Easter, Year A
March 23, 2008
The Rev. Susan Richmond
St. James’s, Cambridge
But the Tomb is Empty
Alleluia, Christ is risen.
What glorious words! Can you think of any better words spoken on this morning ? Well maybe the words, “I love you” rank right up there, which is really what that word Alleluia is all about--A love message between God and all of us sitting here today. As Christians, this day we are drawn in by all our senses and emotions, and we are drawn in no matter what our age. When my children were in college, like many at that age, neither of them were regular church goers. During her four years in Colorado I don’t think, our daughter, Melanie, made it to the Episcopal Church often, but one Easter morning she did dance a conga line at a Unitarian church of all places and another year she managed to rouse herself early for a sunrise service in the Garden of the God’s. Then there was the first year our son; Justin couldn’t make it home for Easter. When he called to say Happy Easter, I responded with, “Alleluia, Christ is risen.” Without hesitation he responded, “The Lord is Risen indeed. Alleluia!” Frankly a bit surprised I said, “Oh my gosh, you did go to church!”
Now this might not sound surprising from a preachers kid, but this is the same person who 6 weeks before was teamed up with his roommate—coincidentally a Lutheran pastor’s son-- for a game of Trivial Pursuit. The question to them was, “What is the day that comes before Ash Wednesday.” With only a moments hesitation, these 2 came up with their final answer—“Ash Tuesday.”
All this to say that no matter where we are in our lives physically, emotionally, spiritually, no matter when we might have come to Christianity, this is a day that brings us “home” with those glorious words—“Alleluia, Christ is risen!” If you have ever wondered where this strange pull you feel to celebrate Easter might have come from, then look no further than the bewildered, distracted women headed to the tomb. On that morning, Mary Magdalene, and James’ mother, Mary, and Joanna were doing what women have probably done from the beginning of time when there is a death in the family. In almost every culture, it is the women who stand by and keep watch with the dying, and then they are also the ones who see to it that all those arrangements get made following death. Women provide food for the grieving, and in ancient times—and even not so ancient times-traditionally, they are the ones who wash the body and respectfully preparing it for burial.
In this case, these women were part of the group who had kept watch at the foot of the cross but since it was the eve of the Sabbath, Jewish law dictated a delay in the burial preparations of Jesus body. Now it is a day later and custom would allow them to be on their way to the place they had seen Joseph of Arametha put Jesus’ broken, lifeless body. As we take up the story this morning there is such a ring of truth in all that is going on, as the women seem much more preoccupied with logistics than grief. Did they have all the spices they needed? Who would bring the proper oils? How on earth were they going to roll away the huge stone from the door of the tomb? Those women were no different from us today. In sorrow and heartache, it is so much easier to focus on the small things than on the blinding, numbing pain that assaults us in waves. When someone we love dies, ometimes it helps to do the mundane tasks that need to be done. “Is there enough to feed everyone?” is so much easier than asking the question, “How will I ever survive without this loved one in my life?”
That day in their grief, the women went to the tomb perhaps in an attempt to escape their pain. Jesus’ agony was over, but theirs was just beginning. Expectant hope had been dashed at the foot of the cross, and all that was left was the immediate remembrances of suffering. Waking up that next morning, they were once again slammed in the face with the reality of death, and yet, there they were going on with life and wondering why. They loved him, and now he was dead and buried. Those were the facts and they could not be argued with.
So they walked into the tomb. He was dead, they knew his body was supposed to be there, but instead of a body there were two men in dazzling white clothes and their quiet words. “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” Not dead? That, of course, was not possible, but in the face of the not possible, hope began to bloom. Hope began to bud in their hearts. Easter loomed on the horizon---just in front of them, just out of reach, leading them forward toward some discovery they could have never pretended to imagine.
That is, in fact, how it must be. We cannot simply be told of Easter and have it appear in our lives. We cannot skirt around it, but instead we must look into the tomb, so that we can know what it means. It is why we walk through Lent and Holy Week to get here. Because we make that forty-day pilgrimage, perhaps even more, because we walk through the dark moments in our lives, deep down inside, we sense that Easter is possible. Sitting here today, we know that resurrection happens because at some point, everyone single one of us has faced into a tomb. On a work crew in Biloxi, Miss two years ago, it seemed at times that there was nothing but tombs dotting the landscape, and my guess is you will see remnants of those tombs as some of you go again this summer. Tombs are scattered over the landscape from the desert of Sudan, to the streets of Baghdad, to the corners of our cities. But, of course, there are tombs much closer to home. The tomb is full of disease, and pain, and broken hearts, or it may be the tomb of our own creation--the tomb of control and a manageable, predictable life.
We all have faced a tomb and chosen to look inside – or not. But this Easter story tells us that unless we walk in-- let it all die—the pain, the suffering, the self control –unless we bury all that, then we will never know the life on the other side of the grave. But for most of us, it is the letting go of our fears and preconceived ideas that may be hardest of all. I saw this in my parent’s home twelve years ago as my dad was dying of a cancer that he had lived well with and at times had fought for 10 years.
One morning as I was visiting in those last days, he was sitting in his wheel chair and announced that he wanted to take a shower. My mom and I were a bit shocked since it had been weeks since he had been strong enough to do that, so I asked him why today. He began to chuckle and said to me, “Don’t you think you need to be clean to enter the great domain?” I assured him that I had it on good authority, that God takes us as we come, clean, broken, dirty –totally human. My dad was looking into that tomb, not wanting to go in until he could literally clean up his act. It seems to me that Good Friday is about letting go of all we are holding onto that we think gives us life whether it is our possessions, or being clean, or our perfectionism; as well as letting go of our preconceived notions of what will happen when we walk in. Good Friday is about being willing to walk into the tomb with Jesus.
Just like those women today, it takes courage to go to the tomb. The emptiness inside may be more frightening than we could possibly imagine and once there, it may not be immediately clear, if God is even there, but our story tells us that God sometimes chooses those dark moments to transform our lives. God answers the Good Friday tomb with Easter resurrection reminding us that while sometimes we need to go to the tomb, there is no life inside. The tomb is empty and we must step out of it to discover what God offers us on the other side. Our women this morning saw it for themselves and they were excited enough to share their news -- even if only one person even believed them enough to check for himself.
It seems to me that for the women—for Peter and the rest of the disciples, resurrection became a reality over time as they came to see and believe for themselves-- as Jesus made himself known to them. And gradually, early believers came to understand that God had been with them in their life with Jesus, that God was with them at the foot of the cross, AND by not allowing death to have the final word, Jesus would move with them into the future.
That is the mystery we celebrate today. No matter how it may happen for us—in the flash of a moment or over time, God is with us as we approach the tomb. God is with us when we walk in, and God is the one who will show us what it might mean to step outside again into the clear light of day in this life and in the next. I have no doubt my dad discovered that when he moved from this world to his new life with God.
Easter asks us to move--move outside our tomb and look around. If we allow ourselves to really look, what will we see? Outside the tomb we will see that Easter is all around us—sometimes in the most tangible ways. Homes and churches are rebuilt with the hands of hearts of folks who know what it means to live resurrection life. While years have passed since Katrina’s devastation, the steady river of folks flowing south re-building cities and towns has shouted out that death and destruction will not have the final say. Outside the tomb, the hungry are fed in Africa, around the world, and from the basement of this very church. Outside the tomb, we see God disappearing around the corner or lingering for a moment at the edge of our understanding of faith.
God stays in focus just long enough to lure us and invite us to take another step forward in our lives. No matter who we are or how imperfect we might feel our faith to be; no matter how many times we might run away in fear and trembling, no matter how often we have peered into that tomb, we are drawn here today for a reason. Through Jesus, God has made us resurrection people to live, and love, and serve in this world. Easter comes to remind us that the tomb is empty. Jesus lives and so do we.
Alleluia, Christ is Risen.
Amen
