Easter sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, April 9, 2023.
So I have to ask—are you ready? Are you ready for Easter, with its promise of life and love, and wings?
Let’s take a minute to try and imagine the story of that first Easter morning, when these three women come to the tomb, prepared to anoint the body of their friend Jesus, as was their custom in those days. And they find the stone rolled back, the tomb empty, his body gone. Were they ready for that?
I love that the story in Mark’s gospel ends here, with the women running away, amazed and afraid. Many years later, other lines were added to make Mark’s ending less abrupt; to create a happier ending which included the risen Christ, like the other, later gospels. But this earliest version leaves things incomplete, uncertain a mystery. Waiting for us to finish.
Richard Rohr writes, “I believe in mystery and multiplicity… My… experience of a loving and endlessly creative God has led me to trust in both… People who’ve had any genuine spiritual experience always know they don’t know. They are utterly humbled before mystery. They are in awe before the abyss of it all, in wonder at eternity and depth, and a Love, which is incomprehensible to the mind.”
This is the invitation of the empty tomb—to wonder about these things, to be in awe before the mystery, the abyss of it all. To ask, “How does this symbolic story speak to me? How might it inform our lives in these days?
You may wonder, “Where are the men, those disciples?” Probably in hiding, probably feeling guilty about how they abandoned or betrayed their friend, that they weren’t present to him in his suffering. It’s the women who are quietly there at the most pivotal moments, standing at the cross as Jesus is dying, coming to the tomb, and later, we have to assume, sharing the story.
What about the stories of our lives? They aren’t neat or orderly, are they? We’re all in process; and we know about disappointment and loss, suffering and death. We’ve come through the past three years, we’ve been through another winter, and now Easter is here, with its promise of resurrection, of new life. Some of us are ready to break out in song and gladness, while others of us might need a little more time. Some years the transition from Good Friday to Easter seems rather abrupt. And I want and need to live into this promise of resurrection, as mysterious and incomprehensible and as it can be.
I think of a woman who was a longtime member of this church; she died a few years ago. She was a mother, and had two sons. After they were grown and gone, one of those sons died by suicide. And only you who have suffered the death of a child can imagine the depth of that loss. In the following years, the other son, feeling some amount of survivor guilt, I imagine, got himself lost in alcohol and drugs. At some point he disappeared. Over time, his parents feared him dead. Now and then, his would think she’d seen her lost son, walking down the road, or off in the distance.
This went on for quite a while, this loss, and this uncertain, yet hopeful, mourning. Then one day, it was about this time of year, I believe, he returned. He showed up at their door. This beloved child, whom his parents feared was dead and lost to them, he was alive! And they welcomed their son back, with open arms. Now tell me, isn’t this a resurrection story?
I wonder, what are the signs of new life that are appearing around you in these days? Are you open to seeing them, and taking hope and joy from them? Do you know a resurrection story?
An old pastor was once asked, “Do you believe in the resurrection?” And he responded, “Of course I do. I’ve seen it too many times not to believe."
What about the little signs of life popping up around us? Those green shoots just now twisting up through the cold ground? The crocuses and the daffodils? The birds flitting around, the buds on the trees, getting ready to burst open? That prayer by E.E. Cummings:
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings…
Is there anybody here who can affirm that: I who have died am alive again today. Anyone need to put into practice Gretchen Haley’s invocation? “Roll away the stone of your hesitant heart.”
Anyone here have a hesitant heart? I’m not the only one, am I? Anyone a bit reluctant to hope, because of how you’ve been disappointed in the past, and you know how bitter that can feel? Anyone a bit wary of getting their hopes up too high, particularly after all the disruption and changes of these last years?
Don’t we, especially, need to hear and heed this call? This invitation to be alive again, as fully alive as we can be? You know, you don’t have to do this all at once. It can happen slowly and gradually. I had a spiritual director who said, “I think the resurrection took longer than three days.”
It can be a bit scary to let down your guard, to look up and reach out:
To roll away the stone of your hesitant heart,
To let the light shine on all the sleeping shadows.
To waken to this day that offers itself to you, and to all,
with a great extravagance! (Gretchen Haley)
This being human is full of reminders that we, and everyone we love, are mortal, formed from the earth, and to the earth we will return. How do we live in the face of this reality? Easter asks us to be alive while we are still here. To try to not to take any of it for granted. To look for signs of resurrection, around us and within us.
Rob Bell has a wonderful podcast in which he says message Jesus taught was simple: “You are already at the party!” What if we lived this way? Trusting that the blessings this world offers are ours to cherish and enjoy; that we’re already at the party.
The Presbyterian minister Frederick Buechner puts it this way; he says, “The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you.”
So often in the Bible, messengers from God appear to humans and say, “Fear not.” In Mark’s gospel, Jesus keeps asking his followers, “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?” For Jesus, faith is not about what you think or believe, it’s about how you live. Like we affirm every week: we intend to act with love, and quest after truth, and service is our prayer.
Fear is a natural emotion, and can even be helpful in keeping us out of trouble. But fear can also create a prison around you, holding you back from living as fully as you are meant to live. Who among us doesn’t know something about those prison walls, whether imposed by our selves or society? Good religion encourages a life-affirming faith, and helps us to take down those walls rather than be hemmed in by them.
Easter calls us to let down our guard and live with more hope, more love, and more joy. Maybe more that we have dared to imagine.
To turn away from from fear, our choir sang, to the promise of love,
To let this new life begin, as you roll away the stone.
Easter doesn’t magically wipe away our sadness, our loss, our grief. But it does proclaim—boldly and persistently—that our pain and suffering in this transitory life are not the whole story. That death does not get the last word.
May this be our happy task in these days; to turn away from fear, and let this new life begin. This life, which is all around, and waiting for us; these days of light and gladness, these gifts of love and goodness, here for us to receive and enjoy.
My prayer in, these days, is that we remember the promise of God’s grace: "Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you.”
Now, and forever,
Amen.