On Easter

Sharon Welch, Road to Emmaus. Native American Abstract.

Today is Easter, that time that we celebrate the moment that Christ transforms death into life; He is raised from the dead. That sentence is something that is virtually meaningless, on the order of "a supermassive black hole's schwarzschild radius determines how far the singularity is away from the event horizon." Even if we understand the words seminologically, they are rendered useless because we have no analogue. Nothing in history prepares us for this fact. The best we can do is to relate to this obliquely, like gazing through a periscope hole or a mirror hallway to view angles and hints left around the rest of salvation history. This is revealed in scripture, and witnessed to by the people of the church.

Elijah raises a widow's son from the dead. Ezekiel has visions of dead bones rising to life. Lazarus rises from the tomb.

It is right that we celebrate the Resurrection in the manner of the great Easter Vigil tradition, where the great salvation history of Israel and then the Church is recounted, starting in Genesis and weaving its way through the Exodus, Isaiah's prophecy, and finally, attested by the apostles in the New Testament. In our Gospel readings, we hear the first-hand accounts of the women bewildered at the tomb. We kneel with Peter before the opening and gaze at the burial cloths devoid of the body that so recently lay bleeding and broken. In light of the Passion, our mourning may color the experience too much. No wonder the women do not recognize the gardener in their midst as he appears to them in John's narrative. This account is touching, and strikes me to the core as I read it:

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.”She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her. (John 20:11-18)

Here we meet the first apostolic commission. Jesus tells Mary to spread the news that He has risen. And this has been the mission of the people of God ever since! Yet what strikes me most in this passage is the simplicity of the moment that Mary's eyes are opened to Jesus. He reaches out to her in her distress. How many times have we been like Mary? We weep over our broken plans, over injustice, over the pain of death and despair. We are alone in the garden. We long for some consolation in the memory of our beloved's presence as we go to the tomb in the morning. Still the tears come. The memories are so sweet that it seems impossible that the Lord that once healed disease and taught with authority now lies dead and buried. In the stillness of the morning, we hear the voice of the gardener, a stranger to our eyes. Do we heed him? He knows her, and calls her by name. I can picture her throwing herself into Jesus' arms, which prompts his response: "Do not hold onto me...Go instead and tell!" This is the beauty of the gift. In order to have the fullness of the Risen Lord, we must go and tell. Mary has a new commission: she must give this news away. So many Christians I know struggle with doubt and faith, and yet I wonder how faithful they have been to this commission. Jesus in fact appears himself to the disciples, so that we can imagine that Mary's words have life and truth in them, beyond a simple eyewitness account. The disciples receive their own encounter with the risen Lord, so that even as she shares her message, she is not alone.

Luke's gospel shows us another side of Christ's power to transform mourning into life when he appears to the travelers on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:19-35). They are confused, downcast, and even admonished by the stranger to whom they share the account of what has passed. They are refugees, fleeing the elite of Jerusalem who put their Master to death and shattered their hopes for the Messiah, who was to liberate them from oppression and realize their hopes for salvation. Turns out they do not believe, or understand, what must pass as the Son of Man suffers in order to enter glory. Still, something happens in their hearts when this stranger speaks of scripture with them. They take a risk, and invite the man to share a meal with them. They open themselves to Jesus, even with their doubts intact and the pain of recent days still fresh in their minds and hearts. Then, at the moment that the bread is broken, all those at table recognize the stranger in their midst. It is Jesus. He has been raised! Jesus at once disappears from their sight, but the missiological undertones remain. The apostles go at once to Jerusalem and tell of all that has happened. The message begins to spread. The flame is ignited, even when the Lord is no longer present with the community in the security of physical form.

I think this is a comforting message for those of us who struggle with pain, loss, and defeat in our faith and discipleship of Jesus. In the face of death, our loyalty to God can be called into question. Surely this puts us in good company with the disciples as they mourn at the tomb. But the scandal of the empty tomb compels a response so vivid as to break our insecurities in the most dramatic way: we share the news! The Resurrection is an invitation to share in the new life of Christ. Our pain and defeat are not erased, rather we see them in the new light of the empty tomb. Jesus rises with the wounds still in his body. Yet they are a testament to faith. Later in Luke, Thomas' doubt is erased upon seeing the wounds.

Today I am compelled to acknowledge my pain, my defeat, and recognize all the death that I share with Christ as he is elevated upon the cross of my salvation. He is buried, and He rises to new life. I now share the spectacular victory, freedom from death, and the truth that I am healed. Today is a new day, and I can let go of the past, and recognize the risen Christ calling my name as I weep at the tomb. I can recognize the stranger with me on the road so that I can invite him to share with me in the intimacy of table fellowship. I listen to the burning of my heart (Luke 24:32). I have the hope that he reveals himself. I have the hope that in this transformation, I can share in the newness of life. Time to go forth and tell of all that has passed! Truly we can embody in our healed selves the truth of what Saint Francis preached centuries ago: "Take care to preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words." We remember in the Saint's example to do both with fervent vision and renewed hope.

This Easter, I invite you to recognize that pain, suffering, and loss that you may bring fresh to the tomb. How can we acknowledge that we share in the Resurrection with our Lord? Moreover, how can we share the wonderful news passed onto us? He is Risen!