Easter Sunday B-18
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago
It might be the first April fool’s joke. The angel said to the woman, “He is not here! But go and tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you” (Mark 16:6b-7). (Alleluia. Christ is risen!)
But on their way to the empty tomb, the only thing they talked about was how to move the heavy stone. Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Salome quietly went to Jesus that first Sunday morning to anoint a corpse, not to witness a resurrection. They went to the tomb early on Easter morning, but in their minds, it was still a Good Friday world. They were preoccupied, not with hopeful anticipation, but with the obstacles they had to overcome. They seem to have all but forgotten, or at least to have discounted, what Jesus had told them: “After I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee” (Mark 14:28).
I confess, as we enter this Easter season, the tension in my belly often makes me more mindful of the heavy stones being piled up against us than the message handed down from of old of trusting in God’s amazing grace. Another mass shooting; another person of color murdered by police in their own back yard; another threat against immigrants, Muslims, or Jews; another rule to save us from ecological or financial ruin undone; another shady deal to personally enrich politicians or to suppress the vote; another blatant attack on truth; another war, on top of the threat of war, on top of constant war since 911 feel like so many heavy stones—not to mention whatever struggles we might be coping with for housing, health, work or love.
This Wednesday, April 4th will mark the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King. Had he lived, he would be 89 years old today. I am mindful of the heroes and prophets we have lost.
No doubt, Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Salome were feeling something like this that first Easter morning. They were thinking about death and the crushing weight of the threat of death mounded up against them by the Roman Empire, the religious authorities, and perhaps even old friends and neighbors to whom they could no longer safely go home.
Fear is like a heavy stone. This peculiar Easter story without a resurrection scene, with no reassuring words to strangely warm their unknowing hearts, in which the last word “phobos,” or fear seems to almost linger in the air, reminds us that fear was the disciple’s undoing again and again.
Peter walks on the water beside Jesus, until fear sent him sinking beneath the waves (Matthew 14:29). Out of fear, the disciples failed to recognize Jesus authority over the storming wind and waters, (4:40-41). Out of fear, Peter suggested they build booths on the mountain of Christ’s transfiguration (9:6). Jesus’ predictions of suffering and death elicited much fear and consternation (9:32). In every case, fear isolated the disciples from Jesus. Fear gets in the way of God’s plan for them and for us. “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 16:8) But, I John writes, “Perfect love casts out fear. (I John 4:18). Perfect Love is of God. It falls on everyone and everything like the morning sun or like life-giving rain.
Scholars say, Mark wrote for a church that was small and, on the margins, feeling expendable, and suffering from religious and economic persecution. To them, the message that God triumphed in Christ despite the dim-witted failures of the first disciples must have come as quite a relief. I admit, it kindles hope in me too. After all, here we are two thousand years later. Mark’s gospel is incontrovertible evidence that God can bring faith even out of human weakness, fear, and failure.
Mark draws attention away from the last sentence to reflection on the first one: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1). It’s the beginning of the good news, not the whole story, it’s not even most of the story because it doesn’t end there. You and I are the continuing gospel of the gospel of Jesus Christ. (Nadia Bolz Weber)
Mark’s gospel removed the last barrier to the abounding of grace in us: the fear of failure. The women’s terrified response to the angel’s invitation to “Go to Galilee” brings us face to face with a great mystery of our faith: somehow God’s work will be accomplished through our hands and hearts, despite our own worst fears, and tragic failings. (Alleluia! Christ is risen.)
The seed of the gospel is sown on good soil. We tend and toil in the field, but God gives the growth. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Almost always the creative dedicated minority has made the world better.” There were not many Christians who supported civil rights but the movement prevailed. There were not many Lutherans in Germany who opposed Hitler, but the words and witness one Lutheran Dietrich Bonhoeffer prevailed. Not many people of faith favored an end to slavery, but a faithful minority made it impossible to sustain. There are so few Christians in America today who support the inclusion of the immigrant, the Muslim, the LGBTQI community, and the poor; who support democracy; and who urgently call for care of the earth that we seem invisible to the media and the wider culture. But the stones piled against us will come toppling down like the walls of Jericho. We have courage and confidence in our convictions because we know how this story ends. We know the love of God triumphs over every narcissistic tendency and evil.
The victory is won but the battle continues. It just didn’t matter how often or how miserably the disciples failed him. Jesus always called them back. Jesus opens a way to the future. Jesus opens our eyes and sets us again on the pilgrim path to God. Again, and again, Jesus drives out fear and writes a new script for our lives as we become joined to the undying life of God in the waters of baptism.
This is the hope to which the gospel calls us: regardless how often we have failed, however imperfect our faith is or has been; how many times we were silent when we should have spoken out; no matter how hard our hearts have been against compassion for those who suffer—the outstretched hand of Jesus opens to us today.
The angel’s words are not information but a commission for everyone who hears the call to follow him. Hear the invitation to continue the kingdom-building work that remains to be done—for that is where we encounter the risen Christ. Jesus goes ahead of us to Galilee. He is not in the tomb. Jesus who casts out fear and leads us deeper into abundant life can be found among the suffering, the needy, the oppressed, and estranged. He lives among us now. Jesus is with all who share their bread, who give a cup of water, who receive the little children, who protect the vulnerable, care for widows, attend to the environment, and keep widening the circle of a living sanctuary of grace and hope for all. (R. Alan Culpepper, Mark, p. 596-97) Alleluia, Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!)