“We Belong to Life”
Please join me in the Prayer for Illumination, as printed in your bulletin:
To the Word of God in scripture,
to the Word of God among us,
to the Word of God within us,
open our hearts and minds,
our eyes and ears,
our doors and all our ways of being.
Amen.
John 20:1-18
As with the story of Jesus’s birth, our scriptures include different versions of the story of Jesus’s resurrection. When it comes to the Easter story, Matthew’s version features Mary Magdalene, the “other” Mary, an earthquake, and an angel who descends from heaven to roll away the stone in front of the tomb.
Mark’s version features Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bringing spices to anoint Jesus’s body. The stone has already been rolled away, and, after an angel tells the women that Jesus has been raised and commissions them to tell the others, they run away in terror and amazement.
Luke’s gospel has another group of women accompanying Mary Magdalene to the empty tomb with spices. After hearing from two men in dazzling clothes, the women run to tell the male disciples that Jesus has been raised from the dead. The men reject this as an “idle tale.” Only Peter goes to the tomb to see for himself. He leaves the empty tomb amazed.
Storytellers tell us that different versions of the same tale indicate how important a story is to a people’s identity and their understanding of ultimate reality. The different versions also suggest that the story’s truth is not in literal details, but in the event itself.
Hear now a fourth account of the first Easter Sunday, this one taken from the Gospel of John, as translated in the Common English Bible:Early in the morning of the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. She ran to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said, “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they’ve put him.” Peter and the other disciple left to go to the tomb.
They were running together, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and was the first to arrive at the tomb. Bending down to take a look, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he didn’t go in. Following him, Simon Peter entered the tomb and saw the linen cloths lying there. He also saw the face cloth that had been on Jesus’ head. It wasn’t with the other clothes but was folded up in its own place. Then the other disciple, the one who arrived at the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. They didn’t yet understand the scripture that Jesus must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to the place where they were staying.
Mary stood outside near the tomb, weeping. As she cried, she bent down to look into the tomb. She saw two angels dressed in white, seated where the body of Jesus had been, one at the head and one at the foot. The angels asked her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
She replied, “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they’ve put him.” As soon as she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she didn’t know it was Jesus.
Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she replied, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him and I will get him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabbouni” (which means Teacher).
Jesus said to her, “Don’t hold on to me, for I haven’t yet gone up to my Father. Go to my brothers and sisters and tell them, ‘I’m going up to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
Mary Magdalene left and announced to the disciples, “I’ve seen the Lord.” Then she told them what he said to her.God is still speaking.
Given that there are four different versions of the Easter story, given that each one has its strengths and weaknesses, given that all of them are a little hard to believe, given that we all need all the joy we can get . . .
Why are we focusing on this version, the one that includes the weird and somewhat confusing tangent about two men racing to the tomb and which one got there first, as if that advances the story? With the key plot line—the tomb is empty!—the same in all versions, why, you may be wondering, would we choose the one that has several other things going on? Why not cut straight to the “Christ is risen” chase?
I can only tell you my reasons, of course.
The first one is that Jesus, the Risen Christ himself, makes an appearance in this version. While the others feature only the mystery of the empty tomb, this version shows a resurrected and transformed Jesus who actually interacts with Mary Magdalene, the only person to be found in every version of the story.
This Easter story, unlike the others, does not leave us scratching our heads and clutching our hearts, wondering—as if executing Jesus wasn’t bad enough—if someone has also stolen his body. This Easter story does not leave us perplexed, wondering what in the world “He is not here; he is risen” could possibly mean.
This version shows us what it means: That the embodied love of God is among us still—surprising us with their presence, comforting us with their tenderness, transforming us with their love, and compelling us to tell the world.
We’ll come back to that, but there is another reason I’ve chosen this version of the story for our consideration this morning:
Because this one includes something we don’t often associate with Easter, and that is grief.
This story acknowledges the pain of the world, and the searing, devastating grief of loss.
Beyond telling us what a group of women is doing, it shows us what one particular woman is feeling. And in so doing, this story invites us to name and honor our own experiences and feelings—about Jesus, about life, about loss, about everything.
“Why are you weeping?” the angels ask Mary Magdalene as she bends down to look into the empty tomb.”
“Why are you weeping?” the Risen Christ asks, tenderly.
This version of the Easter story tells us that grief and joy are not mutually exclusive. They can—and often do—co-exist.
This version of the Easter story tells us that we can rejoice in the resurrection and weep for the pain and injustice of the world and the grief, anguish, and uncertainty of our own lives.
I remember Easter Sunday of 1997. I wept through the entire worship service because Keith, my younger brother and only sibling—had died the previous Monday. At age 33. In my house. In my bed.
In the 28 years since then, I have celebrated every Easter Sunday with joy and thanksgiving—but the Easter I remember most clearly is the one I cried through, the one when my need for resurrection was raw and real and, perhaps a little like Mary Magdalene, I had a hard time seeing through my tears.
Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador, who knew something about injustice and grief and political corruption and was assassinated while celebrating Communion, said, “There are many things that can only be seen through eyes that have cried.”
I wonder if resurrection is one of those things.
I wonder if hope is one of those things.
I wonder if joy is one of those things.
For many of us here, the question this morning may be not so much “why are you weeping?” but rather, if you’re not weeping, if you’re not deeply troubled by all that is happening in our country, if you’re not tempted to despair by the daily drumbeat of dehumanization, if you aren’t grieving with the families of the individuals who have been disappeared—grabbed on the street by masked officers and spirited away with not so much as a kiss of betrayal—well then, why not?
Some of us, like the apostle Peter and the other disciple are stunned and frightened by reports of what is happening. Occasionally, we may leave our safe houses and run to bear witness to all that has been taken away from us. But then, like the disciples, we go back home, unsure what to do next.
Because life is not all joy and justice, balloons and daffodils, love and chocolate, and good things happening to good people.
Sometimes our best hopes and plans fall apart. Sometimes, as on Good Friday, the light is snuffed out. Sometimes the bad guys win, at least for a while. Sometimes the future looks bleak.
But, as Mary Magdalene discovered and Oscar Romero confirmed, some things can be seen only through eyes that have cried.
Some new things can be imagined only by hearts that have been broken open. Some great joys can be experienced only after the deepest grief. Some heights can be achieved only after the bottom has been hit. Some hopes can be realized only after normal human capacity has been exhausted.
And some things, like forgiveness and resilience, simply cannot be explained—except by love. Some things, like resurrection, simply cannot be believed—except by faith. They can only be received and experienced as gift, mystery, and manifestations of divine power and purpose.
Sometimes—by love and grace, by Spirit power and the support of community—we can rise from our brokenness and fear to proclaim what is real and true, to resist all that is not, and to claim the life that first claimed us. But only after we have been seen for who we are, only after someone has called our name, only after someone has given us holy, life-saving, world-changing work to do.
Easter reminds us that we belong to life, and life will not be denied. Easter reminds us that, all evidence to the contrary, love is stronger than death, the God-spirit that lives in all things is resilient beyond belief, day follows night, spring follows winter, and everyone—everyone—gets invited to the party.
“Resurrection has to be embraced with every breath,” says Gregory Boyle, who has loved thousands of former gang members back to life with jobs and community and belonging.
“The essential paradox of Jesus is: you lose, you gain; you die, you’ll live.”
It would be easier if that remarkable sequence happened once and for all, if life was one straight line from hard work to success, from empty to full and from joy to joy, but it tends to happen much like the seasons—going round and round again, going deeper and deeper, healing and transforming us along the way.
Easter doesn’t break the cycle; it simply shows us what is possible: joy after pain, love after loss, hope after despair, life after death, mercy and grace everlasting.
Easter doesn’t make the pain of death go away. Easter doesn’t make the impact of corrupt power on hundreds of millions of lives any less devastating. But it reminds us that that’s not all there is. It reminds us that dehumanization, destruction, and death will not have the last word.
Easter shows us what is possible. In the words of UCC General Minister and President Rev. Dr. Karen Georgia Thompson, “It is possible to experience God amid the pain and suffering. It is possible for life to triumph over death. And it is possible for love to win over hatred.”
Easter invites us to make room for joy, to trust that joy will come back around—even when life feels hard and scary and we are too-well-acquainted with grief.
Easter reminds us that no matter what evil we see happening around us, something more real and lasting and life-giving is also happening—even if we can’t always see it, even if our grief seems too much to bear, even if we despair that surely we are doomed and there is no coming back.
Even as we are stumbling through our days, hardly able to fathom all that is being lost, something real and true and life-giving is also happening: people are rising up, new communities are being formed, resistance to death and injustice is taking hold, and we are remembering not only that we belong to life but also that life belongs to us, that it has been given to us.
Easter is not only about joy, but it comes to remind us that joy, like life, will not be denied.
Easter joy—like Mary Magdalene’s response to Jesus—can manifest as more tentative embrace than hooping and hollering, because something so unbelievably good and totally unexpected has happened that we’re not quite sure we can trust it.
Easter joy comes to us while it is still dark, while evil still seems to prevail, while despair is still knocking on the door of our heart.
Easter joy comes not as a shout, but as a whisper that sounds a little like John Lennon, saying, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”
Easter joy comes not with parades and fireworks, but in the quiet voice of a Love we thought was gone forever tenderly calling our name.
“You belong to life,” it says. “You, like everyone else, belong to love. And Love will always be with you. Go and tell the world.”
