Although today's story is about the Resurrection, it's important to remember that less than 72 hours earlier the two Marys in today's Gospel had stood together at the crucifixion of Jesus watching him die. It's a hard thing to watch someone you love die, especially one who dies so painfully. These two women, though, whom Matthew identifies at the cross as Mary the mother of James and Joseph and Mary Magdalene, refused to desert Jesus in his hour of greatest need. Even after Jesus' death the two Marys refused to leave their Lord, following Joseph of Arimathea to the tomb he had provided for Jesus' burial. They were there when Joseph wrapped the body of Jesus in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb. And they were there when Joseph rolled the great stone in front of the rock-hewn tomb, and went away.
Even then - after everyone else had deserted Jesus - the two Marys did not abandon their Lord, but sat opposite his tomb, keeping vigil. I think I understand something of the need of these two women to remain close to the body of Jesus, having discovered at my mother's wake in January that it's a way of feeling close to the beloved. Like the two Marys I knew my mother's spirit had left her body, but I couldn't bear to let her go. I didn't want to leave her alone or to be left alone without my mother. Death feels so final to those left behind, and so the two Marys remain alone at the tomb, after everyone else has gone.
The next day, though, Pilate sends a guard of soldiers to seal the tomb, fearing that Jesus' disciples will steal his body and claim that he has risen from the dead. Matthew doesn't say whether the disciples hear about the sealing of the tomb or not, but neither does he say that the two Marys worry over who will roll the stone away. Rather Matthew simply says that the next morning the two Marys go to "see the tomb," suggesting they expect nothing more than to continue their vigil near the body of Jesus. They don't expect to see the body anymore than they expect to anoint it, as is the case in other Gospels. They simply go to see the tomb, but end up seeing something far greater. They see an earthquake, where an angel of the Lord descends from heaven, rolls back the stone from the tomb and sits on it, glowing in the darkness of the early dawn.
It's a lot to take in, so much so that Pilate's soldiers faint in fear. The two Marys, though, are tough old birds who remain standing, shaking in their sandals until the angel says, "Do not be afraid . . . (Jesus) is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay." And they see. What they don't see, though, is the resurrection. They hear of it when the angel says, "He is not here; for he has been raised;" and they see the empty tomb where he lay, but the resurrection itself happens offstage in all four Gospels. It happens off stage because the resurrection is not something we can see with our eyes but must encounter in our lives.
For this reason the angel of the Lord tells the two Marys, "Go quickly and tell his disciples, `He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.'" In the dailiness of life you will see him; on the road to somewhere else you will encounter him; in the midst of loss and grief you will recognize the Risen Christ/the Living God, which is exactly what the two Marys do, for just as the angel promised, they encounter Jesus on the road to Galilee. Before anyone else sees him, before Jesus appears to his disciples in the upper room, he appears to two women who had kept watch by his side in life and in death. "Greetings," Jesus says to the two Marys, turning their sorrow into joy, their loss into new life.
It seems that seeing is not so much believing, as believing is seeing. Believing is the important part, for the truth is we can't see resurrection, only experience it, just as it can't be proved but only imagined. This is why we have an icon behind the Altar this morning of "The Resurrection." Given in loving memory of long-time parishioner Mary Warr, this enlargement of a 16th century Russian icon is one artist's image of the Resurrection. Like all icons it's not meant to portray a physical reality but a spiritual one, offering us a window into heaven.
This particular icon depicts Jesus straddling the "Doors of Death" or "Gates of Hell" as they are sometimes called. In it Jesus holds the wrists of Adam and Eve whom he has just pulled from the dark abyss of sin and death. On the right side of this chasm, as we're facing the icon, others wait to be lifted up out of the darkness, while on the left, angels trample a fallen angel, presumably the devil. On either side of Jesus stand Old and New Testament saints - prophets, kings and disciples - while below stand eleven more, including five bishops and two kings. The background of this image is predominately gold, suggesting an otherworldly kind of light. Similarly, the artist uses inverse perspective, placing the vanishing points beyond the painting so that the icon itself appears as the source of light inviting our own encounter with resurrection.
I find it a powerful image, suggesting powerful truths. Nevertheless, it's only an image, the truth of which must be experienced: truth, perhaps, like that of an intoxicated Aurora man who in January was pulled from his car by passersby before his car was struck by an oncoming train; truth like that of a young woman on the Golden Gate Bridge saved from suicide by a man who just happened to be there taking pictures; truths like that of 8-year old Sarah Dickman who received a kidney last month from a perfect stranger who'd heard that the child's own parents weren't a match; or "ordinary" truths like our own, where we receive a concerned phone call after a medical test, a covered dish when we're sick, the suggestion of a job if we're out of work, or thousands of other seemingly small experiences in which the Risen Christ/the living God is revealed.
Each of these can be resurrection encounters for those who believe that God is present in our lives, even in times of despair. Conversely, hardship, depression, death or the inevitability of death can be encounters with hell for those unable or unwilling to see beyond the darkness. God doesn't choose darkness for us; doesn't choose hell. Only we can do that, as seen in the decision of a woman who said to her husband at the pearly gates, "Yes, darling, I can see how lovely heaven is, but I just think we'll know more people in hell." I don't believe for a minute that God condemns us to hell. Such belief offends my understanding of God. I do think, though, that some people choose it - choose hatred, terrorism, degradation, even absolute nihilism - so that the Risen Christ/the Living God cannot take hold of us to pull us out of the darkness as our icon envisions.
That said, today - Easter Day - proclaims that even our resistance can be overcome by the Living God, for today is about more than the bursting forth of a dead man from the tomb. It is about God overpowering sin and death. Exactly how this happens is a matter of debate, but THAT it happens is certain, for without the Resurrection we would never have heard another peep about Jesus. Thousands of people were crucified, but only the name and story of Jesus are remembered and retold; only of him is it said, 'He has been raised from the dead, and . . . is going ahead of you to Galilee. There you will see him.'"
Will we? I pray so . . . not with our eyes, which may be impossible to do, but in our lives where it matters most: in the dailiness of life and work; in the faces of family, friends and strangers; in the worship and fellowship of church; and in selfless acts of service we will meet the Risen Christ. What's more I pray that we will meet him in our silence, and so this morning I offer you just a few minutes of silence that you might imagine and encounter resurrection.
Amen.