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?