Rev.
Debbie Cato
Luke 24:1-12
God of new beginnings, on that first Easter morning, the disciples struggled to hear the good news. Doubt clouded their minds. Negativity took root and hope vanished with a simple shake of their heads. As we return to this familiar text, help us to hear differently this morning. Open our ears that we might hear the sound of Alleluias ringing through this text. Open up our minds that the mystery and joy of Easter might feel within reach. Open up our hearts that we might believe the unbelievable. And like Peter, in this hearing, may we move closer to you. God of the empty tomb, we are hungry for your good news. Speak to us now. With hope in our hearts, we listen, and we pray, amen.
And I Hope
And I
hope… We might imagine Peter hearing the
women’s testimony then uttering these words under his breath; and I hope, his
voice trailing off in the distance as he dashes to the tomb to see for himself.
After
denying Christ, not just once but three times, Peter could have run away. He
could have cowered in shame, regret, in guilt. He could have let his fear and
denial harden his heart and turn him into a shell of himself for the rest of
his life. And yet, in true Peter fashion, he turns on his heels and begins
again. He doesn't just think about the women's unbelievable story — he takes
action. He runs to the tomb to see if it is true. Even after all the worst has
come true, Peter stays open. He stays
curious, hopeful. That feels to me like a clear model for what
"resurrection hope" looks like.[1]
Peter shows us a “both/and” faith that persists even after all his mountain peaksand deep valleys. Peter drew his sword. Peter denied Christ three
times. Peter was not there when Jesus died. Yet it is Peter who ran to the tomb.
Peter shows us that we can always begin again. We can add an “and” when we
think our stories have come to an end. We can hope.
Does
Peter run to the tomb because he believes or because he doubts? Does it really matter why he goes? For the tenacity of hope drives him there. Peter
runs toward hope. Once he sees the linen
cloths on the ground, he returns back home, filled with amazement. Hope wins out over despair.
Frederick
Buechner, a great theologian said, “It has always struck me as remarkable that
when the writers of the four Gospels come to the most important part of the
story, the part about the resurrection, they tell it in whispers.[2]
According
to the Gospels there was no choir of angels to proclaim it. There was no sudden
explosion of light in the sky. Not a single soul was around to see it happen.[3]
The way the Gospel writers tell it, Jesus came back from death, not in a blaze of glory, but more like a candle flame in the dark, flickering first in this place, then in that place, then in no place at all. If they had been making the whole thing up for the purpose of converting the world, presumably they would have described it more the way the book of Revelation describes how He will come back again at
the end of time with “the armies of heaven arrayed in fine linen, white and pure”
and His eyes like a flame of fire, and on his head many diadems.”[4] But that is
not the way the Gospels tell it. To proclaim the resurrection the way the Gospels
do, you would have to say it in whispers.[5]
They are not trying to describe it as convincingly as they can. They are trying to
describe it as truthfully as they can. It was the most extra-ordinary thing they
believed had ever happened, and yet they tell it so quietly that you have to lean
close to be sure of what they are telling. They tell it as softly as a secret, as
something so precious, and holy, and fragile, and unbelievable, and true, that to
tell it any other way would be somehow to dishonor it. To proclaim the
resurrection the way they do, you would have to say it in whispers: “Christ has
risen.” Like that.[6]
Buechner
is comparing the telling of the resurrection to the telling of Jesus’ birth,
where there were hosts of angels singing and proclaiming his birth and a
bright, new star in the sky. Yet the act that actually saves us, that gives us eternal
life is quiet. Nobody or nothing
proclaims it.
On the
first day of the week, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and
the other women go to the tomb and find it empty. This is good news! But is it?
Through the messengers at the tomb, the women remember Jesus’ assurances and
return to the disciples with the news.
But the disciples respond with not only words of disbelief, but with downright dismissal. Some translations say they call the women’s news “an idle tale,” some “foolish talk,” or “nonsense.” The real meaning of the Greek word is “garbage.”
The women announce Jesus’ promises have been fulfilled and the response—
from the ones who were closest to Jesus— is, “yeah, well, that’s a bunch of
rubbish.”[7]
The
disciples’ response sounds outrageous.
It sounds insulting. But, there
is so much truth and honesty in this reaction. After all, the good news
frequently seems too good to be true. If the tomb is empty, if Jesus has been
raised from the dead, then life as we’ve known and expected is no longer
possible. The world has been turned upside down.[8]
I think the question Peter asked himself after he heard what the women had to say was “Could it really be true?” With hope on his heels, he ran to the tomb to
see for himself. After seeing the empty tomb and the linen cloths neatly folded
up, Peter goes home wondering. And it’s in that wondering that the meaning of
the resurrection lies.
The
resurrection only makes sense when we remain amazed, marveling and wondering at
the love of God that reversed death itself. We are not asked to explain the
resurrection, to offer proof for the resurrection, or make a case for the
resurrection. We really can’t. How can we? Instead, like Peter, we live in
wonder—amazed for how belief in the God of resurrection can truly change the
world.
A very famous quote of Frederick Buechner is the “resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing.” The resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing. Jesus’ death and resurrection means that He defeated
death for all of us and He gave us the gift of everlasting life. Everlasting life is
the last thing. No more pain or suffering; no more fear or isolation. The truth of
the resurrection allows us to run toward hope when even the worst happens.
Even after the biggest failures, even after the worst case scenario has happened,
we can run toward hope. Jesus’ resurrection gives us that hope.
So the
question is, like Peter, will we keep going? Will we keep looking for God in
our midst? Will we keep running toward
hope?
I’m going
to end with a poem from Rev. Sara Speed of Sanctified Art.
Easter Morning
Rev. Sara Speed, Sanctified Art
I cannot
stay away on Easter Morning.
Like
Peter,
I would
run if I could.
Stop the
car,
pump my
arms,
take the
church steps two at a time,
all to
know—
Did it
happen?
Did it
really happen?
Is evil
no match for love?
I’d slide
down the center aisle.
I’d grab
the mic to ask
the
angels,
the
heavens,
the
children,
Were the
stories true?
And in
response, the choir would sing, “Alleluia.”
The
children would flower the cross.
The
preacher would tell me the stone was rolled away.
The
people would pass the peace,
and
welcome strangers,
and make
room in the pews.
And with
faith over doubt,
I would
hope.
For I
imagine that all of that ordinary holiness
would be
enough for Peter,
and it
would be enough for me.
Christ
has Risen! He has risen indeed! Keep running toward hope. Amen.
[1] FaceBook Conversation.
Lisle Gwynn Garrity. 3.26.2024
[2] Buechner, Frederick.
From “The Secret in the Dark” in Longing for Home, p. 143
[3] Buechner, Frederick.
From “The Secret in the Dark” in Longing for Home, p. 143
[4] Revelation 19:14
[5] Buechner, Frederick.
From “The Secret in the Dark” in Longing for Home, p. 143
[6] Buechner, Frederick. From “The Secret in the Dark” in Longing for
Home, p. 143
[7] Dr. Karoline Lewis. Sanctified Art. Commentary.
Easter Sunday. Luke 24:1-12.
[8] Dr. Karoline Lewis.
Sanctified Art. Commentary. Easter Sunday. Luke 24:1-12.
