“…he went home, amazed at what had happened.” (Luke 24:12b)
How
would you have felt on that Sunday morning so long ago? A whole lot of stuff
got packed into that one Passover week in Jerusalem. Just a week before Jesus
rode his little donkey into town and was greeted by cheering fans throwing off
their cloaks and waving palm branches like he’d just won the Super Bowl. Then
he went into the temple and confronted the myrmidons of the corrupt regime
which, under the guise of religion, was kneeling on the necks of the
people while picking their pockets at the same time. Chasing money changers out
of the temple was a really daring act of civil disobedience. But what was even
more audacious was the fact Jesus got away with it! Nobody arrested him. The
Pharisees and Sadducees were all too chicken of the crowds who gathered around
Jesus and seemed to adore him. He spent the next four days teaching in the
temple, and nobody even tried to stop him.
But
then came Thursday night. If you were one of the twelve gathered around the
table at Jesus’ Passover seder, you might’ve felt some tension. Jesus knew it.
Something was about to go down. Things started to get a little weird when Jesus
told you he wouldn’t be eating this meal with you again. They got weirder when
Judas Iscariot got up and left the room for no reason. After dinner, when you
all went out for a stroll, it happened. Judas had ratted the boss out to the
authorities. They came at night when the crowds were nowhere around. Few
witnesses. Sneaky. The way they always do things.
How
would you feel if you were Simon Peter? First, when they come to take Jesus,
you do the macho thing and grab your sword. But Jesus doesn’t believe in
violence. He tells you to put your weapon away. Then you see the size of that
cohort that’s come to drag him in, and you start to lose your nerve. In a
little while you’ll be telling people you never met this Jesus dude.
On
Friday, the religious bigwigs, who have been looking for any excuse to get rid
of this popular preacher, send him to the Roman governor. They can’t come right
out and say they’re jealous of the guy, so they gin up a charge that he’s been
corrupting the people, telling folks not to pay taxes, and claiming that he’s
the rightful king of the Jews. None of this is true, but that doesn’t matter.
The lie will get the job done.
And
it does. Jesus is crucified.
So
how do you feel now, Peter? You talked big, but when it came down to it, you
wimped out. Your teacher and friend is dead. Another guy you thought you could
trust like a brother betrayed everyone. The grand movement is over. Looks like
the powers of darkness have won. Are you in mourning? Are you realizing you
gave up a good job as a fisherman and walked around with Jesus and these other
guys for three years for nothing? Or are you thinking the authorities
might be coming for you next? How do you spend that Friday after Jesus’ body is
taken down from the cross? I guess you’re hiding somewhere, defeated, ashamed,
afraid, and in shock.
But
then there are the women who have been following your little band. How do they
feel? Their hearts must be breaking. They were there at the end. They saw Jesus
die. They’d be honored to do the last thing they can do, the women’s job of
anointing his body, but religious law has forbidden them to do even that last
act of love because he’s died too near the Sabbath. So, they gather their
spices and wait. First thing Sunday, before the sun is even up, they head to
the tomb. It’s not an easy task to anoint a body, even if it’s the body of
someone you love. The task is made more disagreeable when the loved one has
already been dead two days. Still, it’s better than doing nothing and being
left alone with the helplessness that always come to us when there’s a death.
As
the women reach the tomb they are greeted with an astonishing sight. It’s open.
And it’s empty. And two dazzling gentlemen have come out of nowhere to tell
them Jesus is risen from the dead. The women are scared spitless, but once they
recover, they race off to find Peter and the others and tell them what’s
happened.
The
trouble is, of course, no one wants to believe them. Would you? These guys have
been through enough. They’ve lived on faith and hope for three years and it’s
all turned to crap before their eyes. Their leader is dead. Their movement is
over. Their livelihoods are gone. For all they know they might be wanted by the
police. All they want is to sneak away back to where they came from, live in
peace, and try to rebuild their lives like soldiers who’ve seen too much of war
or addicts who’ve finally gotten sober. They don’t have time to listen to
unreliable witnesses telling them something which is too good to be true.
They’ve had enough of that.
And
yet Peter somehow finds the courage to go and check it out. And he’s blown
away. He’s astounded. He’s gob-smacked and freaked out. He has no idea what
has just happened or what it’s going to mean. Not yet. And that’s where the
story cuts off—for now.
Like
Peter, we don’t understand God, and it often takes us a while to feel God’s
purpose for us. But just like old Peter, we’re all called to get up and check
it out. Faith never comes instantly. It
has to grow over time. The “why” of Easter may not be apparent, but the empty
tomb tells us the story isn’t over. Out of death can come new life. Out of pain
comes strength and love. Out of loss comes hope. Out of sin comes forgiveness.
Out of despair and cynicism comes curiosity and expectation. As Christians this
is what we embrace—lives of hope and trust and joy seeking the will and way of
Jesus.
The
story isn’t over.
“Because
he lives, “the old hymn says, “I can face tomorrow. Because he lives all fear
is gone. Because I know he holds the future, and life is worth the living just
because he lives.[i]”
Alleluia!
Christ is risen!
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