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Let us pray. Dear Father in heaven, we are in church
this evening/morning to hear a story that never fails to surprise us. We don’t expect miracles – nor did
they. We are realistic about our
long-term prospects – and so were they.
We often think of death as final – so did they. As they were startled by the unexpected,
so we ask you to startle us. Startle
us out of our lethargy. Wake us up
to the reality and wonder of your goodness and grace in the world and in
our lives. Surprise us again, dear
God, with the news that death has no power over us, that Jesus Christ is
risen. Amen.
I’m
convinced we look forward to this day more earnestly as we get older. Most of us, as children, didn’t think
much of Easter. There was that
childhood feeling of invincibility, of a long life that is stretched before
us and that nullified the urgent need for resurrection. That sense of invincibility is short
lived. Sooner or later we have a
head-on collision with mortality, maybe the death of a parent, or a serious
illness of your own. Then the reality
of death comes into quick and sharp focus.
We’re never again free of it, and there isn’t anything we can do about
it. Death is so inevitable, inescapable.
We feel its presence as a hostile enemy.
There are signs of death all around; it’s as close to you as your
hands. By that, I mean if people
saw nothing else of you other than your hands, they could still tell with a
good degree of accuracy how old you are.
That is, your body is aging, moving towards death. Your mortality is already showing, and
there’s not much you can do about it.
“The wages of sin is death” the Bible says. A close look at your hands will tell you
that A) you are a sinner; and B) as such you will die, and C) it’s a fact
with which you must come to terms.
That is, in part, how
it felt to a small group of discouraged, depressed, frightened friends of
Jesus, who huddled together behind a locked door somewhere in Jerusalem in
the days following his execution by crucifixion. That was on Friday. Now it’s the first day of a new week, as
life was returning to normal. They
began, carefully and tentatively, to emerge from their hiding place. They would have to find their way back to
Galilee, hopefully without attracting any
attention. They were, to put it
mildly, crushed. They had given
themselves for three years to a man, and an idea that was just shown to be
powerless, empty. They had allowed
themselves to be convinced that love is better than hate, forgiveness
better than revenge, that giving is better than getting, that life is more
powerful than death . . . and it had all crumbled – as he was arrested,
tried, and executed. Best now to
forget about it, to go home, and, as we would say, get over it and get on
with life.
Two of these
friends, both named Mary, get up early that morning, having decided to go
to the garden where Jesus was buried on Friday. No one is thinking about
resurrection. They aren’t that
ignorant or gullible or naive. They know
how it works. They know the ultimate
power of death. They are thinking
about the tragedy of Friday, the appalling waste of this death, the
brutality of it all. And they are
wrapping their minds around the horrific work that lay ahead of them, the
retrieval of the battered, slashed and decaying body, in order to unwrap it
and anoint it with balms and spices. These are strong women. Maybe they have done this sort of thing
before, but still this will be different.
They go to the garden weeping for him and for themselves.
We know this story
by heart. When they arrive, they see
that the guards posted by the grave site are all lying around as if dead. The stone, usually chiseled into a thick
and heavy disc and rolled into a grove before the tomb, that has been
rolled away. And there is an angel
sitting rather casually on top of the stone waiting for them. It seems he had something to do with all
these guards knocked out and lying around.
Of course, the women are scared out of their wits. The angel says to them, “Do not be
afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he
said. Come, see the place where he
lay. Then go quickly and tell his
disciples that he has risen from the dead.”
So the women run from the tomb, still afraid, but also with an
emerging sense of hope and joy. On
their way, they meet him.
Normally, in the
movies when people bump into someone who should by all rights be dead, they
turn heels and run like the dickens.
But not here. Here the
opposite happens. Jesus greets the
women, and somehow his greeting communicates there is no reason to fear or
run away; there is every reason to draw near. Matthew says, “They came up and took hold
of his feet and worshiped him.” Once
again, Jesus says to them, “Do not be afraid.”
You and I are
afraid of a lot of things. Most of
all, we are afraid of death. This
fear robs us of full, meaningful, joyful life. But when we can, by faith, see beyond our
fears to the One who loves us with a love that was there before we were born,
to the one who died for us and for our redemption on a cross, to the one who
is risen and will be there after we die, then we need not be afraid of
anything or anyone. The victory is
won.
In the early
1920’s, a leader of the Politburo in the Soviet Union by the name of
Nikolai Bukharin traveled from Moscow to Kiev to speak at a
rally. Bukharin was a powerful and
persuasive member of the Politburo. He
was also an atheist, and turned the rally into an anti-God, anti-religion
free-for-all. For over an hour he ridiculed
religion . . . especially Christianity.
He ranted and raged about the foolishness of it all. He hurled insults and arguments and
proofs against the Christian faith. He went on and on. At the end, questions were invited. A priest from the Russian Orthodox Church
rose from his chair turned to face the people and shouted “Christos aneste”
“Christ is risen!” Instantly, the assembly rose to its feet
and the reply came back loud and clear.
“Alithos aneste.” “He is
risen indeed!” Say what they will, no ranting of men or devil can change
history.
The resurrection of
Jesus Christ is the ultimate cure for fear. It means our last journey does not lead to
nothingness or to oblivion or to eternal darkness. It leads to God’s eternal light. It means nothing in this world can really
hurt us anymore . . . not cancer, not nuclear terrorism, not poverty, not even
death. It means that when the bottom
has fallen out from under you, when you have crashed through all your safety
nets, the good news is you cannot crash through God’s saving hand. It means the world is a different place
today: God’s love for you is
stronger than your sin, and stronger than your death. It’s a world where it now makes sense to
hold on to and never abandon hope.
One of our members
by the name of Dorothy Biorn died a couple of years ago. She was an elderly woman and her health
was failing. Her mortality was
showing, not just on her hands, but also her wrist, for wrapped around it
was a brightly colored, “Do Not Resuscitate” band. It told medical workers that if she were
to suffer a heart attack, for example, they were not to intervene. I once asked Dorothy what she thought of
it. Without hesitation she smiled
broadly and said, “It’s a happy reminder that soon I’m going home.” I’ll never forget that. That’s what Christ’s resurrection has
done for each of us. It has
undermined and undone the marks of your mortality.
“Death be not proud” begins a
favorite poem which I read every year at this time. “though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art
not so . . .
Why swellest thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake
eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death,
thou shalt die (John Donne).
About three thousand
years ago, David wrote something similar in Ps. 16: “Lord, you have assigned me my portion
and my cup; you have made my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I
have a delightful inheritance . . .
Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will
rest secure, because you will not abandon me to the grave.”
It’s a new world you and I live
in.
Sin no longer rules the
roost. Death no longer has dominion
over us.
For Jesus Christ is risen today.
Amen.
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