Scripture can be found here…
This is such a weird story.
Which, I suppose, makes it perfect for a pretty weird Easter.
We’re not in our sanctuary, with banks of colorful flowers, all our musicians playing and singing and ringing their hearts out. How weird.
And we are not together in one place, which is the weirdest thing of all.
Each gospel tells the resurrection story in a slightly different way, but there are some essentials—the heart of the story, which does not vary:
It is very early, on the first day of the week—Sunday.
Women come to the tomb.
The tomb is opened—the stone sealing it shut has been rolled away—and it is empty.
There is at least one messenger—usually, an angel.
By the end of the story, in every gospel, the women have been told—or have seen for themselves—that Jesus has been raised from the dead. He is risen.
That’s it. That’s the heart of the story.
And Matthew includes all these things. But Matthew also adds details we don’t find anywhere else.
For instance, there’s an earthquake! There’s an earthquake as the angel comes down from heaven, and then rolls away the stone from the tomb, and then, in a kind of sassy move, sits on it.
Also, there are guards at the tomb—Matthew’s gospel is the only one that mentions that Pontius Pilate stations guards at the tomb, because he’s afraid the disciples will steal Jesus’ body, and claim resurrection.
Matthew’s gospel is the only one that tells us that little nugget.
And the guards? They pass right out, at the sight of that sassy angel doing their thing. And, to be fair, the angel does sound a little scary, or at least intimidating: clothing impossibly white, an appearance like lightning, whatever that means. Does the angel flash? I don’t know! But it’s weird.
At the sight of all that, the guards have a kind of inner-earthquake, and then they just look… dead.
But the angel says that thing angels always seem to say, do not be afraid, and then gives the good news that is at the heart of all these stories—
“Jesus is not here—he has been raised, as he said.”
And, we have to admit, this is also kind of weird.
Someone who was dead—really, most sincerely dead, someone who’d been tortured and violently killed—is, according to this unearthly creature, alive once more.
And there’s one more thing I forgot to mention, at the core, the heart of every gospel’s resurrection story: the women are told to go and tell—go and tell others what has happened. This news is too big to keep to themselves, strange as it seems. It is not private, protected information. It is something to be shared, to be shouted.
Strange though this news might be, it is also a victory:
a victory over the powers of sin and death…
a victory over a brutal empire that thinks it has all the power…
but that turns out to be an illusion, a mirage… nothing at all.
But we are still left shaking our heads. It is a weird story.
But these are weird times we are living in. We are all, as I mentioned earlier, not together, I’m sure you’ve noticed that. And that’s for a good reason: we are all staying home in order to contain and stop the spread of the coronavirus that has already killed nearly 20,000 Americans, who are among the more than 100,000 people who have died all around the world.
And so, because we’re doing that important work of containment, we are not together today, singing our most familiar and beloved Easter hymns. We are not together to see the banks of flowers beautifying our sanctuary, or to listen to our musicians outdo themselves with beautiful anthems.
Instead, our sanctuary is empty.
But a page is empty, before a beautiful story is written on it.
Your stomach is empty, before it receives the nourishing food it needs.
And the tomb is empty, before the glory of the Lord can be revealed in it.
Our sanctuary is empty so that new life can come through stopping the spread of the virus, and healing can come to our neighborhoods, our communities, our nation, and our world.
The tomb is empty so that new life can be released, revealed, and reveled in.
The sanctuary may be empty, but the church is not…
you, wherever you are this Easter morning (or, whenever you may see this video), are the church.
You are the church, in your recliner or in your bed.
You are the church, sipping coffee in your kitchen or taking your daily walk.
You are the church, helping your children navigate virtual classrooms and the heartbreak of missing prom and graduation.
You are the church, helping your aging parents to be safe and well.
You are the church, wearing a mask as you brave the grocery store or pharmacy.
You are the church, leaving treats for neighbors or family on their steps, and then talking to them from the sidewalk.
You are the church, because you are living the truth that Jesus cannot be entombed, that God’s love cannot be beaten down or held back, and that the Holy Spirit is still blowing through God’s world, even though the streets are a little empty.
You are the church as you love God with your whole self,
and love your neighbors that way too, largely by keeping your whole self at home.
The tomb is empty, because Jesus is risen.
And the sanctuary is empty,
but the church rises along with its risen Lord, as we live in confidence
with the steadfast love of God,
the abundant grace of Jesus Christ,
and the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit,
each and every day,
no matter how weird that day is.
Thanks be to God. Amen.