Scripture: Matthew 28: 1-15
(1) After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and
the other Mary went to see the tomb. (2) And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an
angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.
(3) His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. (4) For fear of him
the guards shook and became like dead men. (5) But the angel said to the women, "Do
not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. (6) He is not
here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. (7) Then go
quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going
ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you."
(8) So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his
disciples. (9) Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!"And they came to
him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. (10) Then Jesus said to them, "Do not
be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."
(11) While they were going, some of the guard went into the city and told the chief
priests everything that had happened. (12) After the priests had assembled with the
elders, they devised a plan to give a large sum of money to the soldiers, (13) telling
them, "You must say, 'His disciples came by night and stole him away while we were
asleep.' (14) If this comes to the governor's ears, we will satisfy him and keep you out
of trouble." (15) So they took the money and did as they were directed. And this
story is still told among the Jews to this day.
- Matthew 28: 1-15
"Now, after the sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary
Magdelene and the other Mary went to the tomb. And suddenly, the earth shook ..."
I've never been through a "big one," an earthquake where the dishes come
crashing down and the dust rises up. I've only felt little rumbles, enough to wake you up,
but not a whole lot more.
On the other hand, there was a day a long time back, 20 or more years ago when Barbara
and I were first working together in campus ministry at Harvard. The project that year was
organizing a peace conference at the Kennedy School of Government. We called it Waging
Peace. There had been lots of cheap talk from politicians and experts in high places about
a "winnable: nuclear war. We hear similar talk today. So we recruited fancy speakers
and workshop leaders and invited every member from churches and synagogues from eastern
Massachusetts to wage peace at the Kennedy School.
A rabbi from the Harvard Hillel Center had told us he could get his hands on an exhibit
from Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Photographs and children's drawings mostly. Some letters.
Then I saw them: full-size photographs. Corpses stacked up like wood. Charcoal grey and
red and pink and ash. Some were floating in rivers, swollen, like they had no place to go,
but away from hell. Some were still standing, walking, arms held out from the sides so the
skin wouldn't stick. Some close to ground zero were just shadows of ash in human outline,
pressed against the baked earth.
Like Jesus stone-cold in the tomb, for me the earth stood still that day.
At the tomb of our Lord, an angel descended from heaven to roll away the stone and to
bring a message from God. The sight of the angel made the guards shake like an earthquake,
then stand stone-still, like dead men.
It's strange how memories get strung together. Another time it happened was my Grandma
Stafford's death. We'd been very close. As a kid I would hop on my bike, Nellie Belle, and
pedal the mile over to Grandma's house. With a bottle of coke, a card game, stories and a
kind heart, she was the best. Dementia had sent her three years before to a nursing home.
When our son, Ken, was but four months old, a babe in my arms, she died. Toward the end
each breath took about 30 seconds, the way we do at the end. She couldn't hear. She
couldn't see. She couldn't say goodbye. The family went out for dinner and when we
returned an hour or so later, she was gone. Her skin was cold and already getting hard.
Like Jesus stone cold in the tomb, for me the earth stood still that day.
At the tomb of our Lord, an angel descended from heaven to roll away the stone and to
bring a message from God. The sight of the angel made the guards shake like an earthquake,
then stand stone-still like dead men.
"Fear not," the angel said to the women.
"Keep them afraid," said the high priests of this world's order.
"Come and see the empty grave," the messenger commanded.
"Say the body was stolen," said the purveyors of lies and hate.
"Go tell the disciples that death does not have the final word," was the
message from God.
"We'll cover our tracks with slick words to keep them in the dark about
death," said those who lusted for order.
Do you see the great battle between life and death; between love and fear?
Fear not.
Come see.
Go tell.
These are the Easter messages from God.
Fear.
Deceive.
Conceal.
These are the Easter messages from the powers of this world.
The promise of this Easter day is that the world need not be controlled by fear,
deception, secrecy, and their co-conspirator, death.
Images of ash-colored corpses from a distant war or the corpse of my own beloved
Grandmother bring back a flood of memories. Fortunately, there are also memories of good
times. Through the campus ministry Waging Peace project, I learned that I could work
pretty darn well together with the woman I'd just married. I discovered that faithful
people could organize and help stop cheap talk and insanity spewed by people who are in
love with their power and able to manipulate people's fear. I learned that you could pull
a group of people together and act your way into hope, and wage a little peace.
My best memories of Grandma are mostly about her kind eyes, frontier stories and her
berry pie. Though she's been gone 16 years, she's alive in me. When I look in a mirror, I
know I inherited her baggy eyes. I think they're kind eyes.
I remember, too, sitting in church with her at the First Presbyterian Church of Twin
Falls, Idaho. As a child, I didn't pay much attention to the sermon, but whenever I would
fidget, Grandma would slip me some Chicklets gum, and I would settle down. I gained a
basic sense that I was loved there at church I was loved.
Like on the day of the resurrection, when it was still dark and all was quiet, Love
came and the earth shook. So it shook for me.
As the women were running to tell the disciples what the angel said, Jesus himself
stopped the women and said, " Go tell the disciples I'll meet them in Galilee to
show them they have no need to be afraid."
Sitting beside Grandma in church, gaining from her love and acceptance and singing
hymns must've taken. Later I tuned into the sermons. Then there were Mom and Dad and the
Deacons helping with the Easter baskets for the Chicano migrant workers at the Twin Falls
Labor Camp. There was a hell hole. Mom and Dad, too, showed me the way. Love came and the
earth shook. It shook for me.
At the breakfast table, Mom would talk about a prophet in our land back in the
mid-1960s when riots would light the skies of our cities and our black and white
television set. Dr. King was a man of God, she said. Dad wasn't so sure. But we talked
about racism. We talked about Jesus. We talked in such a way that you knew that because we
belonged to him, we were different. You wouldn't hear the racist filth coming out of our
mouths like so many all around us. We were different. We were Presbyterian Christians and
we were proud of it. By such talk and the actions of kindness that filled our lives, the
earth shook. It shook for me.
Jesus said to the women, "Go and tell the disciples that I'll meet them in
Galilee, where they live and work and they'll know that I am with them. Tell them there is
a better way to live. Tell them I'm alive and that I will be with you always."
Here it is Easter 2002. It's funny how memories jump around and connect. Here we are on
Easter morning hoping that the promises are true, that the tomb is empty and Christ is
risen.
Images of this world's embrace of death saturate our lives. Palestinian and Israeli
locked in a death grip, memories of twin towers crumbled ashes, Afghani children with
missing legs and hands and eyes, coffins of American soldiers disgorged from the guts of
C-130s covered with flags, while nearby their weeping families stand, and then there's our
own Presbyterian Civil War fighting over non-essentials. In a world controlled far too
often by fear and violence and hate and death, we gather here in church with all our
memories and all our longings, hoping for a better way, hoping that God's promises are
true.
For me, there is a direct connection between seeing those horrific photographs of
nuclear holocaust and working for peace. There is a direct connection between Grandma
slipping me Chicklets gum and making sure the kids in the Rainbow Choir, brown skin and
black skin and white skin, each and everyone of you know here in church that you are
loved. There is a direct connection between kissing Grandma's cold cheek after she had
breathed her last and committing to a life of love and hope and resurrection. There is a
direct connection between being loved by the Lord of life and believing with my whole
being that the Easter message is true. I see the connections. I hope you do as well.
This is my message for you: "Do not be afraid; go and you will see him."
And the earth shook beneath our feet. Amen.
