A Glimpse at the Possibilities

I would venture, most of us come to Easter services expecting to celebrate the risen Christ.  We shout Hosanna and sing Hallelujah because Jesus conquered death and offers us eternal life.  And if things are good, that celebrating is fairly easy to do.  But what do we do when we are desperate for the hope and joy and good news of Easter and yet on Easter morning, it still feels as dark and bleak and hopeless as Good Friday?

How is Easter present when we still don’t have a job?  Or our pain won’t go away? Or the bank balance is still $0? Or the depression hasn’t lifted?  Or our heart still breaks? Or the cancer is still spreading?  Or your spouse’s betrayal still stings? Or your loved one’s addiction keeps wrecking havoc?  Or your grief still steals your breath away?

How do we celebrate then?  How do we muster the faith or the confidence or even the energy to praise God for what God has done, when that reality—the Resurrection story—couldn’t seem further from us?

Last night, I learned that my friends’ 1 -day old baby girl wasn’t strong enough to live.  And their loss broke my heart.  As I imagined their pain, I wondered how they would face Easter.  Would they hull up together and avoid the Hallelujahs or would they dare seek a worship service where the Gospel of hope and new life would stand starkly against their pain?  No matter how strong one’s faith in the resurrection, the promise of eternal life cannot take the place of cherishing those moments with your long awaited baby girl.  So, I wonder, what can Easter mean to them?  To me, it begs the question, how does Easter become real to any of us in the midst of true trial and pain?

I suppose, to answer that, we need to start somewhere.  So, we start in the Gospel of Luke with today’s lesson.  Maybe we can find truth, or hope, or comfort in the lives of the women or the apostles. 

Think about it this way, the women were followers of Christ. They had journeyed with him during his ministry. They had served him and been served by him. They had witnessed miracles and listened to the parables. They had heard his prophecies and been faithful to the end. They were there at the crucifixion and grieved him in the wake of his death. They wanted to honor him and do right by him, so they gathered the spices and got everything ready so they could prepare his body after the Sabbath was over and he was declared officially dead. 

They went to the tomb to anoint his body—his dead body.  They expected to do the normal burial rites and when they got there, Jesus’ body was gone. That wasn’t good news. Someone must have stolen the body and so they stand there wondering what happened? Where could the body have gone?  And then 2 angels—men dressed in dazzling white, clearly God’s messengers, appeared. And the women didn’t rejoice. They didn’t start to celebrate. They were terrified.  They fell to the ground in reverence and waited with fear and trembling for the message God had for them.  And what they heard was, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here. He is risen.” 

Wait. What?!  The living among the dead?  What are you talking about?  Jesus died.  We were there. He breathed his last. Then they laid him here. You must be mistaken. Our Jesus is dead. 

But the angels persisted.  Don’t you remember?  Jesus told you about this. Think back to Galilee.  He said the Son of Man would be handed over to sinners and crucified.  But on the third day he’d rise again.  Don’t you remember?

Then a wash of understanding as the pieces slowly fall into place.  Galilee.  Son of Man. Handed over. Crucified.  Yeah, we remember all of that.  After all, it came true.  We watched it happen.  But on the 3^rd day, he’d rise again.  On the third day, he’d rise again.  He’d rise again. He’s risen?!  He’s risen!  He rose again.  On the third day he rose again!

And as the story finally makes sense, the women run to the apostles and tell them the story. And they’re incredulous.  Not excited. Not overjoyed. Incredulous. The apostles think the women have to be lying.  They’ve lost their minds.  The accusation in Greek is that they’re delirious.  They’re nuts.  That’s what the disciples think. 

And their doubt makes sense to us.  I mean who would believe all of that?  It’s like believing a miracle.  And yet, despite their doubt, or maybe to satisfy it—Peter runs off to the tomb. He has to see for himself.  He either has to prove they’re lying or he has to reach out to touch the truth of the empty tomb for himself.  And off he goes. Only to find the tomb IS empty. Jesus is not there.  But Peter doesn’t leap on a bandwagon of Alleluias or start declaring, “Christ is Risen!” He’s amazed. He’s awestruck.  And he walks away. 

It feels a bit anti-climatic, especially compared with some of the other Gospel accounts, but maybe this one is just the one we need today.  Maybe as we confront pain and anger and failures and brokenness and dead-ends in our own lives, we need to see that the Easter story doesn’t wrap up with sunshine and rainbows.  The Easter story ends with reticence and doubt and confusion tied up with fear and awe.  For the disciples in this story, they don’t see Jesus.  They don’t stand face to face with the fullness of God’s promises. Instead, they stand face to face with the possibility that God has done something.  It’s been suggested by some decently reliable witnesses, but it hasn’t been confirmed.  The possibility of something good, at the very least, allows hope to begin to seep into the story.  It may not be hearty or shining or bright, but it’s there. Hope is there. It offers a spark in the midst of the darkness. 

Where the women and the disciples faced only pain and despair and grief, God offered a glimpse of something better.  God didn’t bowl them over with right answers, and winning lottery numbers, or repentant wrong-doers.  Instead, God silently crept into their story casting a glimmer of light on their shadowy doubts and dark corners. 

Maybe the Good News today isn’t loud and over-stated, but instead subtle, sometimes barely noticeable.  Maybe the Good News today is that we don’t have to pretend that Easter fixes everything that’s wrong in the world and in our lives.  Maybe instead, Easter means that God offers glimpses of hope in the midst of our trials.  Maybe we do leave still seeking a job, or waiting for the test results, or trying to work through the heartache, or resenting our co-worker, or pushing back against the darkness. But hopefully in the midst of those challenges, we can begin to see the tiny shimmers of Easter light.  Maybe we begin to believe the possibility that God will do something to help us. Maybe hope allows us to breathe just a little more easily with a little less worry and a little more conviction that God has not and will not forsake us.  Maybe today we will stand with the disciples and the women and at least begin to question if God isn’t rewriting our story, even beyond the believable.  Amen.