There is a saying in Alcoholics Anonymous, and now pretty common in most 12 step programs
that one has to "let go and let God." It implies that level of trust in a higher power that ultimately
makes or breaks one's level of success with the program. After doing all that's humanly possible, and accepting
the limits of one's own ability to control or "fix" the situation…it has to be placed in the hands of
God right along with every other part of one's being!
Easter is the time when Jesus challenges us to see what it means to "let go and let God" to the max.
He did exactly that. He gave himself over to whatever God's plan was for him, and at the point of our gospel lesson
today the graphic reality of his agony was still the most prominent image on the minds of those who were coming
to the tomb.
Death is never easy to accept. It's hard enough when we are being asked to think seriously about our own mortality,
but nigh on to impossible if we are being asked to contemplate the death of someone or something we have really
loved. Easter is about resurrection,…it's about the sunrise, and birds singing, a garden and hope reborn. That's
very true, but before you get to resurrection you have to talk honestly about death!
It wasn't what we thought, we were never quite prepared, it didn't happen when we thought it would, and all those
other "out of our hands" issues. And that may be the hardest thing we ever have to place into the hands
of God!
Many within this congregation are actively engaged in that struggle right now. They have lost someone they loved
to death, five years ago or yesterday, or they are engaged in giving the fight of their life to something that
is threatening their very existence right now. They know more about grief than they do joy, but out of consideration
for the rest of us who may not be as in touch with the fact that we are all really in the same boat, most of their
active grieving is done in secret. Some will admit to their closest friends that when it comes to the business
of living they are just barely "holding on."
That is a powerful phrase! We all need something to hold on to. When everything else is slipping away some call
it "faith."
Mary Magdalene had just had her faith dashed. This woman from whom seven demons had been exorcised, who participated
as much as she was allowed in Jesus' earthly ministry, who had shown the depth of her love when recognizing the
great dangers facing him in very visible ways by anointing him with expensive oil, and washing his feet with her
tears, who had stayed there at the foot of the cross to be with him till the end, had now come to anoint his body
for proper burial.
At least that one act for the next hour was something to live for, and now even that was a loss. It was all gone.
Even the tomb was empty, and far from being a symbol of hope the way we portray it today, it was simply one more
desecration added to her already battered life. Would her memory of Jesus, her experiences with him just fade away
as well? Had nothing been real?
It was a moment when Mary needed something to hold on to, just as Thomas needed something to touch, and as Peter
needed an audible voice to forgive him.
What do we need this Easter, and what are we trying to hold on to?
When the lilies have faded, the eggs are all found, and the candy is gone; when the dream disappears,…and even
the tomb…that final resting place for all eternity is empty! What will we look for?
In verse 12, Mary looks into the tomb and sees two angels sitting at the head and the feet of the space once occupied
by Jesus' body. In Exodus 25:17-20, the placement of cherubim (angelic hosts) at either end of the mercy seat is
prescribed for the construction of the ark of the covenant. The ark of the covenant was a chest, not much different
than the tomb boxes of ancient Israel. In verse 22 of that same chapter God tells the Israelites that the space
between the two cherubim will be known as the mercy seat, and will be the place from which God will deliver all
commands to the Israelites, dispensing judgment and compassion and meeting their needs.
Perhaps the parallel is completely coincidental, but I doubt it. The writer of John, the final gospel written
after the destruction of the Temple in 72 AD, is very concerned with explaining the transition from the former
hope of deliverance in the Judaic system to the new means of salvation offered in Jesus Christ the risen Lord.
In this new mode of knowing Christ - we must learn to see presence in absence, the Kingdom within, the possibilities
in limitations, and the possible in the impossible. This is why Mary is told she cannot "hold onto" or
limit Jesus.
And isn't that what he always taught, what he always tried to demonstrate. Everything is there…we just fail to
see it because we are looking for the wrong things! The great catch of fish, the meal for 5000, the wine flowing
to abundance, the joy of being forgiven, the splendor of Solomon in the lilies of the field, the trees that grow
from mustard seed and the strength that's found in just a little leaven.
Sure Easter is about the resurrection, but it's also about the family that survived expulsion from the garden
even though they should not have, the faith of Noah, the bush that burned but was not consumed, the shepherd boy
who slayed a giant with just a slingshot and some smooth stones, the exiles who returned to rebuild again, and
the virgin girl who believed an angel's message, the broken bodies and shattered hopes that were restored to fullness
with a touch.
None of those things were possible…but they all happened. That's what Easter is about.
But Mary isn't thinking about all of that at the moment, she is just weeping, lost in her sorrow, and in the midst
of that sorrow John tells us that a man draws near hidden by the mist of the early pre-dawn. She thinks him to
be the cemetery caretaker.
He asks her, "Why are you weeping?" and Mary tells him her tale of woe - how she has loved and lost,
how she has tried a faith that failed, how she has run head-on into the ultimate worst-case scenario - a situation
she simply cannot resolve. And besides all that, someone has taken his body, and she cannot find it.
The figure in the mist says, "Mary!"
It is the ultimate of impossible possibility - He is risen. He is risen indeed. And because he lives we will live
also!
Andrew Hamilton, the editor of "Eureka Street" asks the question, "Is Easter just the happy ending
to a sad story?" - in this way:
"The trouble with happy endings is that they cancel out what has gone before. In happy endings, everybody
lives happily ever after. Before, all was trouble, grief, sin and absence. Now, all is joy, serenity, grace and
radiant presence. Before, doubt about God and Jesus Christ; now conclusive proof both of Jesus
Christ's divinity and so of God's existence. Before death, and now life. Before unrelieved sin, and now dominant
grace. This large rhetoric collides with our experience of life on both counts. Endings rarely bring unrelieved
happiness, while the saddest of stories, seen in retrospect, are rarely without meaning for our journey. The deepest
experiences of faith and grace are often edged with hesitations and ironies." (Vol. 11 #3 p11)
Easter is not the beginning or the end of the story…you've been enveloped in it since the moment you were conceived,
and you will be a part of it forever. As the psalmist said so long ago: "O give thanks to the Lord, for the
Lord is good; God's steadfast love endures forever!" Let all people say, "God's steadfast love endures
forever."
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