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We think of Easter morning as a joyous time. We dress up in bright colors. We shout Christ is risen. We sing happy hymns. Easter is a good day.
But the first Easter—was a whole different story. The first Easter starts in darkness—with the shadow of a TOMB hanging over everything. Tomb—the word conjures up darkness, silence, stillness, cold, death. It is interesting that the word tomb is mentioned 9 times in the first 11 verses of John’s Easter story. Tomb, tomb, tomb—the word bongs with the bass sounds of Big Ben striking the hour. Jesus is dead. Jesus has been laid in a tomb. Dead. Tomb. Dead. Tomb. Did those words echo in Mary’s mind as she slowly made her way towards the sad reality in those pre-dawn hours? Dead. Tomb. Dead. Tomb. Dead. Tomb.
What a shock then to arrive at the dreaded place and discover the stone removed, the tomb open and empty. Now instead of plodding steps there comes all this running. I get out of breath just reading it. Mary running to the disciples. Simon Peter and the disciple Jesus loved running towards that empty tomb.
The questions “Where?” “Who?” “Where?” “Who?” match the pounding feet, the racing hearts. “Where have they taken him?” “Who would do such a thing?” “Where?” “Who?” “Where?” “Who?” And they arrive. They see the linen wrappings, the head cloth. One believes, one is still pondering, both return home.
Mary, now outside the tomb once more, is standing weeping, looking into the tomb and now there are angels! And from this point on, the word tomb disappears. The conversation is about weeping, and where Jesus’ body might be, and then the realization that Jesus’ body is right in front of her—Jesus is not dead. Jesus is not in the tomb. Jesus is alive. Jesus is Risen. And Mary is given the task to go and announce that fact to all.
I was struck by the contrast in these three movements. The plodding walk, the running, the standing still. Aren’t those the options we have as we live life?
Plodding along, burdened by so much—death seemingly around every corner, death blowing up our vision of the world, death stalking even our image of ourselves. So much of our lives can be lived in a virtual coma—putting one foot in front of the other, walking in the darkness, traveling those well-worn paths.
Or running, pell mell into the fray. Zipping along at 150 miles an hour, no time to stop, no time to talk, no time to figure things out. Touching all the bases, but not really participating in any of them. Zooming through life, experiencing things peripherally, as they fly by.
I titled this sermon running towards resurrection because I was fascinated by the movement in this passage. But after working with the text more, I realize that neither the plodding, nor the running gets you to experience the Risen Lord. Certainly, Mary “sees” the empty tomb at the end of her plod, but doesn’t understand it. And certainly, Simon Peter “sees” the dentritis of resurrection, and the other disciple “believes.” But an empty tomb in and of itself does not trumpet Resurrection. (And notice that we are still talking about the tomb, whether empty or not.)
It is Mary standing, staying, bending, weeping, who encounters the angels. It is Mary standing, weeping, turning, wondering, who encounters the gardener Jesus. Mary who does not continue her mindless movement. Mary who does not run off to do another chore. Mary, who after the walking and running, is willing to stand still in the unknown, in the incomprehensible, in the impossible. It is Mary who is called by name. It is Mary who is engulfed by Resurrection.
For what is Resurrection? Why do we celebrate today? Why do we call ourselves an Easter people? Yes, it is that the tomb is now empty. Yes, it is about Jesus being alive again. But Resurrection is more—resurrection is the promise that God will have the final word. Resurrection is the hope that no matter what has gone before, there can be new life, for any of us. Resurrection is the exclamation point at the end of “With God all things are possible!” Resurrection is like spring after a long winter, the burst of color when all looked grey.
And we celebrate today because we want that resurrection for our lives and our world. We celebrate because we know that the forces of sin and evil are real. We celebrate because we have all had to face the tomb—in its horror. We celebrate because Easter reminds us of the Ultimate Reality—that what we call “real” is like the make-shift panels of a TV show but behind that, there is an insistant shimmering of a world that waits to come out of the shadows.
We call ourselves Easter people because God has called us to new life. We name ourselves, Easter people, because we hold on to Resurrection in the face of our Tomb-like world. We are an Easter people because at the end, whether we are plodding, or running, or standing still, we want to be in the presence of the Risen Lord.
That’s not the end of the story though. Mary, after talking with Jesus, gets an assignment—go and tell the others. Aggello—the greek word, means Messanger. Mary is sent out as a messanger with the news. “I have seen the Lord.”
Easter is joyous time. Easter is a good day. But Easter is not meant to be the conclusion, it is meant to be the prelude.
It is not enough to plod our way to the empty tomb.
It is not enough to frantically run back and forth.
It is not enough even to stand still long enough to
be blessed with a personal conversation with
Jesus.
Resurrection demands more.
Resurrection insists on us being messangers:
Talking about newness with joy
Holding on to the unbelievable
Watching for Easter moments in the oddest places
Living to our fullest potential
Working as hard as we can
to bring about God’s reality
Easter morning has dawned.
Resurrection is here.
May we have the courage to move towards resurrection—be it crawling, walking, or running.
For Christ is Risen!
Alleluia. Amen.
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