Easter Sunday
Happy Easter Everyone! The fact that you are here today is grace and gift for all who gather on this festive Sunday. This year marks one hundred years that St. Luke’s has been located here in the center of Ballard. Whether this is your first Easter here or your fiftieth, welcome.
Many of you are aware that this congregation has for many years served those on life’s margins, providing a daily breakfast to anyone in need. In fact you may have noticed the front page of today’s Seattle Times which includes some of our history in this place. Every day we are in touch with lots of interesting people, many of whom have become not only our guests and friends, but also attend worship.
It’s not unusual for me to hear the same concern when they ask whether or not they might come to church. People who have been on the street, maybe on the other side of the law, folks who don’t necessarily look like church folk will say to me, “I’m afraid if I walk through the doors the cross will fall off the wall!” Some of these are very tough people, but they are afraid to come into the house of the Lord. When they do get up the courage, they are often amazed at the acceptance and welcome they find.
Fear and amazement. I can understand that feeling, particularly at this time of the year when the services of this past Holy Week include Maundy Thursday, remembering the final night of Jesus’s life when he shared bread and wine with his disciples and washed their feet in an act of humble service. On Good Friday we meditated on the crucifixion, offering prayers for ourselves and for the whole world as we considered the suffering, pain and death that Christ endured. Last night, as the sky turned dark we kept vigil, hearing about the long arc of God’s love for humanity and turning to the new light of Christ lit once again by the power of the Spirit.
For many years, my personal preparation for Holy Week has included a ritual pedicure with a clergy girlfriend. Together we attended the Chrism mass with both Episcopal and Lutheran clergy to renew our vows of ordination. After lunch we headed to the spa to get our feet ready for the Maundy Thursday footwashing. It turns out that many of my clergy colleagues do the same thing, even posting their fancy pedicures on social media.
As I was sitting with my feet in the nice warm water, a sudden realization came over me. This was definitely not theologically correct! The whole point of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet is that they were surprised and unnerved by his turning of the tables. They weren’t prepared. Their feet were still dusty and dirty. They didn’t get to clean themselves up and make sure they were presentable in order to be served by Jesus. Peter was so shocked by the notion of his Lord washing his feet that he at first refused.
By cleaning myself up, trimming my deformed toenails, making sure all was in order, I negated the impact of what it truly means to be vulnerable before Jesus, to let him see and touch the most tender and worn out parts of my flesh. So often we hide our grief, shame and wounds from everyone, including ourselves, but when Jesus makes us his friends and offers himself for us, it is for our real and whole selves, not just the parts that are fit for public view. Every year at the footwashing I am afraid to reveal parts of myself that I am ashamed of and every year I am amazed at the grace and love with which someone is willing to wash my feet.
I share this with you because on Easter Sunday we all like to dress up a bit. We clean ourselves up for church. We’re delighted that the weather is cooperating with a beautiful day. We delight in the flowers and look forward to a nice brunch with family or friends. But our lives are messy. And while this is the Feast of the Resurrection, we may still be stuck at the Last Supper with an act of betrayal and abandonment or at Good Friday with denial, suffering, and humiliation. Or maybe on Holy Saturday, buried in grief and loss. There may be many aspects of our lives that are unresolved or unreconciled. We may not even be sure that there is a resurrection or a God who loves us unconditionally or a community that will welcome us fully, warts and all. We’re afraid to trust.
This Easter Sunday we hear the account of the resurrection from the gospel writer Mark, who is believed to be the first to write down the events. All the textual analysis concludes that this is how his gospel ends, with the women fleeing the tomb in both terror and amazement. There are some other endings that got tacked on later to try and provide a more satisfying and uplifting ending, but this is the one that sticks. The one that ends with the word, “afraid.”
When the women come to the tomb that morning after the body of Jesus has been wrapped with linen, covered in fragrant herbs and spices and left for two nights, they weren’t sure what to expect. They came in sorrow, fear and trepidation. They arrived early to avoid detection by the authorities. They had no power, in fact no one was sure how they would get access to his body since they weren’t strong enough to roll away the stone blocking the entrance to the tomb.
When they approach the place, the stone is flung back, the tomb is empty and a messenger in white tries to reassure them with the message of resurrection. He gives them the command to be the first to tell the world that Christ is risen from the dead and he promises that Jesus has already gone ahead of them. They are overcome with terror and amazement. They don’t just leave the tomb, they flee from it. This is not the happy ending we were looking for. Much is still unresolved.
This year with the reality of inhumane war and conflict, climate crisis, gun violence and political upheaval, we who come searching today for the risen Christ may understand the reaction of the women. We are alarmed and afraid. We want to believe the good news of God’s love and power but it’s hard for us to trust. There is so much evil in the world, so much bad news. Is it even possible to be a believer when cynicism and disbelief are so prevalent?
Can we, with the women, hear the voice of the messenger who simply proclaims, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised.”
In spite of their terror, grief and confusion, the women do respond in faith. They become the first to share the message of life over death. Mark’s narrative ends but the story is still continuing. This is the story of faith in the face of fear. It is the courage of countless followers of Christ who have experienced love over hatred, sacrifice over self-preservation, service over self-interest and trust over despair. Over the centuries followers of Jesus continue to live with fear, death and despair and the very real hope of resurrection.
I don’t know what brought you here today but I do know that some of you are carrying heavy burdens. Some are struggling with grief and loss. We are all hiding wounds, weakness and vulnerabilities. And every one of us at one time or another is crippled by fear. We long for the message of faith, hope and love that is the power of the resurrection. We want to be welcomed to the table where all are fed and accepted and the barriers between us are broken down. We want to have our shame washed away so that we might be free to be our best and truest selves.
The message to the women is the message for us today. We are looking for Jesus. He is no longer in the tomb. He has been raised. He has gone ahead of us and here we find him in bread and wine, in hope renewed, in the community with others.
Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!
