There is a kind of pregnant peace in the hours just
before dawn. The old day is done,
and whatever its trials or joys may have been, the night offers a pause. The new day has not yet begun, and
whether we look to it with hope or dread, or whether we simply anticipate a
routine day, it holds possibilities.
This morning followed a Sabbath, the day of rest, a
rest everyone desperately needed.
The day before the Sabbath was like no other. From start to finish it was a horror. The leader the little band followed for
three years was brutally taken from them.
They had dared to hope that he was the one who would deliver their
people from oppression, who would claim the throne of his father David, who
would inaugurate a kingdom that would last forever, eventually drawing in the
whole world. In him, they dared hope;
God would finally set the world straight.
But not everyone shared those hopes and dreams. The powerful, and those who sought
power, viewed him as a threat. The
foreigners who levied taxes upon the people, and made a mockery of their
history and traditions, would have no patience with any would-be prophet who
built a following. Even those
patriotic citizens, who wanted a king to bring honor to the nation, looked at
this charismatic leader and his rag-tag assortment of followers, and saw in
them no king and no court. In the
end all of these forces, and others as well, came together, and in one day
arrested, tried, humiliated, beat and finally allowed the foreigners to crucify
him. The followers scattered for
cover, and the Sabbath provided some respite.
Now, in the predawn some of the women in the band
gathered materials to clean and give the body a proper interment. Their dreams were dead, along with
their leader, but at least they could do this before moving on to begin putting
their lives back together. And so
they arrived at the tomb. Now, if
only the stone sealing the entrance could be moved, they could complete this
final act of courtesy and love.
One foot in front of the other.
Get the work done quickly, and get back into hiding – there will be
decisions to make, things to do, but first this.
It was those individuals, in that state of mind who
discovered an empty tomb, and heard a strange luminous messenger tell them that
Christ was risen, sending them back to tell the rest of his friends. Is it any wonder that the others at
first disbelieved? When Peter, in
company with John, raced to the tomb he couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Resurrection Morning was not, as we sometimes imagine,
a time when everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief and spontaneously broke into
the “Hallelujah Chorus.” It was
not a time when Jesus’ dispirited disciples looked around at the beauties of
spring and thought to themselves that it was almost as if he was still with
them. They did not dry their tears
and resolve to make sure Jesus would live on in their memories and their love
for one another. No, Resurrection Morning
was a time of confusion. It was
over the next day, and then the next fifty days, that their repeated experiences
of the risen Lord persuaded them that the world was no longer the same, that
God had drawn victory out of defeat, and the promised New Creation was
beginning.
We are the beneficiaries of the accounts left by
that band of Jesus’ followers.
Time enough, as the season unfolds, to explore the questions that the
strange events of that spring morning raise in our minds and hearts. Today it’s time to hear once more the
words of the different gospel accounts, to join in the familiar hymns and to
respond to the ancient cry, “Christ is risen,” with the equally ancient
response, “He is risen indeed!”
Alleluia! Amen!
Howard MacMullen
© March 2013
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