Do you notice? An important
character is missing from the story. There are the women—Mary
Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and others. There are the
mysterious men in dazzling clothes with an incredible tale. There are
the eleven and all the rest. And, of course, there is Peter—a cast of
dozens. But where pray tell, where for heaven’s sake is Jesus? Of
course, if we’d gone with alternate reading this morning, the one from
John’s Gospel we’d have been alright. It takes a little bit of time,
but finally, Mary meets Jesus whom she takes for the gardener. With
Luke, Jesus doesn’t reveal himself until late in the afternoon. Now, is
that any way to tell a story, let alone to convince people of something
so amazing, so miraculous as a resurrection? And then there’s the
problem of credibility. It’s not so much an issue for us today, but in
first century Palestine women’s roles and identities were very narrow
and limited, to the point that their testimony about any matter was at
best viewed with suspicion, “idle tales” not to be believed. The
literal meaning is something more akin to delirium. So, what are we to
make of this strange and confusing story, a story in which the most
important player is missing?
It’s not even noon yet and
Easter 2007 is already one for the record books—a wintry mix of sleet
and rain—what’s a person supposed to wear? I have to say that it was
more than a bit strange shopping for Easter shirts with Max and Luke
yesterday. Driving north on Mopac at about 3:30 with sleet pelting the
windshield, I had to remind myself that this was the first week in
April. In Minnesota, maybe but not in Central Texas for goodness
sakes! The change in weather over the past few days has been
unbelievable, quite unlike any Easter any of us can recall. I mean,
when we think about Easter, we call to mind warm sunshine, beautiful
blossoming flowers, bright cool dresses, sharp looking short sleeve
shirts and fancy new ties, not sweaters, raincoats and long underwear.
But no matter what the
weather, when it comes to Easter, there is always lots of remembering
going on. I remember one Easter at my sister and brother in law’s house
when every time I looked at the kids they had some sort of candy in
their mouths. There’s even a picture floating around as if any proof is
needed, or another Easter, one of my Grandmother Ellen’s last when she
and I climbed the stairs to sit in the balcony of Mount Olive Lutheran
Church in Minneapolis to hear Jenny play the Easter fanfare with the
organist. I’ll bet we could fill a whole book with memories of this
special day—of hours spent with loved ones who are now gone, of
scrumptious Easter feasts and legendary egg hunts. Easter, it’s a time
to remember.
But sometimes Easter memory needs some help, a little jogging, a bit of
a jump start if you will. That first Easter morning is a case in
point. Speaking to the women, the men in dazzling clothes tells them to
remember, “‘remember how Jesus told you, while he was still in Galilee,
that the Son of man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified,
and on the third day rise again.’ Then they remembered his words…and
returning, they told all this to the eleven.”
You have to wonder though,
what caused them to forget? Was it the whirl of the events of the
previous week? Was it the horror of watching their beloved friend die
so brutally? When hope and dreams die, we are inclined to forget, what
was and what could have been, the moments of joy and delight—a kiss, a
tender embrace, the dawn of a new day. When the world comes crashing
down, all we know is what we can see and feel—the rubble and the ruins,
a broken heart, the lifeless body of one we loved so deeply. Dead is
dead and that’s how it goes. Everyone knows what to expect when you go
to a cemetery, right? They forgot, we forget because that’s what
happens in the living of life.
And yet, if to forget is human, then to
remember is something altogether different. Easter is the in breaking
of a completely different reality into our world, and yet is at the same
time nothing less than the fulfillment of all that has come before, in
what Jesus has said and done—healing the sick, forgiving sins, raising
the dead, feeding the hungry, together with his suffering and death.
“He is not here, but has risen.” The outlandish announcement is the
supreme expression of the kind of God we have—who creates a world out of
nothing, who delivers those held captive, who brings light and hope to
those who live in darkness and the shadow of death, who restores the
weary and faint of heart, who lifts up the lowly and sends the rich away
empty, the same God who through baptism renders us dead to sin and alive
to God through Christ.
As we remember the ongoing
story of “God’s mighty acts” from the beginning of creation, to the
cross and empty tomb, to our own baptism, the gift of faith is born
anew. And for all the preparations, for all the sacred rituals and holy
lessons that have been experienced, we arrive at a strange place, an end
that really isn’t an end. We’ve followed Jesus to Jerusalem, but he’s
not there. We watched as they nailed him to the cross, but he’s not
there either. We saw him as they laid him in the tomb, but now that
same tomb is empty. “He is not here, but as risen.” And we go because
if we’re going to catch sight of him it won’t be there among the dead,
but among the living, on the road ahead of us, in the breaking of the
bread. So, Easter is not an end, but a beginning, the beginning of a
journey.
We’re on the way to somewhere
else. God ain’t finished with us or with the world for that matter.
And each of us has a role to play in God’s continued saving work in the
world—in sharing the good news of what we have seen and come to
understand. Of course that doesn’t mean we have everything all worked
out, because like the women who returned from the tomb, even in the
midst of amazement, belief and joy, we’re liable to run up against
skepticism, doubt and fear, perhaps even in ourselves. But we go, none
the less.
“He is risen. He is not here.” The
message spoken to us becomes the message we speak for the sake of a
desperate, fearful world, a world that is beloved by God. We gather at
the tomb, but like the women and the disciples we are sent, scattered
out again to tell others all that we have seen and heard. Some years
ago I heard it put this way “the message of the risen Christ…is “Get out
of here and tell someone.”
And though the day will come when our
memory will fade and fail, God will keep on remembering, remembering his
promise for us and for all creation to bring us at last to that great
and final Easter when the days of journeying are over and all things
will be made new. Christ is alive! He has been raised! Thanks be to
God! Amen.
Pastor Brian
Peterson
