He Is Not Here

Easter Sunday, Year C
Luke 24:1-12

When Kelly and I went to an art show in Stillwater to see He Qi’s work, and he said, “Why don’t you buy a print?” I knew immediately which one I wanted – He Is Not Here. He Qi has painted many Easter morning paintings, but this one is my favorite, and even though the season was Christmas, I wanted this Easter one.

It’s beautiful, for starters – the lines of the angel and the path leading to the tomb. The dark space here, under the graceful lines, where the empty tomb sits open. The angel, beautiful and graceful but with no expression on her face. The women coming with cloth and spices, not yet knowing.

It’s a powerful moment, this moment before the women know. They are on their way to the tomb, as early as they possibly can come according to Jewish custom. The burial had been hurried on Friday, with only a little time before the sun went down at 6 pm. Now, 6 am on the third day, they are ready to do what must be done.

But they come to the tomb and are surprised. They come expecting death, decay, the body of their beloved Jesus stiff and assuredly dead, the way bodies get after just a few hours of their last breath. Instead they find an empty tomb.

They come and are surprised. Luke says they are perplexed – the same word describing Mary’s reaction to the angel at the beginning of Luke’s story. They are perplexed by the empty tomb. They expected death, and found this empty space instead.

Then in the emptiness they encounter the angels, and they are afraid – angels always have that affect. The angels speak the words: He is not here. He has risen. Remember what he said to you about this?

They can see the tomb is empty – that could mean all sorts of things. They can see the angels before them, hear what the angels are telling them. But for Easter to happen they need one more step – to remember. The angels prompt them – remember what he said, remember when you were in Galilee – but they themselves remember Jesus’ words, how he said he would die and rise again after three days. They must have done the math quickly – three days – today! Can it be? Remember? Remember what he said?

Then, then they can leave the tomb.

So this painting is that moment of Easter before they know the tomb is empty, before they meet the angels, before they remember what Jesus has said. Jesus has risen, the tomb is already empty, the angels are waiting, but at this moment they don’t know. They don’t remember.
You see, we aren’t so different from these women. We know the stories. We have heard what Jesus said. Crucified, died, rose on the third day – it is in our creeds. We have heard the tales, the stories, the words of Jesus himself. But hearing it doesn’t make it real.
There comes a moment in our lives when we are walking into the tomb. It is dark, we have suffered a terrible loss, we feel the world pulled out from under our feet. We are numb with grief, and so we do the only thing we can – we go to do what must be done. We go to see the body, the death we have known, and we go to wrap it up and take care of it the best we can, because there is nothing else we can do. Our marriage is shattered, we have lost a child, our parent has died, we’ve been fired from our job, we don’t know where the next house payment is coming from, our health is gone, we can’t get out of bed in the morning.

Or maybe it isn’t just us, but the world around that seems to be dying – we see children dying in Africa from illness and poverty, we see the violence against the peasants in Colombia, we know there are too many people who don’t have a home living on the streets in our state, we are filled with anguish because of the wars, we wonder what future our people will have, we wonder why God lets all this terrible stuff happen. The world seems like a disaster, and we don’t know what the point is anymore. So we go to the tomb.

We think the tomb is a terrible place, but we are drawn to it, drawn to the place of our destruction, drawn to the location of our world’s disasters. So we go, to sit in the quiet, to tend to what business we have left, to just be there, a dark reminder of what used to be.
But sometimes, sometimes, we go to that place of death, that tomb, that cave in our lives – and we find it empty. There is a space, an empty space there where we expected to find a body. Maybe our anger has gone. Maybe our sorrow has eased. Maybe depression has lifted for a moment. Maybe someone has helped us make a space in our life, some room to consider what might be possible. Maybe we are ready to pray, but not ready for the words yet. Maybe something has shifted in the world, and we understand that the shadows we see must have a light shining nearby.

The empty tomb is not resurrection. But it is a space in which we can hear the shocking words of the angel. And –even more important – it is the space in which we can remember what we heard long ago. In the empty tomb we remember what Jesus said – I will rise again on the third day. We remember – death does not have the last word. We remember – the world does not have the last word. We remember – God is more powerful than all the darkness we can imagine. We remember – nothing can separate us from the love of God. We remember – God’s justice will reign. When we remember, we know resurrection. We remember, we re-member, put together our bodies and souls.

Resurrection has already happened, is already happening,
the tomb is already empty and the angel is waiting for us there.

But when we arrive at the tomb, when we enter that space and remember what we have always known, then we can leave the tomb, leave the space of death.

Then we enter into the resurrection of Jesus.
Then it isn’t a story or history or an old song. Then we become new.
Then it is Easter.

He is not here. He has risen. Remember what he said to you?

Even the Stones

Palm Sunday
Luke 19:28-40
by Rev. Michelle M. Hargrave

There’s nothing like sitting on a rock.
When you sit or stand on a rock you feel like you are rooted to the center of the earth.
You are on something permanent. You are connected to something much older than you, something that will outlast you, something with longevity in this fleeting world.
They are stable, unchanging; we can count on them.

Thousands of years may pass but stones will tell us about our history.
We read in the Bible from writers that have seen their temple torn down,
and we can go and visit the wall that still remains, the wall of the place that Jesus visited.
The stones hold history, and we can know what kind of world Jesus lived in 2000 years ago,
a world with an opulent temple, powerful religious leaders, and mighty warriors of Rome.
The stones still speak of Jesus’ world. Time seems to stop for the stones.

“Order your disciples to stop,” the Pharisees told Jesus. Be quiet.
Stop this procession, these words. “Even the stones will cry out”, was his response.

See, this is what happened.
On the western side of the city a large procession came into Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate,
coming to Jerusalem for the holy days of Passover, arrived with a cavalry and soldiers
to maintain peace during the festival, when over 200,000 people would fill the city of 40,000. Pilate lived by the sea, but he had to be in Jerusalem for this tense event.
He had to maintain order. Jerusalem was the center of Roman control in the area –
all the debts of the peasants were kept in the temple there,
and people had to pay the Jewish leaders and the Romans taxes at the temple.
It was like Super Bowl, the IRS, and a religious festival all at once.

On the eastern side of the city, coming from Galilee, rode Jesus.
He rode on an unbroken donkey, with or without palms, depending on the version.
It was not the triumphal entry of a king – it was exactly the opposite.
It recalled for the Jews images from Jeremiah and former revolts,
and it spoke against the power of Rome, of the Temple. Jesus was pointing to something else,
something different than was happening on the distant side of the city with power and might.

Understanding what Jesus was pointing to this Palm Sunday, making sense of why Jesus went to Jerusalem this week, discerning why Jesus went to face death at the hands of the Romans, is a question at the heart of our faith. It is the question we wrestle with the most this week. Why? What was Jesus thinking? Why didn’t he stay away? Did he have to go? Was his message right? Was it really that important? Wasn’t his preaching and healing enough? Did he have to die?
Did God want this to happen? Did Jesus know this would happen? Why?

In some ways we aren’t so different from the Pharisees, from Peter and Judas and everyone else. Stop this, Jesus, we don’t want this drama to be played out.
Don’t you know what is going to happen? Make it stop.

But Jesus is insistent. Jesus is persistently faithful.
Jesus has his face set toward Jerusalem, like flint, like stone. This is what he is going to do.

Jesus insists on telling us about the kingdom of God.
Not the kingdom of Pilate or Caesar or the world or Rome. God’s way.
While the government and military of Rome march in one side of the city,
God enters on a small awkward donkey on the other.

It all seems so pointless, so insignificant. But even the stones will cry out, Jesus says.

Can’t stop this. Even the stones will tell of the way of God.

During this week the world made the greatest effort to stop this: the world killed Jesus.
It tried to stop the procession, silence the man, kill the teaching.

But stones, permanent and quiet as they are, have something to say.

You can smell the stones this spring, walking outside – the great stones of granite and agate, the iron, the ancient rocks of this area that have cracked with ice and wind, crashed against each other, shattered into sand and then into the dirt of the ground.
Stones seem permanent but they too decay, and while they seem dead while they are strong it is when they are shattered and ground up that they truly bring life, as dirt that feeds the plants of the earth.

And then there is the stone of the tomb, rolled away, releasing the surprise of life after a long three days…

It seems the rocks are permanent and dead.
It seems the world is stronger than love.
It seems life is fragile and futile.

But in God’s time, in God’s way, even death is life,
even the stones come to life,
even that which seems silent will cry out.