April 4, 2021 Easter
After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then 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.’ This is my message for you.” So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”
Who is the “Other Mary”? We know the women discovered the empty tomb, we know they became the first evangelist, but who is this other Mary? I rediscovered this week that she is more than likely Jesus’ mother. Yet she is not identified as such. Maybe to emphasize her discipleship more than her maternity. But that got me thinking about her carrying Jesus and the power of the mother child bond that is unshakable and fierce, wrapped in love and courage.
A pregnant Sue Monk Kidd tells the story of her three-year-old son being afraid of the dark and needing a night light. He asks, “Mama, is it dark inside there where my little brother is?” “Yes” she replied. “He doesn’t even have a night light, does he?” “No, not even a night light.” Bob patted his mother’s abdomen, Sue patted him. Finally, he asked, “Do you think my brother is scared all by himself in there?’ “I don’t think so, because he is not really alone. He is inside of me…” “I carry you right inside me too. Right here in my heart.” (When the Heart Waits, p. 149).
Our journey through Lent has been like a dark womb, a place where we looked at our brokenness and our wounds. Shards of sea glass, broken and smoothed, have held our brokenness and need for healing. Julian of Norwich, a mystic from the middle ages, wrote that “our wounds become our womb” (When the Heart Waits, p. 155). Think about that for a moment. Our wounds become our womb. Our brokenness becomes the place where new life is birthed. This speaks to the awareness that transformation hinges on our ability to turn our pain (the tomb) into a fertile place where life is birthed (the womb) (When the Heart Waits, p. 155). That means that Lent is really like a long gestation period before we get to Easter, the time of new life.
Monk Kidd also writes about “Eastering” as a verb, something that happens inside us. (Can you tell I have been reading her book!) During Holy week worship she recounts, “I moved from my knees back onto the seat. My thoughts about Jesus waiting in the tomb for Easter began to blend with the thoughts I’d had during the week about the soul waiting in the womb for new birth. Womb and tomb. The two words resonated in me. As I listened to the rhyme of sound and then to the rhyme of meaning, I heard the words with new clarity. The darkness of Jesus’ tomb became a place of transformation, a womb, a waiting room of new life” (When the Heart Waits, p. 155).
This week a friend talked to me about the chrysalis and the butterfly as an image for Easter. She loved the image, as do I. But she was not too sure she wanted to go through the oozy part of change and transformation. You know what I mean, a caterpillar does not just grow wings, it completely transforms, becomes a gooey substance before becoming a butterfly. She was afraid, not sure what all that change would mean in her life. Change is scary, but it is needed to leave the womb and be birthed into new life.
We have had a year of womb time, of forming a cocoon around us trying to protect ourselves from COVID. Lots of changes have happened. Masks are now part of our lives, hand washing is a thing, social distancing is now the new normal. But we are also getting ready to emerge from our cocoon and re-enter life- to form a new life. Maybe you are hugging or gathering with family, or venturing out to a restaurant, or thinking about a vacation some time, God willing. It is an “Eastering” time. Trina Paulus writes, “If I have inside me the stuff to make cocoons, maybe the stuff of butterflies is there too” (When the Heart Waits, p. 175).
The resurrection of Christ is the ultimate stuff of new life. Jesus died on the cross for our sins but was not bound by death. One commentator writes “In Jesus, the reign of God breaks open everything that seemed fixed and immovable — even death and stone-cold tombs. The resurrection is an act of love. It is an act of love on the part of God, who will not abandon Jesus to the grave, and will not abandon us to sin and death… God responded with an act of love that made all things new.” (Working Preacher, Elizabeth Johnson)
The women see the angel role away the stone, they see where Jesus lay, they feel the earth shake beneath their feet as the birthing of new life emerges. After this traumatic moment they are rewarded with meeting Jesus anew. Jesus greets them and they grab hold of his feet and worship him. I have to say this reminds me of another time of new birth. When parents meet their baby for the first time after the traumatic moment of birth. They grab hold of his hands and feet, the same child they have known, have carried for months, now meeting in person, in a new way. The women were meeting Jesus in a new way, as their risen Lord. As the one who had victory over death and greets them. The women respond with fear and great joy. Much like new parents bringing home a newborn. Heck just like all of us in life. “Fear of what may happen to our children in a dangerous world; joy at the blessing they are to us and, we pray, they will be to the world…Fear about the fate of a loved one struggling with illness; joy in the gift that person has been to us. Fear about the future amid problems both national and global; joy in the present moment surrounded by those we love.” (Working Preacher, David Lose).
Easter is the celebration of Jesus’ victory over death and the promise of new life in Christ. Jesus surrendered to the cross so that we could live in new life. Eastering is about the changes that happen within us to bring about new life. Our Christian life is made up of lots of smaller changes when we let small parts of ourselves die in order to become more like Christ. When we enter a cocoon to be born again as a butterfly.
Monk Kidd tells of finding a cocoon during a dark time in her life. Attached to a twig, she brings it home and sets it in a pot of African violets. When a storm comes, she brings it inside for safety. One early morning, she rises before her family and senses something. She writes, “Then all at once I knew. I raised my eyes to the pot of African violets on top of the desk. Sure enough, protruding above the rim of the pot was a wing- a startling black wing etched with blue and orange dots. It swayed back and forth. I rose to my feet, awe palpable in my chest. A butterfly! She was almost too glorious to look at. Her new black wings were unfurled against the emerald of the plant- translucent, like dark blades of moving light. The chrysalis opened! In my study, in the gentleness of dawn, grace danced. The bright Mystery waltzed right through me. (When the Heart Waits, p. 175).
Grace danced and the Mystery waltzed as new life emerged. Be it new life from a cocoon, new life from dying to self, or new life in our risen Lord! Easter is a day we embody the gift of new life and celebrate God’s abundant love. Where we are carried in God’s heart. God’s promise of eternal life.
“When I think of the promise of Easter I am reminded of the funeral service of Winston Churchill. At the close of the service that Churchill planned himself, a single trumpeter stood at the west end of St. Paul’s Abby and sounded “Taps,” the song that signals dusk and the close of another day and is frequently played at the end of a military funeral. But after a moment of stillness that followed the last plaintive note of that song, another trumpeter stood at the east end of St. Paul’s, the end that faced the rising sun, and played “Reveille,” the song of the morning and the call to a new day.
Churchill perceived, you see, that Christ’s resurrection signals above and beyond all else that our God is a God of new life and never-ending possibility. The good news of Christ’s resurrection does not take away our fear — though sometimes we wish it would — but it does offer us courage and hope by anchoring us in the sure promise that God will have the last word, and that that word is one of light and life and grace and mercy and love and peace” (Working Preacher, David Lose). Amen.
