“Little Annie” was hopelessly insane. Well, that is at least what many of the people who were around her thought. As a young girl she was kept in a cage on the lowest level of a treatment facility for the mentally ill. In her day they could and did call it an asylum. Her doctors saw no hope for Little Annie so they confined her, literally, to a cage in the damp and dark basement of the facility. There Little Annie lived in a world with very little light and even less hope.
Little Annie was like an unpredictable animal. At times, she would violently attack anyone who came near her. At other moments, she existed in an almost trance-like state, seemingly unaware of anyone’s presence in her little world.
Into this dark dungeon of “Little Annie’s” world came an elderly nurse. The nurse had a gift of compassion for hopeless causes. Her compassion seemed even more special for Little Annie. This nurse began eating her lunch each day, sitting just outside Little Annie’s cage. The child gave no indication she even noticed this loving, elderly visitor.
One day, the nurse left a small plate of brownies just outside, but still within arm’s reach for the little girl inside the cage. Little Annie didn’t seem to notice and even if she did, she didn’t seem to care. The nurse left them sitting on the plate anyway and left to attend to her duties. When she returned she found the plate where she had left it, but the brownies were gone.
This became a regular appointment for these two, the elderly nurse and the “hopelessly insane” little girl. With each visit the nurse would bring a plate of brownies or some cookies or some other such treat for “Little Annie.” These two began to eat lunch together, and the hopeless cause began to talk to the nurse.
The doctors began to notice a change in the young girl and soon she was moved out of her cage and out of the basement onto the main floor of the facility. She began to show great improvement, and after several years of treatment they felt “Little Annie” was well enough to return home.
Little Annie, however, that hopeless cause, decided not to go home. She wanted to stay at the mental facility so she might help others who were without hope in just the same way as that nurse had helped her, a little girl without hope. It was Little Annie who grew up to give help to Helen Keller and others like her. Little Annie was Anne Sullivan, the miracle worker.
When we read or hear that story, we are, of course, drawn to the two well-known characters of the story, characters we know and are familiar with, Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. I think that is just part of our human nature. We are drawn first to those we have known or at least whom we have heard of before. The story could well lead us to ask, how did a hopeless cause like Anne Sullivan ever become a miracle worker?
It seems to me, however, we should also consider that nameless nurse. How did a nurse become a miracle worker in her own right and bring change to a hopeless life? In her we find one who went beyond the expectations of her job in an effort to help someone who lived in a hopeless situation, really, Anne Sullivan, during her childhood, lived in a hopeless world.
If we pay any attention at all, there are many who live as hopeless causes in the world around us. Perhaps they are not locked in a cage, stored away in the basement of some obscure treatment facility for mentally ill persons. Perhaps they aren’t locked in the hopelessness of physical blindness and deafness. Still, they are locked in their own ways into such a hopeless world. Their world may seem hopeless because of the many problems that can and do exist for so many in the world today, in their lives and even in our own lives. Some of the problems may be physical, mental, emotional, financial, in relationships or even spiritual. Where will they, where will we, find hope in a world that seems so hopeless?
The answer, quite simply is the same as it is for the question, “How did one who was hopelessly insane, one who seemed so profoundly mentally ill, become a miracle worker? The same could be said for yet another similar, really almost identical question. “How did a nurse, completely unknown to the world, change a life so profoundly that what was believed to be hopelessness in the person of Anne Sullivan became the ability to make a profound difference on the hopeless world of other people who in turn shined light into still others hopelessness?” I believe the answer can be summed up in a single but yet profound word, LOVE. Jesus’ words as well as Paul, Peter and John’s teachings remind us of the profound power in that single word, Love.
These two women found love in their hearts. First, the nameless nurse found love and compassion for a little girl who was living in a darkened world, a world that seemed devoid of hope. Then because of that gift of love, the one who first received the gift then gave and shared with others. Even when given the opportunity to leave such a dreary world behind and go home, she decided to stay so she might better share that life with others.
Where does that kind of love and compassion come from? The Bible tells us it comes from God. In the First Letter of John we read, “We love because God first loved us.” We are able to love those in the world around us because God first placed love in our hearts.
The lessons of Holy Week demonstrate love for us, to us and eventually in us. But, to address how a carpenter became a savior requires we look into the story at an even earlier point. We learn from readings we tend to far more often associate with Christmas than with Easter. Joseph, who would serve as Jesus’ earthly father was in fact, not Jesus’ father at all the story tells us. Jesus’ real father cannot be seen. Jesus’ father is the Holy Spirit. Jesus’ father is God.
It only makes sense in this period of history when young men learned their father’s trades that Jesus would be no different from other young men his age. It seems all but certain Jesus would have learned the carpentry trade growing up in and then helping with Joseph’s carpentry shop.
There are a number of Biblical scholars and commentators who believe this is why Jesus’ ministry did not begin until he was 30 years old. Their belief is, he waited until one of his brothers was old enough to teach and then experienced enough to step into and run the family carpentry shop, thereby insuring care for Mary’s financial needs and support.
And, as we continue reading in the Gospel accounts we learn Jesus is more than just a carpenter. As he begins to move and travel among the people, he proclaims the Good News of the grace of God. It is in that setting we really begin to learn of Jesus’ power. People are healed. The blind can see. The lame walk. Even the dead arise at Jesus’ very command.
One day as Jesus is traveling with his disciples we hear for the first time who Jesus really is. Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do people say I am?” The answer wasn’t, “Why you are Joseph the Carpenter’s son, so you are a carpenter. The answer was, “Some people say you are Moses. Some folks say you are Elijah. Still others say you are one of the prophets.” Clearly, people saw the power in Jesus as something special, something that could only come from God.
Jesus, however, didn’t stop asking questions at this point. Then Jesus turns the question on the disciples, making it more personal as he asks, “But who do you say I am?” Now Jesus is saying it isn’t as important who others say I am. What really matters is what you believe.
Very much in character with his personality, Peter was the first to blurt out an answer, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” It is really easy to see here that Peter and the other disciples knew Jesus was more than just an average, every day carpenter. Peter identifies Jesus in a direct relationship with God. In those relatively few words, Peter tells everyone who was listening, and by default tells us to, Jesus is the Messiah.”
In the lessons of Holy Week we see Jesus sharing a last meal with his disciples, sharing with them his body and his blood for the forgiveness of sin. Jesus’ words, “Take, eat, this is my body broken for you” and “Take, drink, this is my blood, blood of the new covenant poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sin” are not the words of your average carpenter.
Jesus is arrested. He has a mock trial. It was a mock trial in that political pressure strongly influenced the results and not real guilt or innocence. What was very real was the outcome, the punishment. There was nothing mock about that part of the trial. He was beaten and then executed. That was the point of the story where we left off on Good Friday.
If that were the end, however, we would all probably be doing something very different from gathering for worship this morning. If it were the end, if Jesus died and was left buried, he couldn’t be a savior. What we would have, at best, could be called a dead hero. More likely, the world would have seen him as Caiaphas, the high council, and the Roman Empire saw him, a dead criminal. But, as we all know, that is not the end of the story. There is more.
Our carpenter is a savior because there is more to the story than just folks being healed. There is more here than water becoming wine and a fig tree dying on command. There is more to Jesus’ story, you could even call it our story, than just a couple of people being raised from the dead.
The truth of the Gospels is, Jesus was never just an ordinary, everyday carpenter. Jesus was then, He is now and he always will be a savior for we who believe. Jesus was born and lived an earthly life just as any human, but he was always more than that. He was, is, and always will be the Son of God.
What makes this carpenter a savior is love, love for us. Jesus loves each of us so much he came to this earth, knowing he would suffer and die as the ultimate sacrifice for us, for we sinful creatures. But, thanks be to God that Jesus’ death was not the end of a story about a dead criminal or a dead hero, or even a dead savior. How? Because Jesus didn’t stay dead. Jesus didn’t stay in the tomb. Jesus didn’t stay buried. As the hymn says, “Hallelujah Christ arose!”
When Mary and the other women went to the tomb that first Easter morning and found Jesus wasn’t there, fear rose in them because they knew Jesus was dead. He wasn’t asleep. He wasn’t in a coma. He wasn’t almost dead. Jesus was dead, dead with a capital “D.” And, unlike us, the women didn’t know the rest of the story. They had little way of knowing Jesus would and did rise. Sure, Jesus may have said he would rise but in their grief, could they remember? Would they remember?
On the day Jesus was crucified a Roman centurion stood at the foot of the cross and said, “Surely this man was the Son of God.” Of all those who were involved in Jesus’ trial and crucifixion, he alone, it seemed, knew the real truth.
When Mary encountered the risen Christ outside the tomb, if there was ever a doubt in her mind, now it was erased. She knew from firsthand experience Jesus had died. She may have seen him raise Lazarus from the dead but now Jesus raised himself from the dead through the power of the Holy Spirit. Now Mary knew all his power. Now she knew, as Peter had already said and as the Roman centurion knew, Jesus was the Son of the Living God.
Now, what about us? It seems to me Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller could have rejected the love which was given to each of them. Today the same can be said for each of us. God wants to offer each of us the love Jesus offers to Mary and to the disciples throughout the pages of the New Testament, and to so many generations since that time. He stands ready to share his love with you and me. He wants a relationship with us. As the bumper-sticker says, he wants full-custody and not just weekend visits or to add to it, Christmas and Easter visits.
Some two thousand years later we too stand at the foot of the cross with the Roman centurion gazing upward at a convicted and executed but innocent man. We too stand with Mary gazing into the empty tomb, shocked and perhaps even saddened by what we don’t see? What do was see as we look on? Do we see just a couple of pieces of hard, bloody, beat up wood fashioned together in to some useless symbol? Do we see it as a piece of jewelry? Or, do we see a real and lasting symbol of our faith?
Do we look on the empty tomb and see just an empty cave? Or, do we gaze at that tomb and recognize it for what it is, an empty grave for a risen savior?
Or, do we instead see the love of a carpenter who was more than just your average run of the mill carpenter? Do we see the love of a savior poured out on a hurting world? I guess the real question for each of us today is, will we accept the love the carpenter who became a savior offers to us?
