Christ is risen! He is
risen indeed, Alleluia!
See, it’s so easy! You just repeat the same words you
repeat every year. Christ is risen… he is risen indeed, Alleluia! So then why couldn’t
the disciples believe it?
Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and
some other women had just returned from the tomb as the first preachers of the
resurrection. Mary Magdalene is the first
Christian preacher and she just delivered the first Christian sermon of all
time—also the shortest and best sermon of all time. “He. Is. Risen.” Full stop.
But Mary’s sermon has about the same effect as most
preaching. That’s a nice sermon, Mary.
“It seemed to them an idle tale,” says Luke in the Gospel reading, “And they
did not believe them.” Well, that is to say most of them did not believe them.
Maybe it was because they were women in a society run by men, maybe it was
because the disciples assumed that if Christ were truly to rise from the dead
surely he would make himself known to them first, but probably it was mostly
just that the disciples lacked faith. Well, again, most of them lacked faith.
There is Peter, who gets up and runs to the tomb, stoops down, looks in and
sees. And what does he see? Nothing. No Jesus. And he goes home amazed.
Easter morning is about the absence of a thing, which
makes it special in and of itself. Most of our lives are spent searching for
something, for some thing, whether it
be a newer, shinier car; a newer, shinier job; or a newer, shinier spouse. It’s
usually a thing that we are after.
But Easter reminds us that the greatest things are no-things. An empty tomb, an
MRI that’s clear, no call in the middle of the night, no tombstone for a
child—none of that. Things happen, and sometimes terrible things happen, and so
we sit, like the disciples on that first Easter morning, wondering what went
wrong. How can we fix it and make it all better?
Into that gloomy room bursts Mary Magdalene with a
three-word sermon—still the best sermon ever given. HE IS RISEN! And the
disciples do not believe her. They are busy trying to fix the problem, probably
reading their Bibles, wondering which clues they missed. They are trying to
take the thing that is broken and piece it back together again even though they
know that death is final and there is nothing they can do. They are depressed,
gloomy, angry. How dare these women come with this nonsense!
Well, there is Peter…
Peter, for all his faults, dares to hope for something
better. Peter who denied Christ three times; Peter who was corrected harshly
for wanting to worship the place where Jesus was transfigured rather than Jesus
who stood before him, Peter who, according to John’s Gospel, was fishing naked
in a boat, saw Jesus on the shore and was so excited to see him that he put his
clothes back on before jumping into the water. This Peter who worshiped
wrongly, who turned on Jesus in his greatest time of need, and who was a bit of
an odd duck if we can say so—this Peter dares to hope for something better.
He dares wisely. The resurrection is the thing worth
daring for. A person can put their trust in all sorts of the wrong things. You
can trust in the lottery to find wealth, you can trust in your smarts to win
friends, you can trust in your politics to influence others, you can trust in your
phone to make you feel connected. None of that is likely to work, but trust in
the resurrection and you will not be disappointed. Dare to hope for something
better!
Dare to practice resurrection. Live every day as if it is
the only thing you know to be true. Be Peter. Be Mary Magdalene. Preach the
good news. Nobody asked her for her credentials; if they did they would have
realized she wasn’t qualified. Maybe that’s why the disciples didn’t believe
her. Surely God would have sent somebody else to share with them this momentous
news. It must not be true if it’s coming from Mary. Dare to be Mary Magdalene
even if people treat you like garbage. Practice resurrection by letting go of
your need to know what others think of you. Trust not in pleasure and things to
find meaning, because the thing that saves us is no-thing—just the empty tomb
and the death of death.
Christ is risen! And nothing else matters. So when you
open up the mail and pay the bills on Monday morning practice resurrection by
knowing that no debt and no stress can kill you, because in death you find your
next adventure. And when you return to work on Monday morning and discover that
it is mundane or difficult or there are challenges you didn’t expect or your job
is pulling you away from those you love practice resurrection by choosing to
die only to things that profess love; not the things that will sap you daily of
your love for your fellow people. Be crucified with Christ, yes, but not for
the sake of your own importance. Instead be crucified as Christ’s servant. Be a
servant to the true master; not to the one who asks for your allegiance—least
of all not to your own selfish desires. And when you see your family the
morning after Easter practice resurrection by dying to your need to control, to
manipulate, to get your way, to be a victim, die to all of it. Instead,
practice resurrection by loving one another as Christ loved us. Practice
resurrection by walking away from abuse. Practice resurrection by letting go of
your need to fix things. Practice resurrection—this day; every day.
Dare to hope for something better.
Peter did. And Peter discovered that an empty tomb is a
gateway to a promise he should have heard Jesus preach before, but it’s never
too late. It’s never too late to hear that promise for the first time. Even the
disciples who doubt, who sat in darkness even as those Pastor Mary Magdalene
brought them the light, even they would come to see in time. Dare to hope for
something better. The sooner you get there the sooner you will find joy in the
midst of all the things that tell you there is no reason to be joyful. Oh, but
we know there is! Because there’s an empty tomb that silences whatever others
can say or do to try to take away from the joy that is in us.
It does not matter if somebody drop bombs on you, shoots
you in the face, or robs you blind; it does not matter if you are cursed or
cheated, if people slander or murder you; it does not matter if your
possessions, work, or family are taken from you, like Job, or your life itself
like countless martyrs from the time of Jesus to today. It does not matter,
because the quality of our lives on earth are not measured in length of years
but in living a life of resurrection. All death is only act one of a two-part
resurrection play. You cannot delay it. You cannot stop it. Every evil act
taken in the world today—every choice to destroy, every act of war, coercion,
manipulation, human trafficking, concentration camps, and worse—all of it
simply hastens God’s kingdom come. You cannot end life; you can only delay it. Practice
resurrection, so that death becomes to you just the next great adventure. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O
death, is your sting?
Practice resurrection. Because the story ends in victory.
Christ is risen! Shout it with Mary Magdalene. Dare to hope in it like Peter. Experience
the resurrection-hope that though the sorrow may last for the night joy comes
in the morning! Christ is risen! Dare to hope that it’s true. Dare to believe
that your life in all its simple pleasures is not all there is. Dare to dream
that you are here for a reason that is bigger than eating and drinking and sleeping
and enjoying a few nice things. Christ is risen! Practice resurrection! Live as
if the tomb is rolled away for you today and whatever is killing you can do its
worst. Welcome death not as the ultimate thing to be feared but as a familiar
friend. Stand in awe. Dare to believe that death’s death is coming. Jesus has
shown us the way and blows through death like a one-hundred mile per hour
fastball on the way to what lies beyond. Practice resurrection. Dare to hope.
Dare to live it. Be changed by it.
Christ is risen!
He is risen, indeed. Alleluia!
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