admin

 

Easter Day – Year A

Preached on April 24, 2011

At St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Brookline

The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello

 

Romans 6:3—11; Matthew 28:1—10

 

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

They thought they had seen everything. These two women, on their way to the tomb, they thought that everything that could have happened had, indeed, happened. Jesus, their friend, their rabbi, their Lord had died. What their lives would hold for them now – who could tell?

I imagine that, as they approach the tomb, they are re-hashing the events of the last week and wondering how things had managed to go so wrong so fast. And just as they approach the tomb, where there hopes are laid, the unbelievable, the unthinkable happens. The ground shakes, an angel appears, rolls the stone back and speaks to them. “Do not be afraid. I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.”

With this news, the angel sends the women to tell the disciples to go on to Galilee where they will see him. The women run from the tomb, with fear and great joy, to tell the news. Again on the road, again trying to make sense of what just happened, they are met by their risen Lord. Again they are told, “Do not be afraid.” Again they are sent on to tell the news. And again they go.

Everything these two women knew about the world has changed. Everything they knew about life and death has changed. Everything they knew about what their future would hold has changed. Nothing is sure, nothing is predictable. They are thrust into a world where angels appear, where Jesus who had been crucified comes and speaks to them! What, they must be thinking, could possibly happen next?

Certainly, they have no idea. They have no way of knowing how this new life, this new reality they have just experienced will unfold. Everything they knew about the world is up for grabs and nothing is as they thought. And they run down the road toward this new life just as fast as they can.

I love to imagine the conversation these two women had in their time between meeting the angel and meeting Jesus. And between seeing Jesus and telling the disciples. Matthew tells us they left the tomb with “fear and great joy”. Two wonderfully contradictory emotions, bubbling over on their way down the road. They desperately want to believe that what the angel has told them is true. And they are afraid it might just be. They are filled with joy at the possibility that Jesus has risen from the dead, and terrified he just might have been.

It’s like that feeling I get when I’ve pulled the bar over my lap on a rollercoaster. The attendant walks by to check that the bar is secure. I hear the lock release and the cars begin their descent up the first hill. The whole time the coaster is making its ascent I am wondering if my lap bar is really secure. My hands are drenched in sweat and I am convinced I have made a terrible, life threatening mistake. My heart pounds; I am petrified of what will come next, and I can’t wait for it to come. Terrible fear and great joy.

I am grateful for that lap bar. Not just because it keeps me from falling out of the coaster once I am on my way, though. I am grateful for it because, in that moment after I lower it, it is often the only thing responsible for me staying on the coaster.   In those initial moments when it is too late, I desperately want to tell them to stop. Ask to be let off. I’ve changed my mind. But I can’t; it’s too late. And off I go. If it weren’t for that lap bar, I’d be standing on the platform waving to my much braver son as he climbs upward toward the sky for the ride of his life. If it weren’t for that lap bar, I’d miss the whole terrifying and wonderfully joyful ride.

But the two women at the tomb don’t have a lap bar. There is nothing keeping them from running from the empty tomb back to their houses, locking the door, closing the shutters and crouching in a corner, paralyzed by fear.

When they leave the tomb, sent to the disciples, they are free not to. When they see Jesus and hold his feet, rather than going on ahead, they are free to turn back. But they don’t. They don’t turn back, they don’t cower in fear. Instead, they run ahead, full speed.

This morning, we are given the very same choice. This morning we come thinking we know exactly what to expect out of this Easter. Some great music, beautiful flowers, perhaps a traditional Easter meal this afternoon.

Perhaps you know exactly where it is life will take you. Maybe you’ve got a plan, or maybe you’ve given the plan up, and expect that tomorrow will be just another day like today, without the music, or the flowers.

Or maybe the thought that your life could change and that a new even more abundant life is waiting for you just down the road fills you with terrible fear, and just a little joyful curiosity.

That is the promise we are given this morning. That is the reality of the empty tomb. There is no death that is final. There is no ending that is permanent. There is no “the end” to this story. There is only what happens next. And that is for us to figure out. The choice between fear and joy is ours to make. Whether we stay at the empty tomb or run ahead to find where God is, the choice is our choice to make.

Jesus’ resurrection is our resurrection. Jesus’ new life is our new life to live. Easter is not an opportunity simply to remember what happened to Jesus 2000 years ago. Easter is a time to wonder how it will happen again, today, to each one of us.

The story of the resurrection isn’t over. Indeed, for us it is just beginning. If we want it to be.

We can choose fear. We can stay at the tomb.

Or we can choose joy and run ahead, full of joy and fear, wondering how it is God will change our lives forever, again. And again. And again.

This story is to be continued…

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

 

© 2011 The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello