April 20, 2014 Matthew 28:1-10

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women,

"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. Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you."

So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

***

Perhaps, you are here this Sunday because your grandmother pestered you to go to church and that obligated feeling of, ‘supposed to,’ runs deep. Perhaps you are here because your family is here, and like on Christmas, coming to church is part of the holiday tradition. Perhaps you are here because you are looking for something, an experience, an answer. Perhaps you are here because you are always here, and this is your church home. Perhaps you are here because long ago, this, or some place like this, was your home. Perhaps you are here because this Easter story reminds you of promises to come. Perhaps you are here because this story tells you of a promise that has already come. Perhaps you have your own reasons, but I tell you, whatever brings you here, whatever you believe, you are welcome, and whatever you are feeling, you are not alone. Even I, as your preacher, am here with you and probably feeling it too, but perhaps unlike you, of all Sundays, this would be the one I would skip.

I was listening to a preaching podcast, (yes, they make those), about this scripture, and before the Easter commentary, the pastor explained, that this Sunday was like finals week, it was the Sunday where combined with more to do, more services, more study, more anxiety, and less sleep, it was the time to show what we are about. And I think that is my problem. Easter is about so much; its about resurrection, and forgiveness, about conquering death, about life everlasting, about fear not, and great joy, earthquakes and angels and stones rolled away, but my faith is about one thing, that Christ meets us on the road. If you have come for answers about the first list, I am afraid you will be disappointed, because when I look at this story, I see more questions and I find myself quite content with the unknown, but if you have come to see what lies at the tomb, I, your preacher, do believe, Christ appears to us, and this is what I find in the Easter story.

You see, I don’t think Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, were dissimilar. Perhaps they came because they were supposed to carry away the body. Perhaps they came because it was their tradition to anoint the body. Perhaps they came to grieve at the tomb. Perhaps they believed in Jesus’ promise to return, and his promise of life everlasting. Perhaps they too came looking for answers. Whatever their reasons, whatever brought them there, whatever they believed, whatever they were feeling, they were welcomed, and they were not alone.

Matthew writes,

“After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.”

I wish I could preach this part just as it is. As an English major, I value its description: The setting of the first day of the week, and the significance of dawn. The strength of the word, “suddenly,” and the enormity of the earthquake. The majesty of an angel, “descending from heaven,” and the conquering image of him sitting on the stone. The descriptions of the angel’s appearance like lightning and as white as snow,” and my favorite, “the guards shook and became like dead men.” I wish I could say it happened just like that. I wish I could assure you that there was no literally flourish, no metaphor, no analogy in this scene. What I can tell you, that I believe matters more, I tell you as if I was sitting on the stone. I believe, God met those women at the tomb. I am not sure in what form God came, be it Matthew’s dazzling, be it Mary Magdalene’s dreaming, or even Mary’s delusional, but whatever it was, a gardener, an angel, a teacher - Rabboni, I believe it was divine. I believe God came to meet them, and I wonder how the Marys described it later. Were they able to convince the disciples of its grandeur, or did they run and say simply, “We have seen the Lord.”? In honesty, I am not sure they knew exactly what happened, and I surely do not. Yet, I think we are both content with that, because we have seen the Lord. God has come in forms we can’t explain. I believe that God appears in the dawn, and at the tomb, in the enormity of earthquakes, and the impracticality of angels, in lighting and the white of snow. I believe these things, and so does the angel, but I wonder if in the attempt to explain this presence the angel and I miss the point.

I could tell you, that we are not to fear, as the angel says, “Do not be afraid,” but I don’t have that type of reassurance. I could promise, that an omniscient God knows for what we come looking, as the angel surmised to the Marys, “I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.” But I, alas, can neither read your mind, nor God’s. I could point out the evidence, “He is not here,” but I am not literally sitting in front of an empty tomb, and I know there are many reasons people are not where they ought. I could raise up the prophesy, “for he has been raised, as Jesus said,” but I find prophesy as convincing as hindsight. I could try to prove, “Come, see the place where he lay,” but I know that there is no proof for belief. Any preacher who comes to you with answers, or evidence I think misses the point, misses the mystery, explains away the divine. A mentor of mine sent me a poem which begins,

“Dear Lord, I pray for all the pastors today
Who feel enormous pressure to have their sermons
Match the greatness of the subject
And will surely feel they have failed.
(I pray even more for those who think they have succeeded)
Help them to know that it is enough
Simply and faithfully to tell the story.”

In preaching Easter, I cannot be the assured angel. All I can do, is be like the Marys acknowledging the mystery and telling the story of faith. When it all boils down, there is not much about Easter I know for sure. I cannot promise everlasting life, though I have my hopes. I don’t really understand the whole, ‘Forgiveness of Sins,’ part, though I think it is fitting with the Gospel. Matthew’s scripture does not describe the actual resurrection, and nor can I. But I can tell you one thing. I believe God met the Marys on the road, and likewise, meets us.

Matthew writes, “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" I could tell you the million times Jesus has met me and greeted me. In the stress of writing this sermon, a friend, Liz Romtvedt, went on a run with me to discuss the scripture. Mentors sent me poems, and called on the phone. One mentioned, “authenticity,” and I laughed because even though I might be heretical, ‘authenticity,’ I do have. Congregants and friends offered prayers in the form of Facebook Like Buttons and drawings which included my name. They sent encouraging words; and a woman from my home church passed along the bewilderment of my dad from my Christmas sermon prepared belatedly and somehow convincingly delivered. Another friend, Anne, sent me a picture of a garden in bloom and laughed with me at the joking irony when I texted her late at night in all caps, “I HATE EASTER!” My sermon reading friend Susie, who texted at 4:30am letting me know that despite my disbelief this sermon was preach-able  I told her she had brought me Easter, but so have all the others. None of these friends told me how exactly Easter came or comes. They did not try to describe resurrection, or point out evidence of an empty tomb, and unfortunately though I teasingly offered to Jim Kauth, none took the bait to write the sermon for me. They simply honored the mystery, told me not to fear, and that Christ will meet me. They were the Marys of my Easter story.

Likewise, when Jesus met them on the road, the Marys did not stop to question Jesus, to ask him how exactly he rose, or the meaning of his rising, or why he was there in front of them. I have no doubt, like us, those questions came later, but in that moment, instead of questions, “They came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.” To me, it fits that the Marys did not hug him, did not even hold his hands, but grasped at his feet. I cannot hold onto Christ’s whole being, nor can I even describe the theology of his hands. There is a lot I cannot explain, and really, I am quite content with the unexplained. Because Christ has met me on the road, and all I want to do is bow down, touch his feet, and worship him. Despite, the impossibility of preaching Easter, I know it is enough to give a message of faith that honors the mystery and acknowledges the presence of Christ. The questions come later, to be explored those other Sundays of the year that I like better, but this Easter Sunday, may we be like the Marys, content that Christ has met us on the road, and thankful to touch just his feet.