Happy Easter! And news flash! The tomb purchased by Joseph of Arimathea to bury the young man widely known for his teachings of peace and love was found early this morning to be empty, fueling speculation that Jesus of Nazareth may actually have been raised from the dead, as he told his followers he would be. Government leaders refute the story, claiming reports of suspicious activity near the tomb in the middle of the night. We are still investigating and will bring you the full report tonight at 11.
For every story, throughout history, there are a multiple of perspectives. There are the people who actually experienced the events, eye-witnesses—and even though those witnesses may be relatively few, each one has his or her own version of what actually happened. And then there are those who know the people who experienced the events. Then there are those, rippling outward, who heard from a friend who heard from a friend who knew someone who was a cousin to someone who was there. And on it goes. The story continues flowing that way, across miles and generations, reaching all the way to our cell phones today, spilling over into our social media feeds, our chats over coffee, our dinner conversations.
In all cases—divine or otherwise—stories take on a life of their own, meaning different things to different hearts, giving some hope and others discouragement; reassuring one group and worrying another one. Each time we hear a story, whatever it is, we take it in based on what we were thinking and feeling the moment before. If we hear really great news when we're having a tough day, we're more likely to discount it, thinking, "Well, something will mess it up somehow." Conversely, if we hear bad news on a really good day, we're more likely to feel hopeful about it: "Oh, I know this will work out. Things always do."
The story of Jesus, from start to finish—and I feel I need to add here, it is still not finished—is a personal one for every person who ever hears it, whether they believe Jesus was the son of God or not. It's an invitation of goodness extended to every listening heart. Some think of Jesus as a kind man, born with a star shining overhead, who made it his purpose to bring goodness, love, wisdom, and light to our world. To others, Jesus was a great prophet—perhaps the greatest—who understood the mysteries and prophecies and intentions of God. For some, Jesus is a myth, maybe someone who never existed as a real person at all, but rather an archetype showing it is possible to live a life that does no harm, to choose a lifestyle that cares about others, looks for the good, moves with gentleness, doesn't get caught in chasing worldly power and celebrity. And there are those celebrating Easter today who know Jesus as the son of God, divinely human, humanly divine, bridging heaven and earth, and guiding each of us, personally, step by step back to the realization of perfect, eternal, all-encompassing Love.
However we think of Jesus, the story of the resurrection offers the reality of reborn hope, joy that re-emerges just when all looks lost and it seems that fear and darkness has won. In our outer world right now, we see evidence of that pattern everywhere we look. After the dark, gray, brown, wet days of winter a new and stronger light has begun to shine. The grass has started to grow; the pear, crabapple, and cherry trees are full of white and pink blossoms; daffodils and hyacinths are in full bloom, and tulips are on their way. Once again, rebirth, beauty, joy, birdsong. Once again, joy returns. See? All was not lost—destined to be gray, wet, and dreary forever. That's not how God does things. Joy comes in the morning.
Our Old Testament reading celebrates this pattern of restoration God does so well:
I will exalt you, Lord,
for you lifted me out of the depths
and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
Lord my God, I called to you for help,
and you healed me.
You, Lord, brought me up from the realm of the dead;
you spared me from going down to the pit.
Sing the praises of the Lord, you his faithful people;
praise his holy name.
For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may stay for the night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning.
The psalmist admits was in the depths, he was struggling, even getting close to the realm of the dead—you get the image of the tomb here, don't you?—and then he called to God for help, and that changed everything. That's how simple it is, he says. From a time of struggle to a time of joy, from weeping in the night to joy in the morning, it all pivots on asking God for help. It is an act of faith at a low moment, a reaching out in hope that things can somehow still get better, that Love yet has a move to make. And because of who God is, help comes.
But after the tragic crucifixion of Jesus, the people were a long way from hope. They were in despair, and they were afraid, and there was a good reason for that. They weren't grieving only on a personal level—heartsick over losing their friend and beloved teacher—but they also now realized that their dreams of freedom and their hopes for justice had crumbled and what's more, they might be the ones targeted next. Life looked bleak. All the beautiful talk of love, the hope of redemption, the promises of peace and mercy and goodness suddenly felt impossible, implausible, dead.
When we're grieving or hurting or struggling, it's hard if not impossible to hold on to the idea—to hope for the possibility—that joy will come again. Especially when times are hard, we need to know that life is still good—that something bigger is at work even in this "thick night of darkness that may be felt," as George Fox described it. But it's very hard to feel and believe that, because our minds are filled with the pain of the circumstance we're living through—whether we're mourning the loss of someone we love, lamenting a missed opportunity, struggling with ill health, or feeling upset about a sudden problem. Whatever the trouble is, we get flooded with emotion, overwhelmed with sadness or frustration or fear, and it can be very hard to keep our minds open for other possibilities, listening for perhaps a different story.
I think it's interesting that each of the four Gospels tell the story of the resurrection in a different way. The story in Matthew is the only one that begins with an earthquake, for example, felt throughout the region when the Angel of the Lord "came down from heaven, rolled aside the stone, and sat on it." The guards fell into a dead faint. Then the angel spoke to Mary and the other women who were with her, telling them not to be afraid and inviting them in to see where Jesus's body had been. Then the angel tells them to hurry and go tell the others. As they were running back to where the disciples were gathered, Jesus himself appeared to them. He also told them not to be afraid and gave further instructions for them to share with the disciples. Matthew also adds an interesting scene that none of the other Gospels report, explaining how the officials cast doubt on the miraculous story of Jesus's resurrection: Some guards went to the leaders and told them what had happened. After meeting with the elders they decide to bribe the soldiers to keep quiet. They agreed to tell people that the disciples came and took Jesus' body during the night, thus undermining people's belief in Jesus and, they hoped, scattering what remained of his remaining followers.
The story in Mark begins with the close of the Sabbath at sunset on Saturday, when Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and a woman named Salome went to buy the burial spices they needed to prepare Jesus' body for burial. At sunrise, they went to the tomb and they saw the stone rolled away, with a young man in a white robe sitting inside. He said he knew they were looking for Jesus and told them, "He isn't here! He is risen from the dead!" And he gave them a message for the disciples: Jesus is going ahead of them to Galilee. The last line of the earliest known version of the book of Mark ends with, "The women fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered, and they said nothing to anyone because they were too frightened." Later versions of Mark added a scene with the disciples seeing Jesus, but it's interesting that the earliest, most reliable text simply ends with the confusion and fear of the women.
The gospel of Luke offers yet another version: The women—a large group of women, too, including Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, Joanna (the wife of the steward of Herod's household), and several other women who weren't named—went to the tomb, taking the spices to prepare Jesus' body for burial. They found the stone rolled away and they entered the tomb and were surprised to find two men standing there, dressed in what Luke said were "dazzling robes." The men asked them why they were looking for someone living among the dead and reminded the women that Jesus had said he'd be betrayed and crucified but would rise on the third day. Luke writes, "Then they remembered that he had said this." An interesting comment from Luke, letting us know that understanding had begun to dawn on them. With that understanding comes the opening for a new story, a new possibility. They rush back to tell the disciples what they'd seen, but Luke tells us, "the story sounded like nonsense to the men, so they didn't believe it." Peter ultimately ran to the tomb to see for himself and found only the linen Jesus' body had been wrapped in. The disciples themselves wouldn't know the truth of Jesus' resurrection until after the encounter on the road to Emmaus, when Jesus himself joined them at the retelling of the story. They should have listened to the women.
Isn't it interesting to hear all the differences among the versions? One has an earthquake and the Angel of the lord, another has one young man in a robe, the third, two men. Jesus appears to the women along the road in Matthew's story but doesn't appear in the initial resurrection scene at all in Mark and Luke's version. It's also fascinating that we're not yet hearing a lot of joy, but we notice plenty of fear and shock and bewilderment and—thanks to Luke—some dawning understanding, which is unfortunately followed by the short-sighted disbelief of the men.
But then we come to version of the resurrection story: Mary Magdalene goes alone to the tomb early in the morning, and discovers the stone rolled away and Jesus gone. Upset, she ran and found Peter and John and told them what she saw, and they hurried back to the tomb with her. When the disciples went in, they saw the empty linen wrappings and the cloth that had covered Jesus' face folded neatly and set off by itself. John writes that, "until then they still hadn't understood the Scriptures that said Jesus must rise from the dead." More understanding is dawning here. But then the men leave and Mary was left alone, standing outside the tomb, crying. Her heart was broken. She was at a loss. Maybe she had no idea what to do next. She stooped down and looked in the tomb again and this time she saw what John calls "two white-robed angels, one sitting at the head and the other at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus had been lying." They asked her why she was crying, and she says, "because they have taken away my Lord and I don't know where they've put him." As she turned to leave, a gardener asked her why she is crying and who she is looking for. She says—and she must have been overwrought and upset and perhaps even irritated in that moment—"Sir, if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him."
And then what I think is probably the most beautiful moment in all of scripture happens. Jesus said, "Mary!" and everything changed. From that moment on.
We each may have our preferences of how the Easter story is told. We may like the earthquake idea, or the fact that the story isn't cleanly wrapped up at the end in Mark's telling. Perhaps we appreciate Luke's inclusion of women (not thrilled about the men not taking them seriously). But it's in John's version that the story of resurrection becomes a deeply personal one, one that becomes ours when we recognize the voice of Love calling to us, speaking our name with the tenderness of eternity.
But in Mary's broken moment, when all seemed lost, it was the loving, tender voice of Christ calling her name that woke her up to the present reality of hope and joy and love. Christ had been standing there all along, but she hadn't been able to recognize him because of the loud and painful story in her head. But when she heard her name—she knew that voice—she recognized it as the living voice of never-ending love. Now there was joy, relief, celebration, life! This is the moment all the other Gospel stories lack, a personal encounter when Love speaks into our lives and we know truly, deeply that we have changed. Nothing replaces personal experience here; It's an experience we won't get from second-hand stories or social media news feeds. It's a living presence meant for encounter; and when we experience it, help has arrived.
In closing I'd like to share the poem, "An Easter Flower Gift," by Quaker poet John Greenleaf Whittier:
O dearest bloom the seasons know,
Flowers of the Resurrection blow,
Our hope and faith restore;
And through the bitterness of death
And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath
Of life forevermore!
The thought of Love immortal blends
With fond remembrances of friends;
In you, O sacred flowers,
By human love made doubly sweet,
The heavenly and the earthly meet,
The heart of Christ and ours!
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