Of all the stories of the first Easter morning—and there are four of them, in Matthew, Mark, Luke & John—it is the story from Matthew that is the most Hollywood. Jerry Bruckheimer, the producer who makes big, loud movies like Pearl Harbor and Armageddon and Pirates of the Caribbean, would definitely choose Matthew if he were doing a movie of the life of Christ. Steven Spielberg? Matthew. Because it is so cinematic.
Matthew wants you to know that this is a dramatic story. He’s the gospel writer who tells you that on the day of Jesus’ crucifixion, when he breathed his last breath, there was an earthquake and the curtain in the temple was torn in two, and tombs were blasted open and people who had been dead were walking around the city. He doesn’t want there to be any doubt that when Jesus died, it was a big deal. The whole world should know that this Jesus, who lived a simple life, who was a simple carpenter and who traveled with simple fishermen and women, this Jesus was God! And when God dies on a criminal’s cross—things happen. The earth shakes. Rocks split. Curtains rip. Tombs open.
But then there is Jesus’ tomb. Jesus’ body is taken down from the cross. A rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, offers to place the body in a rich man’s tomb. This tomb is massive—hewn out of rock, sealed with a heavy stone that takes many people to put in place. This is a place intended to hold a body in security for many long years. That’s where they put the lifeless body of Jesus.
But even now the drama doesn’t end. Those who had tried Jesus and put him to death want to make sure that nothing happens to that body—that it stays in the tomb. They go to the Roman governor, to Pilate, and they ask for a guard to watch the grave. And so Pilate posts a guard and they seal the rock in place so that it cannot be disturbed.
Now here’s where the real Hollywood comes in. Picture this. A quiet garden at dawn. The tomb is still there with the stone in place. Two of Jesus’ most faithful disciples, Mary Magdalene and another Mary, who were there when the body was placed in the tomb, come quietly on the scene to see the tomb. Then—we need some CGI effects here—another earthquake! The earth trembles. An angel comes down out of the skies and rolls away the stone. He’s dressed all in white and he looks like a lightning bolt. He’s dashing and dramatic. I’m thinking Russell Crowe here.
And, oh, the guards who are supposed to be watching the tomb? They are terrified. We cut to a shot of several of them frozen in fear and then laid out on the ground like dead men. You catch the irony of this dramatic juxtaposition don’t you? The guards, who are supposed to keep Jesus from being alive, are dead. Couldn’t be any better, could it?
So there they are laid out. Russell Crowe is sitting on this huge rock he’s just moved out of the way. And he looks at the women and says, “Don’t be afraid. I know why you’re here. You’re looking for Jesus who was crucified. But he isn’t here. He has been raised, just like he said he would be. Come, take a look around.” All this drama—all this stone-rolling, all the guards—and guess what? None of it was necessary for God to do what God was going to do. Jesus was raised before any of the fireworks started! Jesus didn’t need an earthquake. Jesus didn’t need to have the stone removed. Jesus was raised already! Cut to the women peeking into the tomb, feeling the stone where he lay, staring at one another in disbelief.
But wait, Russell’s not finished talking to them yet. “He’s been raised from the dead, but you have work to do. You’ve got to go tell the other disciples that Jesus has been raised from the dead and he is going ahead of you to Galilee, (the place where they had first met Jesus). You will see him there.”
So Mary Magdalene, being played by Kiera Knightley, and the other Mary, played by Julia Roberts, run from the tomb. We hear their pounding feet and their gasps for breath. We see the orange morning sun illuminating their faces and we can tell, because they are very good actresses, that they are running away with fear and great joy. What an incredible mix of emotions! We keep this extreme close-up on their faces as they keep running. If Jerry Bruckheimer is directing we might get a few random explosions in the garden as the guards wake up from their stupor and start chasing them with grenade launchers. If Spielberg is directing, the music is swelling. But none of that happens in the Bible story, so forget I even mentioned it.
What happens in Matthew is even more dramatic, because as the women are running from the garden they run smack into a strange figure that seems to waiting for them. It’s Jesus. Jesus is waiting for them! And they fall down in front of him and grab his feet and worship him. It is true. It is really true! And Jesus says, “Rejoice. Don’t be afraid. Go tell the other disciples to meet me in Galilee. They will see me there.” And now Kiera and Julia (or Mary and Mary) get up with tears streaming down their faces and we can tell, because they are very good actresses, that the fear is gone. There is only joy now because they were the first to see the risen Lord and to know the truth—that the message of hope and life did not die on the cross. Christ is alive and everything is new. Cut to the rising sun peeking over the nearest ridge. Raise the volume on the John Williams score and roll the credits. It’s a wrap!
But you and I know that the story is not over. As dramatic as Matthew’s version of the resurrection is—it’s not the end of the story by any means. In some ways it’s only the beginning. Here we are some two thousand years later and we’re still trying to grasp what it all means. What does it mean to proclaim that Christ is Risen? When we shout Alleluia! do we have any idea what we’re saying? Is Christ alive…still? And if he is then what does that mean for me?
And has the world really changed? The world we see around us on Easter morning seems a lot like the world we lamented at the cross on Friday. There are still wars and terror. I’ve been getting dispatches from a former UVA student I worked with who is now on a base in Baghdad. He lives in a world of concrete barricades with occasional explosions in the night. There are still bombings. The economy is taking a scary turn. Our schools are changing dramatically. Families are still in trouble. Relationships are still hurting. The natural world is polluted and dying. Addictions still strangle our souls. Violence still plagues our society. Religion seems a sorry salve. And deep inside ourselves…deep in here, we sense that something is missing—that we need something more—that we need to discover new life.
So I envy those women at the tomb. They got earthquakes and angels. They got to put their fingers in the place where Jesus’ body had lain. They got to feel the cool and empty rock shelf. Most importantly, they got to hear the risen Jesus call their names and they got to hold on for dear life to his feet. I want a resurrection experience like Mary and Mary had, so that I can know that Christ is alive. Where is that Easter experience?
Oh, I know what Jesus would say. Jesus had an American in his group of disciples you know. I mean he acted like an American. His name was Thomas and you have heard him called by his nickname—Doubting Thomas. I say that Thomas was American because he was one of these folks who said things like we tend to say. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Thomas would say. “Seeing is believing,” he would say. “I’m from Missouri—Show me.” That’s how Americans respond to unbelievable things they can’t see. And what Jesus said to Thomas—after he had seen Jesus and felt the wounds in his hands and side—what Jesus says to him is, “You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who don’t see and yet believe.” That’s you and me--the people who can’t see and yet who are called to believe.
So, yes, I know what Jesus would say, but I don’t believe that’s all Jesus would say. Because Jesus also said that we would be able to see him even after he ascended into heaven. No, we don’t have an audience with Jesus like Thomas had. No, we don’t get to meet him in a garden encounter and hold on to his feet. No, we don’t even have photos. But the resurrection was something that was unseen. Despite all the special effects, no one saw the resuscitation of Jesus’ body. No one saw the actual act of Jesus rising from the dead. What there was to see and feel was an empty tomb. And where the real change took place was in the hearts and minds of the disciples.
Where did Easter happen? I believe that it didn’t happen in the place where Jesus was. It happened in the place where Jesus is—in the hearts of those who love him and who understand that they are loved by him. Easter happened in the fear and great joy of Mary and Mary. Easter happened in the dumbfounded disciples in the upper room as they encountered the risen Christ. Easter happened in the eyes of the disciples who broke bread with him in Emmaus. It happened in the breakfast they shared by the lakeshore. It happened in Paul on the road to Damascus as he was knocked off his donkey by the voice of Christ. Easter happened in Augustine and Catherine of Siena. Easter happened in Gregory and Hildegard in the Middle Ages. Easter happened in John and Charles Wesley centuries later. Easter happened in Martin Luther King, Junior and Mother Theresa. Easter happened to popes and beggars, to kings and peasants, to rich and poor, and young and old. And at last Easter happened to me.
How do I know? How can I be sure? What can I point to that would prove that Christ is living? The old hymn “He Lives” says in its chorus: “You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart.” That’s right. In here. In the same place where I sometimes feel that something is missing. Right here I also know that what is missing often is me. When Easter comes it is an assurance of deep joy that despite all the things that are happening to me, despite all the troubles of my life, despite all the real evil in the world, despite all the evidence—I and the world are held in the palm of God’s hand. That is an inexplicable joy. That is an unspeakable promise. That is a conviction that will not go away no matter how hard I try to run from it. Deep down, if you ask me straight out, I have to say that I know that Jesus lives because I feel him right here. In here I know that death cannot win ultimately. In here I know that God’s intention for me and the world is not despair but hope and life. In here I know that I and the world can be better and will be better and that I have not been abandoned. When everything else around me seems to be urging me to ask, “Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?”, still I know in here that love will triumph.
You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart. And I know it because of what I see in the Church at its best. I know this is a time of great cynicism about great institutions—particularly the Church. We have lived through a political week in which one of our presidential candidates – Obama – had to publicly struggle with an ugly side of his church.
But I know what the Church at its best does, too. At its best the church raises money for mosquito nets in Africa to save children from malaria. At its best the church builds wells for water and buys water buffalos for rice fields. In Mexico I saw the living Christ in a congregation that is vibrant in worship and stretching itself to start new missions among the poor. When I watch former students I worked with at the Wesley Foundation give their lives to a call to ministry or when they tell me about how they have found God in the unlikeliest places, I know that Christ lives. When I gather with folks around a fire, like we did last night here at Franktown, and we light candles and bring them into the sanctuary to remind ourselves of how the light overcomes the darkness. When I see our youth meet mentors they are going to spend the next 12 weeks with in the confirmation process. When we share some of the most important stories of our lives together, I know that Christ lives. In the Church, in the best of the Church, I see Christ.
You ask me how I know he lives? I know it because of what I don’t see. Because of what was not in that tomb on that morning. Because of what is not on that cross this morning. Because of who has been defeated and can no longer threaten us with death. All these things I don’t see tell me that Easter has come.
I hope that Easter has happened in here for you at some time. I hope that you, too, sense that inexplicable, unbelievable joy that contradicts all the evidence. I hope that you have had that powerful encounter with Christ and that you know that no matter how far you have run, no matter how distantly you have wandered, you have not yet escaped God’s love for you. And you can’t. Easter is ready to happen for you any day. And when it happens, nothing will ever be the same. Thanks be to God.
Matthew 28:1-10 (NRSV)
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."
Matthew wants you to know that this is a dramatic story. He’s the gospel writer who tells you that on the day of Jesus’ crucifixion, when he breathed his last breath, there was an earthquake and the curtain in the temple was torn in two, and tombs were blasted open and people who had been dead were walking around the city. He doesn’t want there to be any doubt that when Jesus died, it was a big deal. The whole world should know that this Jesus, who lived a simple life, who was a simple carpenter and who traveled with simple fishermen and women, this Jesus was God! And when God dies on a criminal’s cross—things happen. The earth shakes. Rocks split. Curtains rip. Tombs open.
But then there is Jesus’ tomb. Jesus’ body is taken down from the cross. A rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, offers to place the body in a rich man’s tomb. This tomb is massive—hewn out of rock, sealed with a heavy stone that takes many people to put in place. This is a place intended to hold a body in security for many long years. That’s where they put the lifeless body of Jesus.
But even now the drama doesn’t end. Those who had tried Jesus and put him to death want to make sure that nothing happens to that body—that it stays in the tomb. They go to the Roman governor, to Pilate, and they ask for a guard to watch the grave. And so Pilate posts a guard and they seal the rock in place so that it cannot be disturbed.
Now here’s where the real Hollywood comes in. Picture this. A quiet garden at dawn. The tomb is still there with the stone in place. Two of Jesus’ most faithful disciples, Mary Magdalene and another Mary, who were there when the body was placed in the tomb, come quietly on the scene to see the tomb. Then—we need some CGI effects here—another earthquake! The earth trembles. An angel comes down out of the skies and rolls away the stone. He’s dressed all in white and he looks like a lightning bolt. He’s dashing and dramatic. I’m thinking Russell Crowe here.
And, oh, the guards who are supposed to be watching the tomb? They are terrified. We cut to a shot of several of them frozen in fear and then laid out on the ground like dead men. You catch the irony of this dramatic juxtaposition don’t you? The guards, who are supposed to keep Jesus from being alive, are dead. Couldn’t be any better, could it?
So there they are laid out. Russell Crowe is sitting on this huge rock he’s just moved out of the way. And he looks at the women and says, “Don’t be afraid. I know why you’re here. You’re looking for Jesus who was crucified. But he isn’t here. He has been raised, just like he said he would be. Come, take a look around.” All this drama—all this stone-rolling, all the guards—and guess what? None of it was necessary for God to do what God was going to do. Jesus was raised before any of the fireworks started! Jesus didn’t need an earthquake. Jesus didn’t need to have the stone removed. Jesus was raised already! Cut to the women peeking into the tomb, feeling the stone where he lay, staring at one another in disbelief.
But wait, Russell’s not finished talking to them yet. “He’s been raised from the dead, but you have work to do. You’ve got to go tell the other disciples that Jesus has been raised from the dead and he is going ahead of you to Galilee, (the place where they had first met Jesus). You will see him there.”
So Mary Magdalene, being played by Kiera Knightley, and the other Mary, played by Julia Roberts, run from the tomb. We hear their pounding feet and their gasps for breath. We see the orange morning sun illuminating their faces and we can tell, because they are very good actresses, that they are running away with fear and great joy. What an incredible mix of emotions! We keep this extreme close-up on their faces as they keep running. If Jerry Bruckheimer is directing we might get a few random explosions in the garden as the guards wake up from their stupor and start chasing them with grenade launchers. If Spielberg is directing, the music is swelling. But none of that happens in the Bible story, so forget I even mentioned it.
What happens in Matthew is even more dramatic, because as the women are running from the garden they run smack into a strange figure that seems to waiting for them. It’s Jesus. Jesus is waiting for them! And they fall down in front of him and grab his feet and worship him. It is true. It is really true! And Jesus says, “Rejoice. Don’t be afraid. Go tell the other disciples to meet me in Galilee. They will see me there.” And now Kiera and Julia (or Mary and Mary) get up with tears streaming down their faces and we can tell, because they are very good actresses, that the fear is gone. There is only joy now because they were the first to see the risen Lord and to know the truth—that the message of hope and life did not die on the cross. Christ is alive and everything is new. Cut to the rising sun peeking over the nearest ridge. Raise the volume on the John Williams score and roll the credits. It’s a wrap!
But you and I know that the story is not over. As dramatic as Matthew’s version of the resurrection is—it’s not the end of the story by any means. In some ways it’s only the beginning. Here we are some two thousand years later and we’re still trying to grasp what it all means. What does it mean to proclaim that Christ is Risen? When we shout Alleluia! do we have any idea what we’re saying? Is Christ alive…still? And if he is then what does that mean for me?
And has the world really changed? The world we see around us on Easter morning seems a lot like the world we lamented at the cross on Friday. There are still wars and terror. I’ve been getting dispatches from a former UVA student I worked with who is now on a base in Baghdad. He lives in a world of concrete barricades with occasional explosions in the night. There are still bombings. The economy is taking a scary turn. Our schools are changing dramatically. Families are still in trouble. Relationships are still hurting. The natural world is polluted and dying. Addictions still strangle our souls. Violence still plagues our society. Religion seems a sorry salve. And deep inside ourselves…deep in here, we sense that something is missing—that we need something more—that we need to discover new life.
So I envy those women at the tomb. They got earthquakes and angels. They got to put their fingers in the place where Jesus’ body had lain. They got to feel the cool and empty rock shelf. Most importantly, they got to hear the risen Jesus call their names and they got to hold on for dear life to his feet. I want a resurrection experience like Mary and Mary had, so that I can know that Christ is alive. Where is that Easter experience?
Oh, I know what Jesus would say. Jesus had an American in his group of disciples you know. I mean he acted like an American. His name was Thomas and you have heard him called by his nickname—Doubting Thomas. I say that Thomas was American because he was one of these folks who said things like we tend to say. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Thomas would say. “Seeing is believing,” he would say. “I’m from Missouri—Show me.” That’s how Americans respond to unbelievable things they can’t see. And what Jesus said to Thomas—after he had seen Jesus and felt the wounds in his hands and side—what Jesus says to him is, “You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who don’t see and yet believe.” That’s you and me--the people who can’t see and yet who are called to believe.
So, yes, I know what Jesus would say, but I don’t believe that’s all Jesus would say. Because Jesus also said that we would be able to see him even after he ascended into heaven. No, we don’t have an audience with Jesus like Thomas had. No, we don’t get to meet him in a garden encounter and hold on to his feet. No, we don’t even have photos. But the resurrection was something that was unseen. Despite all the special effects, no one saw the resuscitation of Jesus’ body. No one saw the actual act of Jesus rising from the dead. What there was to see and feel was an empty tomb. And where the real change took place was in the hearts and minds of the disciples.
Where did Easter happen? I believe that it didn’t happen in the place where Jesus was. It happened in the place where Jesus is—in the hearts of those who love him and who understand that they are loved by him. Easter happened in the fear and great joy of Mary and Mary. Easter happened in the dumbfounded disciples in the upper room as they encountered the risen Christ. Easter happened in the eyes of the disciples who broke bread with him in Emmaus. It happened in the breakfast they shared by the lakeshore. It happened in Paul on the road to Damascus as he was knocked off his donkey by the voice of Christ. Easter happened in Augustine and Catherine of Siena. Easter happened in Gregory and Hildegard in the Middle Ages. Easter happened in John and Charles Wesley centuries later. Easter happened in Martin Luther King, Junior and Mother Theresa. Easter happened to popes and beggars, to kings and peasants, to rich and poor, and young and old. And at last Easter happened to me.
How do I know? How can I be sure? What can I point to that would prove that Christ is living? The old hymn “He Lives” says in its chorus: “You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart.” That’s right. In here. In the same place where I sometimes feel that something is missing. Right here I also know that what is missing often is me. When Easter comes it is an assurance of deep joy that despite all the things that are happening to me, despite all the troubles of my life, despite all the real evil in the world, despite all the evidence—I and the world are held in the palm of God’s hand. That is an inexplicable joy. That is an unspeakable promise. That is a conviction that will not go away no matter how hard I try to run from it. Deep down, if you ask me straight out, I have to say that I know that Jesus lives because I feel him right here. In here I know that death cannot win ultimately. In here I know that God’s intention for me and the world is not despair but hope and life. In here I know that I and the world can be better and will be better and that I have not been abandoned. When everything else around me seems to be urging me to ask, “Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?”, still I know in here that love will triumph.
You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart. And I know it because of what I see in the Church at its best. I know this is a time of great cynicism about great institutions—particularly the Church. We have lived through a political week in which one of our presidential candidates – Obama – had to publicly struggle with an ugly side of his church.
But I know what the Church at its best does, too. At its best the church raises money for mosquito nets in Africa to save children from malaria. At its best the church builds wells for water and buys water buffalos for rice fields. In Mexico I saw the living Christ in a congregation that is vibrant in worship and stretching itself to start new missions among the poor. When I watch former students I worked with at the Wesley Foundation give their lives to a call to ministry or when they tell me about how they have found God in the unlikeliest places, I know that Christ lives. When I gather with folks around a fire, like we did last night here at Franktown, and we light candles and bring them into the sanctuary to remind ourselves of how the light overcomes the darkness. When I see our youth meet mentors they are going to spend the next 12 weeks with in the confirmation process. When we share some of the most important stories of our lives together, I know that Christ lives. In the Church, in the best of the Church, I see Christ.
You ask me how I know he lives? I know it because of what I don’t see. Because of what was not in that tomb on that morning. Because of what is not on that cross this morning. Because of who has been defeated and can no longer threaten us with death. All these things I don’t see tell me that Easter has come.
I hope that Easter has happened in here for you at some time. I hope that you, too, sense that inexplicable, unbelievable joy that contradicts all the evidence. I hope that you have had that powerful encounter with Christ and that you know that no matter how far you have run, no matter how distantly you have wandered, you have not yet escaped God’s love for you. And you can’t. Easter is ready to happen for you any day. And when it happens, nothing will ever be the same. Thanks be to God.
Matthew 28:1-10 (NRSV)
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."
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment