Text: Luke 24:1-12
Earlier this week, I was preparing for worship and listening to some of the music selected for our time of worship today.
And, friends, I’m going to be honest, I’m struggling a bit right now.
I’ve got some family stuff that is heavy on my heart.
We’ve got some things to navigate as a church trying to increase our staffing and find our footing in the new normal of the world.
There is a big denominational conversation in limbo.
I have been participating in a church leadership cohort on the topic of how to navigate being overwhelmed and one of the things I realized is that if I were trying to work and care for just one of those situations, it would be a lot.
But when it feels like there are just so many pots on the stove, all needing attention lest they boil over… well, it is exhausting.
And you know what, I know I’m not alone.
I’ve overheard those fragments of conversation happening in the halls of the church, or grocery store, or work or school…
We can all read between the lines of those social media posts that try to be cheery.
We are navigating transition and grief in our families… divorce, loss, moving mom to the care center…
We are experiencing struggles with health and finances.
We watch the evening news and our hearts break.
We keep waiting for things to get back to “normal” because we haven’t wrapped our heads around the way things have changed for good.
After a while, it all starts to add up.
And we start to wonder where on earth God is in it all.
And so there I was, trying to figure out what good news to proclaim this Easter Sunday, when a lyric from one of the songs that we are singing at the Conspire Service just hit me like a ton of bricks and I started to weep.
“The God of the mountain
Is the God of the valley
There’s not a place
Your mercy and grace
Won’t find me again.”
In that valley, in that muck, in the struggle… that is where God is.
God isn’t just a God of the good times and the successes.
God is with us in the valley.
The valley of the shadow of death.
The valley of despair.
The rock bottom where it all feels like it has fallen apart.
That is exactly where grace and mercy find us.
It is where it found the disciples on Easter morning.
You see, this day began in hopelessness and grief.
It began with fear of the unknown.
It began with the gloom of death.
As we heard in the Gospel of Luke, Mary and Joanna, and Mary, and the other unnamed but faithful women who were with them went to the tomb.
They were bringing the spices and oils they had prepared to complete his burial ritual now that the Sabbath day was complete.
They showed up to repeat a familiar ritual practiced by Jewish women for centuries.
Everything they had known and believed had been pulled out from underneath them and there was nothing left to do but pray, mourn, and honor their teacher.
But through that valley of the shadow of death, grace found them.
When they arrived, the stone was rolled back from the tomb and the body of their Lord was gone.
I can imagine the shock and confusion that paralyzed them.
What does it mean?
What has happened?
What do we do now?
But then angels suddenly appeared among them: Why are you looking for the living among the dead?
They spoke once again the words Jesus had shared with them.
Promises of love that conquers death.
Words of hope for a life than cannot be defeated.
The truth that mourning would turn to dancing…
Shame into glory…
Graves would turn into gardens…
And in a moment of startling fear and overwhelming joy – a moment of holy awe – they remembered.
Think about how many times the disciples… men and women alike… heard Jesus share words about his death and resurrection.
But they couldn’t understand the promise because they never believed it would happen.
They simply could not wrap their minds around the idea of his death, much less the impossible miracle of resurrection.
When Jesus shared his final meal with them on Thursday night they let him down and failed to remain faithful.
And when Christ was crucified on Friday afternoon, many were paralyzed by their unbelief and others simply stood at the cross in stunned grief.
They couldn’t see past their own pain and fear and they forgot his promise!
But in one moment, all that Jesus said about life and death is suddenly made real to those women as they encountered that empty grave in the middle of a garden.
They rushed back to the disciples to share all they had experienced.
And they didn’t believe the women.
Couldn’t believe them.
It was nonsense, wishful thinking, confused thought.
You know what, the world around us, just like those disciples in the upper room who first heard from Mary and Joanna and Mary Magdelene, believes that the resurrection is nonsense.
It is wishful thinking. Scientifically unproven. Pie in the sky.
And I have to be honest, there are days that I have my own doubts.
I have an awful lot of questions, and maybe you do, too.
I can’t construct an argument for the resurrection of Jesus that makes sense to a rational mind.
I can’t point to evidence of its reality.
And when I’m down in the valley, stuck in the weeds, wallowing in grief, and holding the pain of the world in my heart, I often wonder where on earth it is.
But I can tell you, as I borrow the words of Debie Thomas, that it is “the foundation of my hope.”
“Without the empty tomb,” she goes on to write, “without Jesus’ historic, bodily return to life two thousand years ago, I simply can’t reconcile God’s love and justice with the horrors I see in the world around me. Death is too appalling a violation. Evil is too ferocious an enemy. Injustice is too cruel and endemic a reality. Humanity, though beautiful, is broken beyond description. I need the empty tomb. I need the promise of resurrection.”
There is so much in this world to feel hopeless and frustrated about, and honestly, I can’t get through it without God by my side.
I can’t prove the resurrection.
But I need it to be true.
I need to know that mourning will turn into dancing.
I need to hope that shame will turn into glory.
I need to trust that graves can become gardens.
Standing here, surrounded by lilies, I have come to discover that the God of the mountain is the God of the valley and that the shadows of fear and despair have been scattered by light and love.
The tomb is empty, the garden is in bloom, the Son has risen.
Grace and mercy are pouring out into the world and I find the freedom and the power to believe.
I have faith that the resurrection is really and truly our reality.
Faith is not just a pie in the sky wish.
It isn’t something pretty we sing to bring comfort.
Faith is a verb: Go. See. Do. Lift Up. Put Down. Heal. Cast out. Bring in. Give. Receive. Remember.
Faith is active.
Faith is out there in the world, sharing the healing love of God with others.
Faith is drying the tears of the grieving.
Faith is holding the hands of the sick.
Faith is that card of encouragement for the person whose life is falling apart.
Faith is planting bulbs as everything is dying, trusting they will bloom in the spring.
Faith is welcoming the stranger and throwing our arms open to embrace others.
Faith is sacrificing our time and our talents and our abundance so that our neighbors might be fed.
You see, the force of resurrection didn’t just bring Christ to life.
It transformed disciples into apostles.
It brought the church into being.
It formed us together into the body of Christ, alive in the world, hands and feet and hearts to carry on the mission and the ministry.
To keep planting the seeds of the kingdom.
To keep pouring out hope for a world in despair.
To keep fighting the weeds of injustice that threaten to take over.
We are here because those women went to the grave full of grief and sorrow and discovered a garden where hope and love and life was in full bloom.
And then they went from that place with faith and shared the good news with the world.
May the hope of the resurrection be the foundation of our faith and may it spill over into everything we say and do in this world. Amen.
No Comments