OF COURSE THEY WERE AFRAID

A Sermon for the Vigil of Easter

22 April 2000 

for Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary

Berkeley

by President Timothy F. Lull

Text: Mark 16:1-8

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint (Jesus). And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you. So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Matthias Gruenewald, Isenheim Altarpiece Resurrection (c.1516)

OF COURSE THEY WERE AFRAID

Grace and peace to you from God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit.

You have heard Mark’s Easter gospel. As usual, it goes for the gut. The story is familiar, yet confusing. We know it, and yet we struggle to hear it, because we know three other stories too. We conflate the details as we try to make sense of a narrative that makes no sense at all.

There are many realistic features, of course. We think about the practical matter of the purchase of the spices late on Saturday evening when the Sabbath was over. We wonder where they got the money. We think of the conversation on the way to the tomb about a big problem—how were they going to get that stone moved away from the opening. We think approvingly of the determination of these three women in contrast to the scattered male disciples.

            But when we stand with them at the opening of the tomb, when we hear them hear that Jesus is not there—that death was not his end, then we find our most profound point of identification with the Easter story. They were afraid, and we understand that very well indeed. We too are afraid at Easter. For what would happen to us and to all the assumptions of our daily lives if the report were true, if Christ had been raised from the dead?

            What would happen to common sense, to our folk wisdom that nothing is more certain than death and taxes? What would happen to taking care of your own, and saving for retirement, and God helping those who help themselves, if Christ is raised from the dead?

            What would happen to our proud political systems—the abusive ones and tolerant ones alike—which believe that they represent the bottom line? What would happen to world leaders from Herod and Pilate and the great Caesar in Rome, to both Clintons and Al Gore and the whole Bush family, to Angela Merkel and Robert Mugabe, if Christ is raised from the dead?

What would be the reaction in Silicon Valley, with all the confidence that they are the wave of the future, or on Wall Street—only slightly shaken by recent bad news? What would Bill Gates or Alan Greenspan say if either were really confronted, just for a moment, with the possibility that Christ is risen from the dead?

What would happen to our educational institutions—to their objectivities and ideologies, their files full of student records and evaluations, their tenure decisions and long-range plans? What would be the judgement of the Chancellor and faculty senate of the University of California at the least hint that the story of the women was true—that Christ has risen from the dead?

            And what about PLTS and the GTU and the whole vast industry of theological studies? Who would give the soundbite for the press interpreting this unexpected development? What would become of our work here on this hill if it were true—in such a deep and powerful and shaking way that caused us to tremble—that Christ was risen from the dead?

            And what about the churches, the ones that celebrate Easter today and tomorrow and the great Orthodox churches who will celebrate Easter in another week? What would the Pope really say, or the Archbishop of Canterbury or Robert Schuller in his Crystal Cathedral? One ought to think that they would be filled with joy at the story of these women, with confirmation of faith long. But isn’t it true that they too, even the synods and their candidacy committees, even the seminaries and the churchwide structures would have to think again, would have to start from scratch if it really turned out that God had raised up the Crucified One from the dead?

            And it isn’t them. It’s most deeply us. You see the dilemma, I suspect. The good news of Easter is what we want most deeply, and yet what we fear most deeply at the same time. Easter is the final confirmation that there is a God, that this God is good and true and trustworthy, that the promises of this God are the very things that we may trust—the only thing that we may trust—when we stand face to face with death. 

            The Easter Gospel stands the world on its head. Christ’s resurrection is the most intense and wonderful and audacious form of the eternal Word of God that was from the beginning. You heard tonight all the great lessons, all the great narratives and poems that proclaim a God whose ways are not our ways—No, but higher, deeper, better and more mysterious. Easter is the hardest word, but only because it is the greatest intensification of the claim of God on our lives. From the beginning God has wanted to crack open our closed world, to tear down the walls that divide, to rescue us from the bottomless pit of self-concern that we might become human again.

            So do not disdain the fear of the women who left the tomb on Easter morning saying nothing. That is one point of contact for us all—old and new Christians, deep doubters and firm believers. We too are afraid. For when we are told that Jesus rose up from the tomb, that his death was not the end, then we must tremble even more deeply than at the moving story of the cross. For if the report of these women is true, then he goes not only before us into Galilee, but has exploded our safe and predictable world of the everyday. Then there will be no going back.

            The women were silent in their fear, but eventually they must have talked. I don’t know if St. Paul approved of women speaking or not, but a time came—perhaps very quickly—when fear was an inadequate reaction to what they had witnessed. See John’s gospel for a very different report—in which Mary Magdalene sounds like an evangelist herself. Soon their mouths were open, and they must have told the disciples and Peter what had happened, how the best news of all had been entrusted to them.

            It will happen to you too when the Easter gospel finally takes root inside you. You will not be able to stay unchanged. Your mouth will be opened and your heart will be opened and your mind will be opened—perhaps for the first time ever. Then you will begin to discern how to take your place in the company of witnesses to the miracle of Christ risen from the dead.

The peace of God…