Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
And oh, what a joy it is to say those words of celebration after fasting from them for so long. What a joy it is—on the other side of death, on the other side of disorientation, on the other side of complexity—to let our hearts overflow with Alleluias.
Alleluia, God be praised! Alleluia, the long night is over!
What seemed like an impossibility just yesterday has happened. Something far beyond what we could ask or imagine has taken place. We don’t know quite how, and we don’t quite believe it, but somehow God has raised Jesus from the dead.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
I know it’s not very Anglican to be so effusive. I know we’re supposed to be reserved, and ponder these things quietly in our hearts. I know that we’re supposed to contemplate these things with a half smile and a slight nod. And yet todays—in the midst of the year we’ve had—sI can do no other.
Today’s gospel, as we’ve read, begins in death and disorientation. It begins with struggle and insurmountable obstacles. It’s the kind of trouble we’ve been living in for some time. It’s the kind of trouble our world’s been in for awhile.
But what I love most is that this story begins with Jesus’ most intimate friends. It begins with these three women, three apostles, three dear friends and their dogged faith. It begins with these three and their relentless love for their beloved friend and teacher—as much in death as in life.
Christ has died. He has not risen. Will he come again?
On that day, in that moment, the dream is over. All that they had put their lives towards. The meals they had shared. The journeys they had taken. The life they were learning to live. As best they can tell, God’s dream of justice and joy, of compassion and peace, the dream that Jesus embodied and invited them to give their lives to, has been suffocated by a bloodthirsty empire. It’s been ended by religious and political leaders with a stranglehold on how things ought to be, on who is in, and who is out.
Even so, they carry on. Even so, they keep faith. In the face of corrupt power and the very powers of death, even so, they persist.
They do what is necessary, and they do it with reverence and love. After sabbath, after dark, the three women—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome—return to the borrowed tomb. There were things left undone on Friday. None of it had gone according to plan. And so they wait. They wait before they act.
I wonder how they kept Sabbath that day. Restlessly, I should imagine. Minds distracted by the work yet to be done. Breathless as they replay their dear friend’s execution at the hands of the religious and political elite, enabled as it was by a noisy crowd and its majority stake in the status quo.
I imagine Jesus' friends spending their whole day waiting for sundown. How they got through without doom scrolling on cell phones, I’ll never know.
They wait for sundown, meeting up and collecting from their community all they need to embalm the body. They plan to rise with the sun, that together they might offer a proper burial, a burial offered with the love and care and respect due to their beloved teacher, the one who embodied their very last hope.
And then they go. To their faithful work they return. In their world’s darkest hour, when everything has been counted as loss, when all hope is gone, when the oppressor seems to have won, that’s where everything flips. That’s where they discover the life-affirming presence of the Creator, the one who has gone to the darkest possible place to overcome the powers of evil, corruption, and death.
For what is the resurrection if not God’s new creation bursting forth? It is like the Holy Wind on the waters of Creation. It is the parting of the Red Sea. It is a renewal of life and relationship amongst the land, God, and all God's people. It is love going through the impossible to seek out beauty, justice, and joy on the other side.
Yes, even in the face of death, joy. For this is the good news of life in Christ—that God has mounted a rescue mission for all people, for all who have been denied enough, for all who struggle to believe that they are enough. And in this resurrection, God shows us not just that this new world is possible, but that it’s already on its way.
It's already here.
In this moment, Mary, Mary and Salome discover that God’s mercies are new every morning. The stone has been rolled away. Where there ought to be a decomposing body, a young man. From fear and devastation to death and disorientation to inexplicable and seemingly impossible resurrection, they’ve had a hell of a few days. And now what do their eyes see? A young man in white enjoying the rays of the morning sun bringing warmth to the cold, dark earth.
As their eyes come into focus, as they come to terms with their amazement, he speaks. And what does he have to say? I know who you’re looking for. And thank God you are. But the thing is, he’s not here. He was never meant to stay here. God’s dream is so much bigger than you ever imagined. It cannot be contained by your expectations, your systems, let alone the grave. I know you’ve been learning all of these things, but there’s more to this than you can even comprehend.
So here, the young man says, is what I need you to do. Return to the place where it all began.
Remember how it all started? Return to Galilee where it all started at the river with Baptism and Holy Spirit descending as a dove? Remember the voice proclaiming from the Heavens, “This is my child, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” Remember the wilderness. And then remember that I called you. Each of you. I called each of you by name.
Return to the place where it all began. And bring my other friends with you too. Tell the other disciples. Proclaim this good news that death could not contain him. God’s relentless love will not be stopped in this way. Through Jesus, we are all being saved. We are all being reconciled. We are all being welcomed home. And he will meet you. He will meet you there in Galilee where it all began, and where it begins again, just as soon as you get there.
And that’s today’s reading ends: terror and amazement, fear and impossibility. And they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Or so it would seem. For while our gospel text ends here, we know something more, don’t we? We know the truth of this gospel as it resides in our hearts. We know the truth of this proclamation as it transforms our lives, and the life of our community. We know of our own hope for the way in which this life-affirming news will transform our relationships, our neighbourhoods, and the world in which we live. And we know that thousands of years later, people continue to gather—much as are gathered here today —to wrestle with, to proclaim, and to embody this story of love above all.
In some way, Mark’s gospel leaves us with a dissonant ending. It ends abruptly. But I kind of love it for that very reason. I love that this gospel, a gospel of action and liberation sends us forth. We are sent forth to return to the story’s very beginning. Not relive the story as it once was, but to experience its unfolding with new eyes, with new understanding.
And that, my friends, is where we are today. We have heard the gospel proclaimed many times. Many times have we read or heard or studied the story of Jesus bursting forth from the grave. And today, this resurrection Sunday, we are called to live it. To embody this resurrection life as individuals, yes, but now more than that, as God’s beloved community, a community called to embody this resurrection life. And how do we do that?
With justice, beauty, freedom, celebration, compassion, and yes, power. But not the power of entitlement or brute force. Not the power for individuals or communities to cause harm. But rather, to embody the resurrection life through the power of healing, self-giving love.
May it be so, my friends. May it be so. In light of Jesus’ resurrection, may we embrace the resurrection life. May we take up our God-given vocation, to be a community of liberation that seeks that very same freedom for others, and for the whole of God’s good creation.
Amen.
