Text: Mark 16:1-8
This is not how it was supposed to be.
If you expected an Easter sermon today that skirted around that stark, difficult fact, you clicked the wrong link this morning and heard the wrong gospel lesson. Because for us on this Easter Sunday, gathered just as Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome were on that first Easter, under the shadow of death grieving the brutal execution of their teacher just days before, this is not at all how it was supposed to be and it’s perfectly good and faithful to say so.
At Lyonsville, this was going to be the first Easter since we have returned our worship to the chapel, a space which has nourished us well. We were to celebrate our refreshed space: a new ramp and chairlift, new paint and wallpaper and flooring and lighting, rebuilt stairs to re-open the front chapel entrance, lest late churchgoers be forced to make eye contact with those already seated! All of this physical change is symbolic of a spiritual shift I have sensed at Lyonsville, as we have moved from a focus on ourselves and our survival to how God is calling us to love our neighbors. Right after Easter we were going to launch a community needs assessment to connect more deeply with our community and develop a shared focus for our ministry. We were ready to go, making sure that the walls of our church were inviting and getting outside the walls to share the love of God with our community.
But none of us were planning to get outside the walls quite in this way.
That’s to say nothing of the things in our individual lives that are really not how they were supposed to be: school buildings closed, layoffs and facemasks, family and friends we cannot see, weddings and trips postponed, for those living alone more solitude than you could ever ask for; for those living with others more time together than ever before. Many of us get up in the morning and check each day to see what death has been up to in the last 24 hours, as more and more of us know and love people who have fallen ill or even died from this awful virus.
This is not how it was supposed to be. And it’s perfectly good and faithful to say so. In fact, there’s no other way to receive the gift of Easter today.
The Easter story, as told in Mark’s gospel, is not the most popular version of the story. It ends not in joy but with fear. In Matthew and Luke and John, Jesus shows up himself, which helped quite a bit with the whole “did he really rise from the dead” thing. But in Mark there is no resurrected Jesus appearing to anyone. Just these three faithful women, finding an empty tomb with a stranger inside telling tales of resurrection when a grave robbery seemed far more likely.
“So,” the story ends, “they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” That’s where it ends. With the fear and the not-quite-yet believing that death had really met its match in this Jesus. With trembling hearts and closed lips.
In other words, Easter had come, but they didn’t see it yet. They hadn’t experienced it yet. Not only is that where the story ends, that’s where the whole gospel of Mark ends. In the years since, many have found Mark's ending to lack a certain sparkle. So new endings have been added: most Bibles will label them as the shorter ending and the longer ending. They try to wrap things up a bit more pleasantly. And obviously the women eventually did go and tell others or we wouldn’t be here today. But on this day, Mark’s original Easter is just right. We have heard of resurrection. We have heard that Christ is Risen, and even sung about it. But if we are not seeing or encountering or feeling close to the Jesus we’re told is risen, feeling instead that death has the final word, we’re in good company with Jesus’ most faithful followers: the three women who came to the tomb.
After all, Jesus conquered death but he did not eliminate it. No Easter proclamation - especially in the age of COVID-19 - is honest or true if it doesn’t say so plainly. Jesus may be risen, yes, but death is all around. And few knew that better than Mark, writing this story down just as the Jews -- and followers of Jesus were all Jews at this point -- just as the Jews revolted against Rome only to be brutally crushed and have their temple destroyed.
And, Mark knew something else, which is why during a time of great despair he wrote a story of Jesus in the first place. He knew that you didn’t have to meet the Risen Jesus face-to-face for Easter to be real.
When the women did go to Galilee, did they find Jesus in the flesh? I don’t know. But I do know this: once they did open their mouths to share what they saw, the Jesus movement took off. The Easter season, the fifty day celebration that starts today is all about telling the stories of the early Jesus movement: this group that traveled around challenging the authority of the brutal Roman rulers who called themselves gods, sharing everything they had with one another and with the poor, providing free healthcare to all who needed it, gathering not in magnificent buildings but in private homes to sing and pray and share a simple meal of bread and wine. They did this while persecuted and prosecuted by the government, surrounded by wars and rumors of wars, and without the benefit even of landline telephones to communicate with one another much less Zoom or FaceTime. They traveled around with the most odd and unbelievable insistence that “Jesus is Risen,” mocking Rome’s most dreadful punishment for rebels, the cross, which became for Jesus’ followers a symbol not of the power of Rome to kill but of the power of God to bring life from death and destruction.
Almost all of the people who did those amazing things did so without the benefit of seeing Jesus in the flesh - at least not in a way they would recognize. But they didn’t need to in order to find the Risen Christ, and neither do we. They encountered Jesus by telling the stories he told, living the way he showed them, and refusing to let anything, anything, stop them from dedicating their lives to the love of God and the love of their neighbors.
On Maundy Thursday, the day we remembered Jesus’ commandment to love one another, we sent an invitation to the congregation to participate in ministry projects: making sure those without masks have them, keeping connected with one another, working to ensure that people have food to eat and money to pay the bills. After all, we draw near to the Risen Jesus not by waiting for him to show up to prove anything to us but by dedicating ourselves to the work of his people, the church. This Easter season we’ll tell stories of the early church’s ministry while living out God’s Action Plan for our ministry in these times. Six Tasks for Six Sundays:
- Preparing for Action
- Sharing All We Can
- Communing with One Another
- Seeking Health and Wellness for All God’s Children
- Claiming our Moral Voice, and
- Embracing Hope in the Shadow of Death.
We won’t just talk about it. We’ll do it: each week we will be invited to take a concrete action, to share with one another and our community. Preparing. Sharing. Communing. Seeking. Claiming. Embracing.
In living out God’s Action Plan for this Easter, we will draw near to the Risen Christ, who lives in and among us still. Today.
This Easter, this Spring, nothing is how it was supposed to be. But truth be told it’s just as well that we’re not celebrating Easter in our building today, because Jesus isn’t in church buildings this Easter. Jesus is out among his people, each one of us. Jesus is in the healthcare workers and hospital staff, the parents and teachers. Jesus is in the often-painful choice to continue social distancing. Jesus is in the calls and texts and letters we send, Jesus is in the masks we make and wear, and in the money we give. Jesus is in the tears we shed and the grief we move through. We are looking for Jesus, who we’re told has been raised. And when we follow in his footsteps, we will see him, one way or another: Preparing. Sharing. Communing. Seeking. Claiming. Embracing.
Christ the Lord is Risen Today. Today.
Alleluia, and Amen.
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