Easter Sunday 2003
Mark 16: 1-8; Acts 10:34-43
Rev. Laura J. Collins
April 20, 2003
What a terrible Sabbath it must have been. Hurriedly, before the sun set on Friday, they had made sure the body had a tomb. But that was all there was time for before the sacred day of rest began. They couldn't tend to the wounded, battered, bloody body. That would have to wait until after the Sabbath ended. And so, all the disciples, all the family, all the friends had spent the Sabbath reliving the horror of the previous week: the betrayals, the denials, the brutal power of the dominating systems that sentenced him to death and instigated the torture that killed him. All these memories, all these images must have been seared into their minds as they tried to attend to Sabbath prayers. All the questions of "What if ...?" and "What now ...?" And "How can we go on? This isn't what we expected ... this isn't how it was supposed to end ..."
What a terrible Sabbath it must have been. Who knows if any of them got any sleep. How could you sleep after witnessing such pain? How could you sleep having watched your prophet, your leader, your savior, God's Christ, die? Their worlds had already been turned upside down once, by meeting him, by following him, by finding life with him.
Now their worlds were turned upside down once again. Maybe they had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't the One promised by God. Maybe their hope had been misplaced. The powers of the occupying forces were stronger than the power of his message. The violence of those in charge had more muscle than the joy of grace. Harsh reality crushed hope once more.
What a terrible Sabbath it must have been.
And then, the women got up early on Sunday morning. The women got up to take care of the business of burial because this, at least, was something they could do. They couldn't stop the execution, the couldn't ease the pain of torture, they couldn't reverse the decision of the courts, they couldn't go back and undo the betrayals. But they could anoint the body.
They got up and went, yet even as they walked together, they knew that a large stone was in front of the tomb, a stone put in place to protect the dead body, a small attempt at dignity for the dead. So the women walked faithfully toward the tomb, ready to do what they could, but they wondered, "Can we do even this small thing? Can we even anoint his body or will the stone be too much of an obstacle for even this small act of love?"
And then they looked up. They looked and saw that the stone was gone.
They looked again and saw the tomb was empty. A young man was there to give them reassurance. "You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth. He has been raised; he is not here."
Reassurance may have been the intention, but alarm, terror, amazement, fear was the result. How could this be? What did it mean? Who would believe them, if they tried to tell their story? What should they do now?
And this is where the gospel of Mark ends. Later writers, uncomfortable with this tormented, unclear ending, tried adding some extra verses to wrap things up a little more neatly, to give the story a better sense of closure. But this is where the first gospel ever written actually ends: "So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid."
Personally, I like this ending. It gives more reality to the story, in my mind. How else could any sane person respond? They had just spent an agonizing forty-eight hours, watching the horror of crucifixion unfold and then reliving the horror in their minds for one long quiet Sabbath. They only wanted to fulfill a duty, to perform one last act of devotion. They did not bargain for the option of becoming the first act in a whole new drama.
What is it that we have bargained for on Easter morning? Terror? Amazement? Or simply a small act of devotion to someone we have tried to follow?
I reckon it is the latter for most of us. We want to come and be reassured that all is well with the world, in spite of appearances. We want to add our small "Hallelujah" to the chorus of voices praising the triumph of grace.
And these are good things to do. Just as the act of caring for the body was a good and noble thing for the women to do that first Easter morning.
They got up that morning, and even though they knew that they were at risk for being arrested as followers of an insurrectionist, they walked to the tomb. They could have stayed behind, thinking about the risks, thinking about the stone, thinking about how nothing had turned out the way they wanted it to. They could have gathered only to mourn and not to act.
But they walked. They walked toward the tomb, toward the place of death, toward the monument to cruelty and destruction; they walked in spite of the obstacles, not ignoring the obstacles, but fully aware that even this small act of love might be impossible - the stone might be too heavy for them, the complications might be too great. They knew all this when they got up that morning, but they got up anyway. They knew all this as they walked the path that morning, but they walked it anyway.
Do you think they wanted to see the body of their friend, their leader, their savior, up close? Do you think they wanted to be reminded of his pain, of their impotence to stop him from being tortured? No, they did not want to face the results of betrayal, the reality of violence, the harshness of destructive power, the ugliness of what human beings are capable of doing. But they got up and they walked the path, anyway.
And this was what they found: the stone was rolled away. The obstacle which had worried them was no longer a problem. The thing that might have kept them away had already been taken care of.
And they found more: the stone was the easy thing. The real amazement was the empty tomb. "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." They were worried about the small obstacles, which seemed insurmountable on that Sunday morning, but God was already working on the real obstacles.
We live in a world filled with obstacles to our acts of devotion. We live in a world where violence is used for causes we hate and causes we love. We live in a world where crucifixions still happen and people you count on still betray you and dreams are still dashed and political systems still care more about keeping power than about building community and religious systems still care more about following rules than about fashioning grace. We live in this world. This world given so much freedom by a gracious creator that we sometimes have to wonder if God is incapable of reigning in that terrible freedom when it thwarts justice, when it crushes souls, when it institutionalizes hate.
It is tempting to stay in bed and think about the obstacles. But the women got up that morning and set out on a path. Set out on a path where their only hope was to show a little compassion. In the face of all the fear and all the despair that might have kept them from leaving home, they knew that the least they could do was show a little compassion. And so they set out on the path.
And what they found is that God had already taken care of the obstacles along the way. God had rolled away the stone and more than that, God had overcome death and violence and every kind of hurt that threatens to undo us.
We cannot bring about resurrection. Sometimes, we can't even move the stones in front of us. But when we set out on the path, when we commit ourselves to acts of love, God goes ahead of us. When we offer compassion, God makes a way. When we walk toward the tombs that threaten to keep our dreams dead, God rolls away the stone. In a world where it seems like death will have the last word, Christ is going ahead of us to Galilee - to the places where we live and work and where we first said yes to following him.
When we walk with hope in spite of the very real obstacles, God moves the stones. When we give ourselves to loving, even when it seems too small a thing to do, God graces us with more than we could have imagined. When we face the worst the world can offer, we find that Christ is already there.
Christ is risen.
Christ is risen.
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
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