"Women Arriving at the Tomb" by He Qi

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."

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It is a gray, rainy Easter morning. A far cry from the brilliant sun of the resurrection dawn that we would like to see shining above us.

But, truth be told, there is something telling about the gray morning.

We awake to so many gray mornings in our world. All it takes is a few minutes of watching or reading the news, and even the sunniest morning can turn gray. My news reading this morning included stories about Russia’s aggression in the Ukraine, about the continued search efforts for Malaysian flight MH370, the aftermath of the Korean ferry accident that claimed more than 100 lives, ongoing concerns over the Heartbleed Bug and internet security, landslides out west, shootings in Chicago…

We don’t have to look very hard to find the power of sin and death in our midst.

The author Sara Miles writes, ”Death, and the fear of death…drive so much on earth. They lie under all human violence, drive our sad struggles for domination, allow the manipulations of religion and empire to thrive. As a war reporter, surrounded by terror, I’d experienced the power death had to make me betray or refuse to help others. I’d seen people who were, in their souls, no more than walking dead: they were completely ruled by fear of the grave. I believed in my own churning guts, those mad days and nights, that violence was the real force driving the world. Death seemed unstoppable.”

Friends, this is where our Easter story truly begins. We, with the Marys and the disciples, approach the garden, feeling deep in our hearts that death is unstoppable. The doubting parts of our hearts keep expecting THIS to be the year when we do find Jesus' broken body there in the tomb, just like the usual way things work.

I don't think it mattered how many times Jesus told his friends and disciples that he would rise from the dead; they still came to the tomb expecting to grieve his body, not to find the cave empty.

We expect death. We expect what we know, what is usual.

Which is why we need the earthquake.

Did you notice the earthquake in today’s gospel? Matthew, in his gospel, isn’t subtle. The Marys don’t come to a peaceful garden where the mouth of the tomb is already gaping open. They arrive to a closed tomb, and then the whole earth begins to tremble. The ground beneath their feet shakes, the trees quiver and birds fly from the branches in fear, dust and pebbles shake loose, and a messenger of the Lord, descending in a flash of light, moves the stone from the mouth of the tomb in dramatic fashion. The scene is so startling, so overwhelming, that the guards at the tomb fall to the ground, paralyzed.

I had a Sunday School teacher who liked to say, “God sends bricks,” meaning that when God wanted to tell you something, there’d be no question, no mystery about it. God sends bricks to hit you over the head.

On this Easter morning, perhaps we should instead say, “God sends earthquakes.”

The earthquake happens to that there might be no question about the power of God. Jesus is risen. He is risen indeed. Resurrection is real, and life, and the whole earth trembles before the power of God to do the impossible. The unthinkable. The terrifyingly unexpected.

We come to the empty tomb again and again, because we need to be shaken up, because we forget, because we keep believing that death is the final word, because we still never expect resurrection because it just doesn't make sense.

The resurrection is the surprising, startling good news that death does not win, that dry bones will live again, that the floods will not overwhelm us, that sin has no hold on us, that we are not doomed to endless night, brokenness, shame, or fear.

The resurrection is new life springing up from the cracks. It is the sunshine rising in the morning, and new shoots rising from the well-watered earth. It is the power of God to break through stony hearts with the unlimited power of grace and mercy. The resurrection is what makes our hearts leap for joy, knowing that even though we die, we will live, and that whoever lives and believes in Christ will never die.

The resurrection is the flash of new creation before our eyes, the jarring news to our souls that when we pray “your kingdom come, your will be done,” this kingdom has already come, and God is already here, doing his will in us and among us.

I still hear the words of last night's Easter Vigil ringing in my ears as we sang,

Rejoice, now, all heavenly powers! Sing, choirs of angels! Exult, all creation around God’s throne! Celebrate the divine mysteries with exultation; and for so great a victory, sound the trumpet of salvation.

Rejoice, O earth, in shining splendor, radiant in the brightness of your King! Christ has conquered! Glory fills you! Darkness vanishes forever.

Rejoice, O holy church! Exult in glory! The risen Savior shines upon you!
Let this place resound with joy, echoing the mighty song of all God’s people.

Today the sun rises on a world triumphant. The darkness of Good Friday and the finality of death have been dispelled by the shining brightness of Christ's resurrection. This resurrection shakes the whole cosmos and redeems it.

I do not know what is going to happen in the Ukraine, nor do I know how to ease the grief of those missing loved ones after plane crashes and shipwrecks. But one thing I do know: I know that my redeemer lives.

Sara Miles finishes her opening thought by saying this: “Christ, crucified, has come to sweep away fear. The power to reject and hurt and kill is shown by Jesus as, finally, irrelevant, in the face of the power to love so unreservedly that you gladly pour out your life for others. God’s weakness turns out to be stronger than human strength. Even death is over"(Jesus Freak, p. 125-126).

Yes, I know that my redeemer lives.

I know that the redeemer of the whole world passed through death, and carried with him the weight of the world, so that neither life nor death, angels nor demons, things present or things to come, neither height nor depth or anything in all creation can separate us from the love and life of God.

I know the hope to which I cling: that in Christ is life and life abundant, hope for our weary world, peace for our restless souls, water for our parched lips, nourishment for our hungry spirits.

I may know nothing else, but I do know that my redeemer lives.

And so we say with confidence,

Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed!

Alleluia!