wanted to find the place where hope and holiness meet. He wanted to know.

His somewhat hardened, but certainly blank, heart had not yet been resurrected but he was hearing, "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody." Jesus pierced in two the smart religious talk of Nicodemus and in the breach between full truth and half-truth; his desire 'to know' became the desire for resurrection that joined him to Jesus. "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody." Nicodemus was ready to don the resurrection clothes.

It was another desert evening dinner party for Mary. She had helped prepare the house and the meal but her mind and heart were eager for the guest of honor to arrive. The hour finally came and in he walked.

She knew her role as a woman. She knew she was supposed to keep her distance, stay out of sight, serve and attend to the needs of the guests. But she could not help herself. Her heart was not hardened, but hungry. When she saw Jesus, her hungry heart heard "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody."

Suddenly she knew what she wanted more than anything else. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to listen to him. She wanted to hear the wisdom that came from his lips. She wanted to sit at his feet and be enveloped in his being and presence. Every fiber of her hungry heart reached out in hopes that even she, a woman, might be given the chance to have her heart resurrected.

She risked ridicule from Jesus as well as wrath from her sister because her desire was so strong. The dreaded moment came. Sure that Jesus would reprimand Mary, her sister Martha spoke out to Jesus that Mary was not fulfilling her duties as a woman and hostess, and that she was not helping with the work that needed to be done.

Mary's tender heart felt as if it would stop. Would Jesus humiliate her? Would she be forced to leave the one who gave meaning to the yearning of her heart? Would her desire be forever unmet? "Martha," Jesus said, "Mary has chosen the better part, and it will not be taken from her." Mary's desire 'to sit in Jesus' presence' became the desire for resurrection that joined her to Jesus. "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect somebody." Mary was ready to be clothed in resurrection.

These three recognized that something was missing in their lives and they knew that Jesus was the one who could give it to them. One wanted to see. One wanted to know. One wanted to sit. They went to Jesus and in the shadows of their limited understanding, they slipped into the yoke with Jesus and felt the freedom of being joined with him.

Each of them found that resurrection of their heart was not what they might have imagined it to be. They found that resurrection is not about fulfilling religious duties. Resurrection is about being joined to Jesus.

What's going on in your heart? Where has the heat of life hardened your heart? Where are the cracks and fissures that have left you feeling deadened and dull? Where is your hunger? For what do you yearn?

Don't be afraid to feel that desire even if you cannot articulate clearly what it is. Go to Jesus and tell him what you want.

All my life I've been on a road,
Going one way, toward one dream.
The road would wind
And down it I would go,
Always searching, never finding
But even in my darkest hour I always knew,
That someday, somehow the road would lead to you.

Listen to my heart, listen to it sing,
Listen to my voice, it wants to tell you everything.
There's so much to say,
I don't know where to start,
But if you want to know the love I'm feeling
Listen to my heart.
(from "Listen to My Heart" by David Friedman, ©1995 Midder Music)

And Jesus will listen to your heart. Then, when he says to you, "Get into the yoke with me, be joined with me." Don't PANIC!! Slowly slide into the yoke of holiness and find your soul's rest.

I called through your door,
"The mystics are gathering in the street. Come out!"
"Leave me alone. I'm sick."
"I don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect somebody!"
(Jellaludin Rumi)

"I don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect somebody!"

Copyright ©2003 Renee Miller

This homily was delivered at the Lenten Noonday Preaching Series at Calvary Episcopal Church, Memphis, Tennessee, on April 9, 2003.


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