Empty

Easter Sunday, March 27, 2005

The Rev. Carol DiBiasio-Snyder

Luke 24:1-12

Introduction to the Scriptures

Much of what we think of as the Easter story comes from some combination of the stories found in the four gospels. We have let the various versions of the events of the first Easter morning run together in our minds.

In the dark before the dawn they rise, these women disciples. Some of them had fallen into the fitful sleep of sheer exhaustion and grief. Others had only lay in bed, unable to sleep, reliving those agonizing hours of his death. Still in shock they rise, Mary from Magdela, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, Salome and the others. They rub the sleep from their swollen eyes. Each moves quietly through the house, not wanting to wake her family, gathering the spices she has prepared, and slips out into the predawn of the sleeping city. They meet one another with hushed, sad greetings and head out the city gates to the burial garden, to the tomb which imprisons their Lord, their friend, to fulfill their duty of anointing his body. They say little, each knowing too well the pain of the other, each knowing how empty their hearts are, each knowing the empty hopes of the other.

As they near the tomb, it crosses their minds to wonder how they will get to the body with the large stone blocking the entrance, but that question is soon lost in their thoughts of the horrible events which brought them to this moment.

They come to do right by the dead. They come to clean up the mess that death usually makes, certainly this death. They knew the blood would be everywhere, staining the linen cloth and the powdery rough-hewn rock of the new tomb. There had been so many wounds, so much mess, too much agony.

And they had been there, you know, these women. They'd stuck it out up on the hill to the very end. And now and forever, they would remember every long minute, of the endless day of dying. To be honest, they were relieved when he died because it was so inevitable - death, that is - just be done with it.

And now they'd come to do right by the dead. To clean up the mess. To array their pathetic weapons - some spices and liniments - against the stench. Because death stinks. And death always wins - sooner, like with their dear friend and teacher - or later.

No matter. They'd come to do right by the dead. Just like we would.

At last they arrive at the tomb, and looking up, they see that the stone has been rolled away. What can this mean? Grief upon grief, now someone has desecrated his tomb - even in death they cannot leave him alone. (I am indebted to the Rev. Martha Stern's Easter sermon 2000 for some of the ideas in this first section.)

And suddenly - where did they come from? - there were two men, dazzling in appearance, and the women added terror to their grief. "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here. He has risen."

Well, they hadn't come to look for the living among the dead. They had come to look for the dead among the dead. They'd come to do right by the dead.

But these men reminded them of Jesus' words that predicted this death and rising. They had not understood then. They still don't understand now. He should be here, and be dead. But they remember his words. They dare to believe in the impossible. They drop their spices and liniments, and winding sheets and go to tell the others.

These faithful women who had trudged along, dragging themselves to their duty, now turn into Olympic runners, light on their feet, head scarves slipping to their shoulders, hearts pounding, running for joy to go and tell the others.

They arrive breathless. Between gasps for air they blurt out the news, "He is not dead! It's like he said. Remember, he told us this would happen. He is risen! The tomb is empty! We saw it with our own eyes!" But they are met with unbelieving stares, furloughed browns, dismissive waves of the hand and even a few backs turned on them. The crazy women. Idle tales. Wishful thinking. Hopeful delusions. Crazy women. We don't need any more heartache right now. Go away and take your empty tale with you.

The women look at each other, crestfallen, new grief now, the grief that no one will believe them, no one will take them seriously . . . at least not right now. He took them seriously. He would have believed them.

As we know., eventually, after seeing for themselves, the men believe it too. And joy returns to them all.

Honestly now, I really can't blame them all for finding it hard to believe. It's just not natural, this rising from the dead. Barbara Brown Taylor writes:

The disciples found this good news hard to believe. Good news is like that sometimes. It's hard to believe. And good news of this sort, the kind that shakes the very foundations of what we believe to be true, is especially hard to believe because it demands that we think in new ways, new ways that affect every area of life. We can ignore the good news, or deny it or institutionalize it, to protect ourselves from dealing with it. But with patient love, God keeps after us, trying to convince us of the truth.

Once the men and the women started telling the story, word must have spread quickly. Three words: "He is risen!" must have spread through that first group of followers like wild fire. That is the faith declaration around which that early church grew; it is the astounding message that we have come here to say and to sing and to feel yet again. Its power, its mystery defies rational understanding by its very nature because it lies outside the realm of ordinary life. Indeed the resurrection of the Christ is not so much an event to be analyzed and pondered, as it is a phenomenon to be felt in the heart, shaking us in the depths of our souls.

Well, sisters and brothers, I don't know about you, but my soul needs a little shaking. My hope is a little shaky these days. Many days the world seems bleak. Our children are shooting each other - we grieve for the families in Red Lake. The private conflict and grief of Terry Schaivo's family have become politicized and public. The war continues in Iraq. Palestine and Israel seem to take a step forward and two or ten back. Our country continues in deep division over issues about the environment, homosexuality, Social Security, the poor, and the role of religion in public policy.

In our personal lives some of us are dealing with disease, broken families, death, sickness, frustrations, broken relationships and difficulties every day. Your work may seem meaningless, or your boss merciless, or you may have lost your job. You may not have achieved success according to the standards of this world. Dearly loved ones die, close friends move, someone betrays your trust, your family is dysfunctional, addictions ruin lives.

We live in a world that looks too much like Good Friday. As we look around the globe and into our own lives, things can seem as dark and cold as a tomb. But Good Friday is not the end of the story. Nor is the end of the story a broken and bruised body laying in a tomb. Nor is the end of the story even the empty tomb. The end of the story, which is really the beginning of the story is of a risen Christ, a spirit of hope and a kind of powerful love that invites us, beckons us, implores us, to dare to believe is alive today.

William Sloan Coffin put it this way, "The Easter message says that all the tenderness and strength which on Good Friday we saw scourged, buffeted, stretched out on a cross -- all that beauty and goodness is again alive and with us now, not as a memory that inevitably fades, but as an undying presence in the life of everyone of us, if we would only recognize it."

You see, we haven't come here today to remember something that happened 2,000 years ago. We haven't come here to celebrate a memory. We have come here to celebrate a presence, the presence of the Risen Christ with us here and now, with us moment by moment. We are here to remember that we are Easter people, people in whom resides the Spirit of the Living Christ, people who live as Easter people in a Good Friday world!

The Gospel story is not just about Jesus coming back from the dead, it is about the disciples coming back from the dead. It is about those scared, anxious, denying, hiding, unbelieving first followers, touched by the spirit of the Risen Christ, empowered to preach and heal and live anew and set the world on fire. The Gospel story is not just about Jesus coming back from the dead it is about us coming back from the dead. With all our fears and anxieties, and pains and sorrow and difficulty and in the midst of all the awfulness of life, it is about us finding light and life.

Sisters and brothers, despite any and all evidence to the contrary, I proclaim to us this day, the stone is rolled away, the grave is empty, and the Risen Christ strides through the world and through our lives bringing hope, renewal, joy and confidence, bringing Easter love and goodness right in the middle of all the awfulness.

To quote Barbara Brown Taylor again, "By the light of this day, God as planted a seed of life in us that cannot be killed and if we can remember that, then there is nothing we cannot do; move mountains, banish fear, love our enemies, change the world."

The women went to the tomb 2000 years ago to do right by the dead. We are called today to do right by the living. There are people crying, sad, and lonely. There is a planet in need of care. There are places of injustice, hunger, oppression and poverty. We are called by Love to love.

So let's not linger around the empty tomb! Let's embrace the presence of the Living Christ, who brings life to us, so that we might bring life to others. Amen.