Luke 24:1-12

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking with them the spices they had prepared. They saw the stone rolled away from the entrance to the tomb, but when they went in, they did not see the body.

While they were perplexed about this, suddenly there appeared before them two men, in dazzling white. The women were terrified and they bowed their faces to the ground. But the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, he has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must suffer at the hands of sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day, rise again.” Then they remembered his words and they left the tomb and told all of this to the eleven and all the rest.

Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James who told this to the disciples. But their words seemed to them and idle tale and they didn’t believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb. Stooping and looking inside, he saw the linen cloths lying there. And he went home, amazed at what had happened.

As usual, I’ve been stewing about an Easter Sunday sermon or a few weeks now, wondering what new, different, noteworthy thing could be said about the Good News of it all, again, this year. I’ve been noodling this version of the story from Luke 24 around for days, wondering what word or turn of phrase would get my attention and be meaningful and have something to say for us. Words like “perplexed,” “dazzling white,” “terrified,” “amazed,” all have emotions and images attached to them that gave me some possibility, for sure. But, I imagine academic, exegetical, theological treatises and sermons and volumes have been written and preached and taught about all of that ad nauseam over the years. So, I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired to add to it.

And then I remembered something. If you were here last week for the 10:45 a.m. Children’s Sermon, with “The Box,” you might have noticed. Kyle Stamper had loaded “The Box” with super-heroes – Iron Man, The Hulk, Captain America, and Wolverine, to be specific. And it made a nice children’s sermon, I thought, about how Jesus is the real, surprising super hero in all of this, Lenten/Easter stuff, because he’s weak, not strong; he’s humble, not proud; he’s gentle, not mighty. In other words, Jesus’ superpowers aren’t anything comic books would consider powerful or mighty or worthwhile, in any way, really.

And as I was doing my best to share all of that with the kids during the Children’s Sermon last week, Kyle kept interrupting me and talking over me and adding his own two cents in the cutest, most profound and persistent way. He just kept saying, “but guess what…” “but guess what…” “but guess what…” (It’s much cuter when Kyle says it.)

And I decided, in some ways, there’s nothing more or less than that to Easter’s good news.

“BUT, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.”

If you didn’t catch it the first time around, that’s how our Easter Gospel begins for today…that little three-letter word…and that’s how Easter’s Good News is always supposed to sound for us. “BUT, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.” And guess what…

See, that little three-letter word matters, because just before what we heard this morning some horrible things had happened, right?

Jesus was betrayed. Jesus was arrested. Jesus was denied by his friends. He was whipped and crowned with thorns and spit upon and pierced and crucified and left for dead on the cross. Jesus was wrapped in linen grave clothes and buried in some stranger’s tomb. The disciples were likely in hiding, afraid for their lives. The women left him in that tomb and went home to rest on the Sabbath, because that’s what good, faithful Jewish women were supposed to do, even in their grief.

“BUT, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.” And guess what?

This is the good news of Easter, people: “But, guess what…?” “But, guess what…?” “But, guess what…?”

There’s been another terrorist attack in Belgium. Dozens have died. Hundreds are injured. BUT… on the first day of the week…they went to the tomb. And guess what?

Our country is confused and confounded about who our next President should or should not be. It seems at least half of us are going to be disappointed, no matter which way this all goes. BUT…on the first day of the week…they went to the tomb. And guess what?

He still can’t find a job… her relationship is failing…the cancer won’t go away… … the addiction seems to be winning…they lost the baby. But, guess what…? But, guess what…? But, guess what…?

Now, don’t get me wrong. None of this is that easy. I don’t mean to minimize or simplify or pretend that the struggles of our daily lives and the fears that keep us up at night can or should be dismissed with a simple “but…” because we all know things are never that easy.

But, guess what? It’s always been that way. And that’s been faith’s story and God’s promise and humanity’s hope, since the beginning of time.

The story of Adam and Eve tells us they were banished from the garden, but guess what? God wouldn’t lock them out forever. The flood happened in the days of Noah, and all hell broke loose, but guess what? God promised never to let that happen again. The chosen ones wandered in the wilderness for a really long time, but guess what? God fed them and led them and showed them a way home. And then there was Jesus – again crucified and left for dead – but guess what? He wasn’t/he isn’t in the tomb any longer, and we don’t have to be either.

God’s good news for us at Easter is as persistent and as earnest as a child’s best intentions: “But, guess what?”

It’s not trite. It is the Truth.

In response to our darkest days, our greatest fears, our deepest misgivings, our loneliest moments, our ugliest sins, our most profound failures – and we all have them – we are invited to show up at the empty tomb and hear God say, “But, guess what…?”

Guess what…none of that is here – not the darkness any longer, not the fear, not the sins, not the failure. Guess what? It’s been obliterated, forgiven, undone, raised – as far as God’s concerned – and it doesn’t need to hold sway over your life anymore.

So let’s consider Good Friday’s cross in the light of this new day. Let’s remember or see there all the ugliness that was heaped upon God’s very own self, in Jesus. Let’s acknowledge the sadness and shame of whatever that means for each of us – and let’s acknowledge the death – literal and figurative – that it leads to for all of us. And let’s be as surprised and as amazed and as filled with joy as those women, and as Peter, and as the first disciples, too, once they finally received the news: because guess what… God always wins. Love always wins. Light and life and forgiveness and mercy and second chances always win, in Jesus Christ our Lord, crucified and risen for the sake of the world.

Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

As Christians, our religious convictions give us confidence that death is not the end – that something beautiful awaits us on the other side. We understand the cross both as an instrument of death and suffering as well as the vehicle of salvation and unity with God.

As Christians, we most definitely have something beautiful and important to say in the face of death. But tonight, let’s not say anything. Let’s be quiet. Let’s wade into the dark waters of death without the comfort and security of the life vest of Easter.

Tonight we gather together in this safe space to think about death; not the promises of resurrection or heaven…that comes later. Tonight we think about death:

Jesus’ death and our death;
Jesus’ death and our role in his death;
Jesus’ death and what it means to worship and orient our lives around a God who died.

Observing Good Friday by separating death from resurrection allows us to come to a greater appreciation for the gift of Easter. It also helps us empathize with those who have been touched by death. For, if we fail to give death its due, we might end up among those well-meaning souls who respond the same way to every instance of death, be it a sudden or long-awaited death of a loved one, or deaths of fellow human beings half-way around the world at the hands of terrorists. They say, “It is sad, but we know that God perseveres through death and those who have died are now in heaven.”

It’s an absolutely faithful sentiment; but I’m afraid such expressions fail to do justice to the pain and tragedy that death brings. Jumping too quickly to God’s promises in the midst of pain, despair, and death – insisting that post-death promises outweigh the present problems – exposes our intolerance for grief and despair.

The least we can do is gather together one day each year to remind ourselves and reorient our lives around the fact that death does have power and still stings. For at least one day we are reminded of our duty to allow space for grief and despair. For at least one day we are invited to contemplate death apart from the promise of resurrection.

We contemplate death from the perspective of Jesus’ disciples who understood his death as the end of everything they had built their lives around.

We contemplate death from the perspective of the suffering Jesus,who perhaps also feared his death would mean the end of everything he had tried to create – the end of everything he believed in.

And we contemplate death from the perspective of those who colluded to execute Jesus – those who whipped him, mocked him, teased him with sour wine, pierced his side with a spear – doing all of this free from any personal responsibility because all the injustice and hatred and murder was sanctified by the kingdoms of this world.

Tonight we gather together to think about death; not resurrection, not heaven…that comes later. Tonight we think about death. Here in this safe space we allow ourselves to be overcome by the reality of death. We despair. We are frightened. We are honest. For those of us who have lost loved ones, this is an unwelcome invitation to return to the waters of grief. For those of us who have not felt the sting of death quite so intimately, this is an unwelcome invitation to wade into the dark waters of death for the first time.

I don’t have any illustrations or colorful anecdotes. I don’t have any words of wisdom. I have nothing beautiful to offer you. As the poet W.H. Auden explained, “Christmas and Easter can be subjects for poetry, but Good Friday, like Auschwitz, cannot. The reality is so horrible it is not surprising that people should have found it a stumbling block to faith.”

Even the promises of God, which it is my Christian duty to proclaim, I will keep tucked away for Easter.

On Good Friday you don’t have to be brave. You don’t have to have answers. You don’t have to hold back the tears. You don’t have to look for the light in the darkness. You don’t have to live forever.

As our worship continues tonight we will sit as the choir sings and rise to offer our prayers. Following the prayers you will be invited to come forward to the cross. In years past we have asked you to come to the cross with something to leave, such as a flower, a prayer, or a confession. This year I ask that you come up empty, with nothing to offer; for that is how we truly are before the crucified Lord. This is how we honor the power of death. Come forward, touch the cross, linger as long as you wish, but come with nothing to offer, for only then will you have something to gain and celebrate on Easter morning.

"But, Guess What?" - Luke 24:1-12

A Message for Good Friday