Lent: 4/12/09
April 12, 2009
Easter
Mark 16:1-8
“When I was a Mary Too”
When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” 4When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. 7But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” 8So 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. – Mark 16:1-8 (NRSV)
I once was a Mary too. There was a time when I had given up on the Church. It was outdated and superstitious, self-preserving, out of touch, and dead. It wounded me deeply to divorce myself from the religion of my youth, but it was also a great relief. I felt mature and responsible leaving behind the things of my youth and becoming my own man.
One does not usually leave the Church all at once but in stages, small baby steps. Often times we undertake tasks with the hope and understanding of failure. Deep within us is the idea that at least we can say that we tried to do something. At least we made an effort to be faithful and clean up the mess or at least to cover over the smell of decay. Sometimes we just need a reason to point to so that we can run away with our dignity and pride intact.
One Easter Morning I went to the one of the churches of my childhood for a Sunrise Service. Not to celebrate as other might, I wanted to see once more that everything was exactly the same as I remembered. I wanted to hear the same old rotten sermon that I had come to expect each year. I wanted to sing the same old stinking hymns that these people sang every single time they gathered together. I wanted to shake hands with that same old cold lifeless faith that I remembered but once had loved when it was still alive. I wanted to know, needed to know, for certain sure that it was over forever and for good.
That morning I went out before the sunrise to the little country tomb where I had laid my Jesus to rest. None of the others from my youth were there. They had long since denied any association with this place. They had allowed other opportunities to overpower any feelings of love or loyalty. They had already played their roles. The roster had crowed and they were long gone. I alone felt the compulsion to go back and at least try and clean up the mess. During that hour as the sun began to shine through the ancient stained glass, I went back to the tomb where I had left him. I went crawling toward him in the darkness, reaching for his motionless body, knowing that it would be cold and putrid, but needing to touch him one last time. I brought with me my meaningless gestures of pointless and empty devotion and unacknowledged grief knowing that they could not even begin to mask the smell of dust and corruption, but I just had to touch him one last time. I just had to know that it was finally and really over. It was an excruciatingly long service and to this day I cannot remember a bit of it, I just sat there. Almost everything had been, as I had expected, but not quite. As all the others went laughing into the fellowship hall to eat and laugh and sing, I just sat there in the silent darkness filled with terror and amazement.
The stone that would have been too heavy for me to budge had been rolled away.
He was not there.
The tomb of that place and my memories could not hold him (just as he had said time and time again back when things were still new and exciting and when I didn’t want to hear or understand).
He was already waiting to meet me in the very place I had chosen to run away to.
So enveloped by my fear and wonder I ran from that place as the endless possibilities opened up before me and a renewed hope arose within me. And I too didn’t tell nobody, because I was afraid…
How often do we make the mistake of thinking that we can set God aside and go about the “important” things of everyday life? Why do we later return to that same place expecting to find him exactly as we left him? Why do we think that we have to be about the work of Easter morning, that we have to make everything pretty and neat and safe? Why do we think that we have to help people to understand the deeper mysteries of a God that refuses to be controlled and contained or defined when sometimes silence and speechlessness are the only authentic response?
He is not here! He has been raised! He has already gone on ahead of you to meet you in the ministries of service and proclamation that await you! Come out of the old tombs that you have prepared for yourselves, you will not find yourselves in them. You have been raised with him! Leave this place without a word and don’t look back. You will only find your new selves when you encounter the Risen Christ already busy at work in the midst of human suffering and need. Yours is the power of his resurrection! All the things that once seemed impossible are now within your grasp! The darkness that you once feared is already yielding to the sunrise of a new and glorious day. No longer do we wear the ashes of Lent, now we are Easter People! Alleluia! Amen!