resurrection — Andy James

Divine CPR

June 5, 2016 By Andy James

a sermon on 1 Kings 17:8-24 and Luke 7:11-17
preached on June 5, 2016, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

As many of you know, about a year and a half ago the session decided to invest in an automated external defibrillator. An automated external defibrillator, or AED, for those who don’t know, is an electronic device that can revive an unresponsive person by determining if the heart can be shocked back into proper functioning and then providing that sort of shock. In the last few years, the technology in these incredible life-saving devices has become much more widely available, and AEDs can now be found in almost any public space, not just in medical facilities. In addition to the cost of the device, we are required to have our staff and volunteers complete training, so I and several other folks completed both an online course and a limited “compressions-only CPR” class from the fire department that we hosted here last year.

Now, after helping install our AED and going through the training myself, I can’t help but notice AEDs in other places that I go. I walk past one pretty regularly in the presbytery’s office building, and I have paid perhaps too much attention to the one in the main hallway at the church in Manhattan where my chorus rehearses. Last weekend, as I traveled to Tennessee to participate in my cousin’s daughter’s baptism, I paid close attention to the AEDs in the airport! The goal of this sort of broad installation of these incredible life-saving devices is to make them widely available for easy access in an emergency, but when I see one of these devices, I keep finding myself wondering if I would be ready to step in myself to assist if I encountered such an emergency. If someone actually needed the resuscitation that the AED can offer, would I be able to make it work properly? Would I mess it up somehow? Even worse, would I be too afraid to act at all?

All this talk about AEDs and electronic resuscitation comes to mind because our two readings this morning are stories of divine, miraculous resuscitation. These two stories from 1 Kings and Luke were first told long before the development of any formal CPR techniques or the invention of the AED, but the concept of resuscitation here is just as strong as here we hear of how God managed to step in and bring two seemingly dead men back to life.

First, 1 Kings tells us about the prophet Elijah’s visit to a widow in Zarephath, setting the stage for the incredible miracle of divine resuscitation. When Elijah first met this woman and asked her for a little water and bread, she was preparing to share one last meal with her son as they suffered through drought and famine. They were almost out of meal and oil, and she was out gathering what few sticks she could find to start the fire to prepare their final meal. But Elijah assured her that if she shared a cake of this with him, God would provide for them all through the drought:

For thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.

And it was as Elijah said for them. Even though they survived the drought, the widow’s son soon fell ill and died. She was furious with Elijah: “What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!”

Elijah then took the son’s body, laid it in his own bed, and cried out in prayer to God: “O Lord my God, let this child’s life come into him again.” God revived the son, and his mother was finally convinced that God had been at work in Elijah all along to bring them food in the days of famine and drought and restoration of life when her son was all but dead for good.

This story of Elijah’s involvement in divine resuscitation sounds very much like a moment in Jesus’ ministry described in our reading from Luke this morning. Jesus, like Elijah, encountered a woman whose only son had died, finding her as she journeyed alongside her son’s body with a large crowd from the town. First, Jesus had compassion on the woman, telling her, “Do not weep.” But these were not empty words. He then went up to the body, touched the stretcher on which the son lay as the pallbearers stopped, and told the son to get up. “The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.”

Everyone around was amazed and a bit fearful, for Jesus had managed to overcome the seeming limitations of death. Not only this, Jesus had stepped into their world in a way not seen since the days of Elijah, for they surely remembered this older story of a widow and her son. So word quickly spread about Jesus “throughout Judea and all the surrounding country” as people began to wonder all the more who this Jesus was and what he was up to in his act of divine resuscitation.

These two acts of divine CPR through the actions of Elijah and Jesus are incredible moments of God’s intervention in the lives of people in the real world that we probably can’t expect to be repeated just like this today, but they can still tell us a few things about how God might be at work in our lives and world today.

First of all, these moments of divine CPR gives us a glimpse of God’s special care and concern for those who are traditionally ignored by the rest of the world. In ancient times, widows and orphans were the most vulnerable persons in society, the “poorest of the poor,” if you will, who were most likely to be ignored by those in positions of power. We hear over and over again in scripture about how God especially cares for just these sorts of people, so it is no surprise, really, that both these stories of resuscitation—two of only a handful in the entire Bible—are gifts of life back to those who would be made particularly vulnerable by these deaths. In the same way, then, when we wonder where God is at work in our world, we ought to look among the people who are most vulnerable today—the poor, the homeless, the outcast, the immigrant, the stranger, the excluded, the refugee, the vulnerable—for there God promises to be present and take action to open the way to new life.

Second, these two stories of divine CPR provide us an important reminder of the difference between resuscitation and resurrection. These stories from 1 Kings and Luke offer us visions of resuscitation, of God breathing life back into dead bodies, of a restoration of life back to the way it was just a little while earlier. These resuscitations stand in sharp contrast to the promise of resurrection, a way of new and transformed life first glimpsed as Jesus was raised from the dead and that is promised for us too as all things are made new in the wonder of God’s new creation at Christ’s return. By the miracles of modern medicine or divine power, a few of us may experience resuscitation to bring us back to the life we know now on this earth, but the promise in Christ is that we will all come to know a resurrection of transformation and new life in that day yet to come beyond this world and this life.

Finally, these stories of divine CPR ought to make us wonder about whether and how we are willing, able, and ready to participate in this kind of reviving work for ourselves. God is not just getting ready for one big massive resurrection at the end of time—God is constantly renewing and restoring things in our world, too, and God invites us to join in this challenging work each and every day. In light of all this, we ought to be asking ourselves questions like those I find myself asking when I see an AED hanging on the wall. Are we ready for the breath of God to come upon us to help restore and revive things in this world? Do we have the spiritual energy to join in God’s work of resuscitation and resurrection all around us? Are we ready to step in and act, or are we just going to stand back and watch? While it is quite unlikely that we will end up participating in actually bringing someone back to life, it is far more likely that we will have the opportunity to join in all that God is doing to bring life to the broken and fearful places of our world, to uncertain and downtrodden people who are the widows of our own time, even to the old and static places that need the fresh divine breath to revive them again.

So may God give us the wisdom and strength to join in this divine CPR, breathing new life into our weary world, sharing hope in every uncertain and challenging place, and reviving the wonder of the created order until all things are made new in Jesus Christ our Lord. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.

Looking for the Living Among the Living

March 27, 2016 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 24:1-12
preached on Easter Sunday, March 27, 2016, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

This strange question surely startled the women who had come to the tomb on that first Easter morning. After all, they were looking for a dead man. They had watched with their own eyes as Jesus had been executed just two days earlier. They had seen the tomb and how his body was laid there by Joseph of Arimathea. They knew that Jesus, their friend and teacher, was dead. So when they showed up on that Sunday morning to find the stone rolled away and his body missing, they knew that something was up, but nothing was resolved by two men telling them that they were looking in the wrong place!

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

This strange question from two men in dazzling clothes at the tomb set the stage for everything that followed. “He is not here, but has risen,” they announced. This was strange, unexpected news—while Jesus had told them that this would be coming, even these very faithful women had forgotten about it. Their sabbath day had been filled with mourning for their friend, with preparing spices and ointments for the time when they would offer their final respects to his body, with all the other things that needed to be done when a good friend dies, and they had forgotten that this might not have been the end of the story for Jesus after all. It took these two men in dazzling clothes to jog their memory a bit, to remind them that Jesus had told them “that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” But as soon as they remembered, they saw only that their search for Jesus had just begun.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

After being confronted with this strange question and reminded that Jesus had told them that this would not be the end of the story, the women started to think about where Jesus might be. So they made their way back to the other disciples, to the core group of men who had journeyed with him along the way, hoping that these other friends might join them in sorting out what was next. But the disciples thought all this an “idle tale” and dismissed this word outright. Jesus was dead, and they knew it. They had seen it for themselves, and the strange rantings of some women about a missing body were nothing more than rumors of grave robbers. Peter was the only one who even thought this report was worthy of investigation, but even when he found the tomb empty except for the linen cloths that had wrapped Jesus’ body, he went home in amazement.

This first proclamation of the resurrection ends with no report of Jesus actually being seen alive and only a vague hope that this story would end with anything more than an empty tomb and a missing body. The search for Jesus ended before it ever really began—it seems that they really did know only how to look for the living among the dead.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

This strange question first posed to the women on that Easter morning echoes across the ages to us, too. It is quite fitting that one of the abiding traditions of this day is the Easter egg hunt, when we seek out hidden things, for the good news of the resurrection on this Easter Day demands that we seek the risen Christ in our world.

But this search inevitably leads us to the same places as the women and the disciples, looking for the living among the dead. Have we gone to the tombs of our world—the old ways of doing things, the memories of past glory, the preserved remains of days long since gone—expecting to find new life? Who have we met when we have gone there? Have any “men in dazzling clothes” helped to point us in a different direction? Or have the main people we have encountered along the way told us that our reports of new life are nothing more than an “idle tale?” Some days we may be better at seeking Jesus out in our world than others—some Easter egg hunts are easier than others, after all!—but it is so easy to end up with the women and the disciples, looking for the living among the dead.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

The search for the living Christ in our midst isn’t always easy, after all. First, we have to get past the death and destruction and darkness that surround us. We certainly must mourn the pain and hurt of our lives and our world. We cannot ignore the realities of fear and anxiety that creep insidiously into our lives day after day, building up as reports of terrorism and death swirl around us, taking hold as too many who lead us or seek to lead us seize on our fears to exclude some of God’s beloved children from the fullness of God’s care and protection. And we cannot ignore the tragedies that strike our lives in ways and times that we least expect that force us to reorient ourselves to a different way of life.

Faced with all these moments of death, surrounded by destruction and darkness, it is difficult to imagine where we might look for new life. So when we do decide that we want to set out on the journey to find the risen Jesus, we tend to go looking for him in the places we know best, where we have seen him before, where life is comfortable and simple, where new life bursts forth in grand and glorious moments with loud trumpets and bold proclamations.

But if the experience of the women and the disciples is any guide, we are likely to be left wandering if we look only here. Instead, our search for Jesus must take us to some different kinds of places along the way. We might need to go some places we have not been before. We might need to seek out places where there is life abundant, places where people are showing care and love for one another, places where the barriers of this world are being broken down and we are invited to live together in new ways, places where light quietly and slowly—yet surely—streams into darkness to make it clear that death will never have the final word. We might need to seek out Jesus among those he called “the least of these”—among the poor and outcast, among the hungry and thirsty, among strangers and refugees and prisoners, among all who are rejected and despised by the world and so are especially made welcome by God. And in our search for the risen Christ in our world, we might need to make our way to this table, to this place where Luke tells us the disciples finally met him alive again, where their eyes were opened and they recognized him in the breaking of bread.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

Friends, as we seek the risen Christ in these Easter days, may God guide us to look for the living among the living, to open our eyes to the places and ways that Jesus is alive in our world where we might least expect it, to walk in our world in ways that show that death does not and will not have the final word, and to serve in love so that all can see the risen Christ among us as we offer his hope to those in greatest need, until he comes again in glory and all creation joins in his resurrection life forever and ever.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Amen.

Resurrection, Continued

May 24, 2015 By Andy James

a sermon on Ezekiel 37:1-14
preached on Pentecost, May 24, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Over the years, I’ve gotten to be a big fan of Easter. As a child, it was all about the Easter bunny, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve developed a deeper appreciation of the need to celebrate the resurrection. This strange and wonderful event, after all, is the reason why we Christians exist at all. The death of Jesus was certainly important, but that death would have meant nothing were it not for his resurrection. It made the power of God to bring new life clear once and for all, brought a change in the day of worship from the Saturday sabbath of Judaism to Sunday, the day of resurrection, and reminds us of the new life that has been promised to us and is already coming into being around us.

Today’s reading from the prophet Ezekiel is a perfect bridge between the joys of celebrating the resurrection in the Easter season and the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. This story is one of the great resurrection stories, perhaps as appropriate for Easter as for Pentecost, because it has as much to do with new life as it does with the Spirit.

The prophet Ezekiel, writing from the confines of exile in Babylon, tells of a strange vision where death shifts to life by the power of the Spirit of God. God takes him to a strange valley, filled with bones. There were a lot of bones there, and they were very dry. Upon his arrival there, God questioned him quickly: “Mortal, can these bones live?” In that time and place, life seemed utterly impossible. The valley was dry and barren, and the bones were just as dry and just as barren—dead as a doornail, we might say. Those bones were like everything around Ezekiel—bearing hopelessness, mired in darkness and despair, dried up and withering away, decaying beyond belief.

But Ezekiel knew better than to assume that God could not work beyond human visions of death. Soon God was instructing him to prophesy to the bones, to proclaim that they could be alive again, to insist that they were something more than dead, dry bones, to call forth sinews and flesh and skin to cover these bones so that they might live. When Ezekiel did this, he heard a great rattling as the bones came together, “bone to its bone.” As the scattered bones became assembled skeletons, muscles and flesh and skin came upon them, and what once had been a barren valley of lifeless bones was now filled with lifeless bodies.

This first word had put things back together, but it was not enough to bring new life. So Ezekiel turned again to hear God’s voice commanding him, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain,
that they may live.” When he offered this second word as God commanded, breath came upon the lifeless bodies of that deserted valley. What had once been a lifeless valley was now filled with an eager multitude. What had once been a pile of dry bones was now a crowd of standing bodies awaiting new possibilities ahead. What had once been the most certain sign of death was now most definitely very much alive.

After this new life became clear to Ezekiel, God finally explained what it all meant in one final word of proclamation and prophecy. God instructed Ezekiel to follow up his words to the bones of the valley with one more proclamation to the exiled people of Israel, promising them that new life would emerge for them from their graves, that they would return to their homeland, and that they would be filled with the spirit of God and so live in fullness of life.

All the new life in those dry bones came about because of the spirit of God. The great Hebrew word used here is ruach. It’s one of those words you can’t help but love to say, and when you learn everything that it means, it feels even better to say it. Like many words in Hebrew, ruach does not have an exact equivalent in English. Depending on the original context, we can translate ruach as “breath,” “wind,” or “spirit”—the same three words that we so often use to describe the Holy Spirit. Whether it be breath, wind, or spirit, this ruach always comes from God, and even before anyone ever understood it, this ruach was showing us the presence and activity of the Holy Spirit.

God’s ruach brings life to the lifeless, blows through our world to restore all that is broken, and inspires the church to join in God’s work of bringing new life. This ruach is not our own breath, not the wind created by a fan, not the spirit of a departed loved one. This ruach is the Spirit of God, the wind that blew upon the chaotic waters at creation to begin the creation of new life, the breath placed in each of us as we take our first breath outside our mother’s womb, the fiery presence that filled Jesus’ disciples on that first day of Pentecost and helped them to be heard as they spoke to those who gathered in Jerusalem, the spirit that fills our world with the presence of God and guides us the continuing work of resurrection in that valley of dry bones and beyond. God’s ruach blows where it will, guiding us in bringing new life to our world that seems to be ruled by death, bringing the dead to life when we might least expect it, and showing us that we can live in ways that we never imagined we could live before.

As we celebrate this Pentecost, as we look at the myriad ways that God is at work to bring new life into our world, as we see how God can transform the brokenness of our world in bringing together the dry bones of Ezekiel’s valley and the diaspora gathered in Jerusalem, as we join the multitude who rose up in that valley and who responded to the words of the disciples in Jerusalem, we continue the work of the resurrection begun by God on that first Easter that has continued for two millennia. In coming in power on that first Pentecost, in restoring life to those dry bones, in inspiring us for the work of new creation each and every day, the Holy Spirit is the presence of God at work in our world. The Holy Spirit guides our reading and interpretation of scripture, helping us to understand what these ancient words mean to us as God’s people in our world. The Holy Spirit shows us how God wills us to work and to live in hope and new life, encouraging us to set aside the ways of death where we feel led out into valleys of dry bones ourselves so that we can know that power of God to bring new life. And the Holy Spirit breathes new life into us, showing us that we are not the lifeless people of the past, not those dead and dry bones, and not some temporary flicker of a momentary flame but rather reminding us that we are the people of God, inspired for new life each and every day so that God might be glorified through the transformation of our world.

So as the resurrection power of God continues in our world, may we be filled with the breath of God that gives us life, the wind of God that blows us into places we never expected might give us hope, and the Spirit of God that shows us how to walk in newness of life as we are filled with the Holy Spirit this Pentecost and every day until all things are made new in Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God! Amen.

After the Party

April 12, 2015 By Andy James

a sermon on John 20:19-31
preached on April 12, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

What do you do after a big party? Hosting a big party is always a bit of a chore to begin with—the host always ends up doing the dishes, cleaning up the random messes, and getting the house back in some sense of order—but whether you’re hosting or attending a big celebration, there’s the way everything seems to go downhill a bit when it is over, how the exhilaration of expectation and festivity shift back into the routine of the everyday, how the excitement of the party eases down into something much more normal. Even when there is a general sense of relief that the celebration is over, I for one am a little sad, too, and end up counting the days until the next time something like that will happen—even though I know that the strange blend of busyness and exhaustion and exhilaration and relief will only leave me feeling like something is missing yet again after the next party, too.

As much as I feel this way in my own life and in the life of the church after a celebration such as we shared last Sunday for Easter, I can only imagine how much more strongly the disciples felt this in their own lives after their first encounter with the resurrected Jesus. The gospel according to John gives us a little sense of this, showing us an exhilarating first Easter day, when Mary and Peter both encounter the risen Jesus, and a slightly quieter first Easter evening, set in a locked room where the disciples had gathered to take in everything that they had experienced. The core group gathered there was two fewer than it had been before: Judas had killed himself due to his guilt over betraying Jesus, and Thomas wasn’t there with them for some unexplained reason.

It seems that they gathered amidst an overall air of confusion and uncertainty. Only a few of their number had encountered Jesus in person, and so the tales of resurrection were not yet backed up by personal encounters quite yet for most of them. And fear was still very much in their minds, not just fear of the kind of radical change that naturally comes when the certainties of death are broken, even by someone you like, but also fear of the authorities who had arrested and executed Jesus and who most certainly would not be excited to hear that his body was missing, let alone had been resurrected.

So amidst all their fears and uncertainties, inside locked doors, alongside their varied experiences of the risen Jesus, the disciples gathered, not quite knowing what to expect after the party—and then Jesus showed up. Somehow he made it through those tightly-locked doors and even-more-tightly-closed hearts and appeared in their midst. He offered them a word of peace and showed them his hands and his side, and then they rejoiced. He concluded his visit with them on that first Easter evening by breathing the Holy Spirit on them and sending them out to continue his work and ministry.

After that first party, the disciples kept up their gatherings. As they got ready for another Sunday evening meeting, they told the absent Thomas what they had experienced on that Easter evening, and like them he said that he would not—maybe even could not—believe it until he experienced it for himself. So when they gathered again the next Sunday, when Thomas was with the disciples in that locked room, Jesus again appeared among them. Thomas’ uncertainties were resolved when Jesus not only appeared there but offered up his wounds for Thomas to touch, and they again found that the experience they shared together made the resurrection all the more real for them along the way as they moved on from that initial moment back into the everyday.

As we too recover from the celebration of Easter and move back into the everyday, I think we can learn a few things from the disciples as we figure out what comes next after the party. First of all, the disciples remind us how important it is to keep getting together. In those first days of the resurrection, when they were uncertain or unsure what was going on, they kept gathering with one another, trusting that something special would happen in that time. In the same way, we find greater strength for our walks of faith when we walk together. When we gather with others to practice our faith, we are reminded that we are not alone in this journey. When we come together with fellow Christians for worship, prayer, study, and conversation, we are strengthened for those moments when we are unsure or uncertain, for the faith of others can help fill in the gaps that seem so easy to leave wide open. And when we share this pathway with others, we can open our eyes more clearly to the risen Jesus, for he always appeared to the risen disciples after that first morning not one by one but when they gathered together.

Beyond this, John’s story of these resurrection encounters reminds us of the importance of sticking with those who might want to ask some questions along the way. We don’t know why Thomas wasn’t there on that first Easter evening when Jesus appeared to the disciples, and we don’t know why he demanded to see the risen Jesus with his own eyes as he did, but we do know that they encouraged him and welcomed him back into their midst the next week, where his doubts were resolved by an incredible experience of his risen Lord.

In the same way, we are called to exercise a similar measure of generosity and grace with our sisters and brothers in the faith who have questions and express their doubts along the way. It is far too easy to become the kind of Christian community focused on determining who is in or who is out based on beliefs and systems and structures and visible practices, but when we do, we miss the deep reality that all this comes to us as God’s gift, with grace, mercy, and peace beyond all human measure, that we are given only to share with everyone, not to take away from anyone. Just as the disciples welcomed Thomas into their midst when he was uncertain, we too are called to offer a place of welcome to those who are looking to encounter God in the world, trusting that those who may not understand things so perfectly now will grow in faith, hope, and love through God’s own provision and in God’s own time, for they too will one day encounter the resurrected Jesus and join Thomas and so many others in proclaiming, “My Lord and my God!”

Finally, John’s story of the resurrection encounters remind us of one last thing to do after the party: keep singing. Whenever the disciples encountered the resurrected Jesus, they rejoiced and shared their rejoicing along the way. In the same way, we too are called to keep up our praise for what we have encountered along the way, and I know no better way to do that than to sing. Now some of you will likely quietly object to this, thinking that your singing voice isn’t good enough or finding some other reason for why you should be excused from singing praise for the wonder of the resurrection. However, I won’t accept that excuse, and I don’t think Jesus would, either. The beauty of your voice—or lack thereof—is no good reason not to use it!

When it comes to giving praise to God for the resurrection, we are called to raise our voices loud and clear, to set aside our doubts and uncertainties that our voices are good enough, to stop worrying whether or not we can carry a tune in a bucket, for God’s power revealed in the resurrection is so wondrous and surprising and transformative that it can change our mourning into dancing, our cries of lament into songs of joyous praise, and even our most out-of-tune singing into beautiful melodies that lift up the wonder of God’s love.

So as we journey into these weeks after the party, may we join the disciples in their Easter joy, continuing to come together to experience the presence of the resurrected Jesus, making space for those who are still looking for him to appear in our midst, and singing joyous songs of praise to our risen Lord until he comes again in glory to make all things new.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Amen.

The End of the Beginning

April 5, 2015 By Andy James

a sermon on Mark 16:1-8
preached on Easter Sunday, April 5, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

All too often, when I look around our world, all I hear about is death. Whether I turn on the TV or radio to hear the latest news, look up the latest news online, or check in with family or friends, there is some note about someone who has died. Our human stories, it seems, are very much set in stone: we are born, we live for a while and do a few things, and then we die. Life has a clear beginning, middle, and ending.

The story of Jesus ought to be the same, right? The gospel of Mark certainly starts out that way as he tells us that it is “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the son of God.” And everyone around Jesus certainly thought that his story was just like all our other human stories, with a clear beginning, middle, and ending.

On Friday when he was executed, it seems like his disciples, the women who supported and cared for him, and everyone at the crucifixion thought that it was the end of everything—the end of Jesus’ life, the end of their time together, the end of the story that he had begun by preaching and teaching and healing in Galilee and beyond. When we hear the story of Jesus, it can seem like all we need to remember from it ends on Friday, with Jesus dead after his execution on the cross by the authorities of the day, safely sealed away in the tomb, never to be heard from again.

When the women set out on that Sunday morning to go to the tomb, reality had firmly set in: Jesus was dead, and it was the end of his story. Little did they know, though, that it was really only the end of the beginning. As they carried their spices for anointing the body to the tomb, they were prepared to mark this end, to give Jesus the proper burial that he deserved rather than just the hurried dumping of his body in a friend’s tomb as the sun set to begin the Sabbath. Of course, they weren’t totally prepared—it was only on their way to the tomb that they realized that they might need some help rolling the stone away from the entrance—but they were most definitely not ready for what they encountered when they arrived there.

Their fears of not being able to get in the tomb were quickly replaced by a deeper uncertainty and greater alarm when they discovered that the large stone had already been rolled away—and that someone else had gone inside first! When they went in, rather than being met with a smelly, decaying body, a young man in a white robe was waiting for them. His words shocked them all the more:

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.

As they left the tomb, the women found it difficult to understand all that was swirling around them. They were alarmed and afraid and terrified and amazed. Not only was the grave empty, but all their assumptions about beginnings and endings and everything that comes in between were turned upside down. While they knew that there was something special about their friend and teacher Jesus, it never sank in that the end of his story might not be the end—that it might be only the end of the beginning. They had never put all the pieces together, never fully listened to him and trusted his words, never sorted out that he might actually die, let alone be raised to new life. So they went away from the tomb, fearful and amazed and terrified at what they had seen and heard.

By all the most reliable accounts, in all the oldest manuscripts that we have, Mark’s story of the resurrection ends right there:

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.

There were no encounters with Jesus in the garden, no breakfast fish fries on the beach, no walks to Emmaus where Jesus suddenly gets recognized, not even an encounter with doubting Thomas in an upstairs room. Over the centuries, a lot of people didn’t like that ending, so much so that they wrote two other endings that got attached to some of the manuscripts that have come down to us over the centuries, but I think this is a wonderful place for the beginning of the good news to come to an end.

Even though we never actually see Jesus alive again, Mark makes it clear that the empty tomb is only the beginning, that this story does not end with Jesus’ death on a Friday, his resurrection on a Sunday, or even his ascension some forty days later, because the risen Jesus is on the loose in the world even now, and we too will encounter him along the way.

The things ahead for us and our world now that Jesus is risen will not be like the things that have come before—he is not resuscitated back into the life that he had but is risen into a new life for the future. The resurrection marks the end of the beginning of this good news—because the rest of the story belongs to the women, the disciples, and all of us who would dare to follow him. We are called to go forth with them, into the Galilees of our world, looking, watching, waiting for Jesus, confident that our redeemer lives and has overcome the powers of death, and encountering him wherever stones are rolled away, the power of death is overcome with new life, and the domination of a few is replaced with a future for all. We are called to meet Jesus on his own terms, not as a dead body hanging on a cross or decaying in a tomb, not trying to make his story look and sound like our own. We are called to meet Jesus as a living reality, uncontainable and unforgettable, who goes ahead of us so that we might encounter him again and again in the days to come.

And then we are called to bear the resurrection into the world, to be on the lookout for this Jesus who is on the loose, to live in ways that point to the kind of new life that comes when death does not have the final word, when our world is restructured to make mercy and peace the pattern for our days, when even the most broken things can be made whole again, when love triumphs over hate and life triumphs over death.

So may this Easter be the end of the beginning for us, the end of an old way of looking at things where death has the final word as we begin to proclaim and live the good news of the resurrection each and every day as all things are made new by the power of God who brings us from death to new life in Jesus Christ our risen Lord.

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Amen.