Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Friends in the Risen Christ, in the words of the psalmist this morning:  this indeed is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!

This morning’s Gospel reminds me of the story of the man who was coming out of church after Easter services, and the pastor was standing at the door shaking hands, and grabbed the man by the hand, pulled him aside and said, “Brother, you need to join the army of the Lord!’  The man replied, “Uh, Reverend, I’m already in the army of the Lord.”  The pastor then asked, “Well, then how come I don’t see you except at Christmas and Easter?”  The man whispered, “I’m in the secret service.”

However, if you felt a bit disappointed and shall I say rather underwhelmed just now (not only with that feeble joke but also) with St. Mark’s version of the resurrection story, an account with those first eyewitnesses of the empty tomb fleeing from that burial place in fear, seized by terror and amazement, and saying nothing to anyone about it, then join the centuries – indeed two millennia – of faithful followers of the Christian tradition who have tried to figure out what in the world went wrong with Mark’s telling of the story, starting with Sts. Matthew, Luke, and John, whose versions are much more triumphant, much more glorious, and, well, much more Christian than St. Mark’s version.

St. Matthew cleans it up pretty well by writing that the women “left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.”

St. Luke, that fabulous feminist of yore, tweaks the story even more in favor of the women than St. Matthew does by writing that while they were at the tomb the women “remembered Jesus’ words and returning from the tomb they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest…but (their) words seemed to them an idle tale and they (the eleven and the others) did not believe them (the women).

And St. John really tries to make it all better by changing it all up, sending only Mary Magdalene to the tomb, wherein she finds not one young man in white but two angels (also in white), and Our Resurrected Lord himself whom she initially mistakes as the gardener until she hears his voice, and then, as St. John writes, she “went and announced to the disciples ‘I have seen the Lord’” and she told them that he had said these things to her.

But the thing about St. Mark’s story is that it is the first and earliest of the gospel resurrection narratives, and that Matthew and Luke both derive their stories from Mark’s account.  In other words, Mark’s being the straight shooter, Mark is being brutally honest, and painfully candid about the initial response to the news of the resurrection.

And by the way, it isn’t that the other Gospel writers aren’t being truthful.  It’s simply that they had different audiences and theologial perspectives and told the resurrection story in their particular way to make their particular point.   And St. Mark’s point is to leave the story just open-ended enough, just uncomfortable enough, just painful enough, that we – the readers – do something about it, come to our own conclusion, come to our own senses!, finish the story for ourselves.

I had just finished preaching on Good Friday over at our neighboring Lutheran church in Ocean Park as part of a 3-hour liturgy from noon until 3:00 p.m.  There had been 5 other Lutheran pastors who had preached before me, each reflecting on the last words of Christ which, if you combine all four Gospels, results in seven sayings or “last words” of Jesus from the cross.  With a quiet organ interlude between each 30-minute section of the service, preachers entered and exited from the chancel by various routes of their own choosing.  The bishop of this synod, Dean Nelson, had already come in and had seated himself next to the doorway into the sacristy where I was planning to attempt to make my subtle exit.  I quietly walked past him toward the door, thinking about how pleased I was that he had been out in the congregation to hear my reflections on the sixth word from the cross, “It is finished.”

And so I nodded at him, and he at me and he whispered “Thanks Jim” quietly, and I gratefully, humbly smiled back.  And then — I could not find the door.  What I mean is, the door blended with the pattern of wooden slats on the wall that created a sort of secret door which was closed and could not be discerned (at least by this very blonde preacher) from the rest of the wall.  All I knew was I needed to get out, and there was a door, somewhere on that wall.  And so I started pulling on slats, and tried three or maybe four slats, pulling and trying my very best to get out without causing a scene, which in fact was already in progress.

In the words of St. Mark, “terror and amazement” had seized me.  Terror that I might have to admit defeat and walk past my bishop and out another way.  Amazement at yet another manifestation of things going the way they can sometimes go.

After what seemed like at least one attempt for each of the seven last words, the realization came:  push.  And then, sisters and brothers, I was SO out of there.  I fled from that tomb in which I had been confronted with my fears, with my insecurities, with my lack of awareness.

The three women at the tomb were also wondering how they were going to get through the doorway.   And even as they were imagining how they might find someone to roll away the stone from the doorway to the tomb, they found it to be open.   And entering the tomb, expecting to anoint the body of Jesus for his final burial, they are greeted instead by a young man in a white robe whose first words they collectively ignore, “Do not be alarmed.”  Too late.  They are alarmed.  And then, after confirming that the one whom they are seeking is in fact “Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified,” he announces to them “He has been raised; he is not here.”  It is the very first proclamation of the resurrection.

What happens next is really a two-fold invitation.   Part A is accepted, but Part B is declined.  First the young man in white invites them to see for themselves.  “Look,” he says, “look, there is the place they laid his body.”  And secondly, he goes on, “But go, tell his disciples – and Peter – that he is going ahead of you.”

They “go” all right, according to Mark, but not to the disciples, and not to anyone else for that matter.  They just plain get out of there, they flee the tomb “for terror and amazement had seized them and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

Sisters and brothers, believe it or not there is good news at every turn in this crazy story.  For as difficult as the doorway to resurrection is to find, it is there.  “Look, there is the place,” says the young man dressed in a white robe.  You will find a resurrection door amid your fears and your confusion, you will find a resurrection door amid your anxieties and your health concerns for yourself or another, you will find a resurrection door amid your stresses over the economyyou’re your employment or lack thereof, you will find a resurrection door amid the brokenness of relationship and shattered hopes and dreams.

There is good news at every turn in this crazy story. “But go, tell his disciples — and Peter” says the young man dressed in a white robe. Remember Peter, the one who had denied Jesus not once, not twice, but three times on the night of his betrayal and arrest?  You see, there is a way out. There is forgiveness, there is inclusion, there is mercy, there is a new beginning, there is no condemnation but rather new life for Peter and for every one of us who has in our own way denied Christ in word or deed.  The risen Jesus makes a way — makes a way out for us — and brings new life, reconciles the whole world to himself, restores all creation to a right relationship with the Creator of all.

There is good news at every turn in this crazy story. “He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you,” says the young man dressed a white robe.  Sisters and brothers, the crucified and risen One goes ahead of you and he will be on the other side of the door. The door of your uncertainty, the door of your unknowing, the door of your fear, the door of death. For by his death and resurrection, Christ has gone ahead of you and has opened the door and won FOR YOU the victory over sin, death, and all the powers of evil. Christ goes ahead of you and Christ will meet you there: there… in the bread and the wine at his table, there… in the cleansing waters of his Spirit Bath, there… in the face of a friend or perhaps even moreso in that of the stranger in your midst, there… in your future that is unclear and uncertain, there… in the present that is difficult and daunting, there… in the past that is painful and provocative.

Easter people, by the grace of God you are who you are: made in the image of God and beloved for all eternity. In the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God shows no partiality and gives the new life of salvation freely to all.  Christ crucified and risen, goes ahead of you and is beside you. All things have become new. Death has been swallowed up in victory. And now, with the psalmist we can truly sing, “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!” Alleluia! Christ is risen!