Easter Sunday, March 31, 2024
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
John 20:1-18
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
The easiest of the three is the Sunrise Service. It’s easy because standing, outside, in the cold, means that no one really expects much of anything from the ministers other than coordinating the service with the sunrise – which is sort of the whole point. No sermon, no elaborate liturgy. Just the sun in its course. Easy peezy.
Then there is the 8 am service, the middle child of Easter Sunday. This (That) one is sort of like a dress rehearsal for the much larger and far more boisterous 10 am service. True, at 8 am there is glorious music and I am certainly going to preach, but the expectations are more manageable. Folks at 8 am are still a little sleepy, a little more content with a smaller and more subdued production. Yes, we still proclaim “Christ is risen” but just not too loudly.
But if the Sunrise Service has few expectations, and the 8 am is content to be more subdued, the 10 am service might as well be opening night on Broadway. The pressure is really on. At the 10 am service, with a church full of people, that music better be spectacular, those flowers better be vibrant, and the sermon – well, the sermon needs to tie up all this Resurrection business in a neat and mildly entertaining package, delivered in fifteen minutes… or less. Not so easy peezy. In fact, it makes Christmas Eve seem like kid’s stuff.
Even so, I do love Easter. It is, by far, my favorite Sunday of the year. And I always want it to be spectacular! I want everything to be perfect. I want the sun to shine and the daffodils to have opened. I want 1500 butterflies and trumpets and organ and choir. I do want opening night on Broadway. And I bet some of you do too.
It’s funny what we have come to expect of Easter, considering that on that first Easter Sunday, the total attendance at church that day was two, if you don’t count the angels. And the sanctuary, well, it was a cemetery. And all the action happened while it was still dark.
While it was still dark… those are perhaps the most important words ever recorded about this day. Because none of it makes any sense outside the context of deep darkness.
While it was still dark, a woman named Mary Magdalene traveled, all by herself, to a graveyard. In John’s version, she carried no spices. Instead, she came empty-handed, except, of course, for her broken dreams, her broken heart, and her raw grief.
And you know the story. When she got there, the stone that covered the mouth of the tomb was somehow rolled away. And the body of Jesus was missing.
So, Mary Magdalene ran to get Peter and John. She woke them up with this wild tale. They followed her and found it just as she had said. And then they did what all brave men do. They went back home and went back to bed. They left Mary, a woman of that time and place, all by herself, in a cemetery, while it was still dark.
Imagine, if you can, her grief, loneliness, and despair. Something inside of her broke. And she wept and she wept and she wept, until her grief literally doubled her over. And that’s when she saw them - strangers in the tomb who asked her what was wrong. We call them angels. But that’s just hindsight. For Mary, they were just people who might know where the body of Jesus was.
And then another man appeared, while it as still dark. Mary mistook him for the gardener. Maybe he knew where Jesus was. “If you know, sir, tell me, and I will go and take the body away myself.” As if she could. It was a moment of pure despair and darkness.
And then the stranger spoke. “Mary,” he said. And even though it was still dark, she suddenly saw everything clearly. And she cried out: “Rabbouni” meaning “My dear, dear Rabbi!”
And no one else saw a thing. And no one else heard his voice. And no one else held onto his body. And that makes that first Easter a singular and private and deeply personal event. And thus, it has always been. Churches full of people and glorious music and inspiring words can never prove the Resurrection to anyone. Because the Resurrection is not something to be believed. It is an experience of the living Jesus… and so often in the darkest part of our lives.
The question of this day is not now nor has it ever been: “Do you believe in the Resurrection?” The question of this day is: “Have you ever experienced the Risen Christ?”
Well, Mary did. And it changed her whole life. This woman who was not believed by her friends went from being a disciple (one who follows Jesus) to being an apostle (one who is sent by Jesus). And even though the patriarchy has tried to humiliate her and hide her witness under centuries of misrepresentations about who she really was, the fact remains that we gather here today because she once dared to proclaim what she had experienced: “I have seen the Lord.”
Peter and John did not, at least on that morning. And so, according to the Gospel of John, “they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” Well, how could they since they had not yet seen him. And how can we, unless we too have seen him in the brilliant disguises he so often wears.
The phone rang in the middle of the night. That is never a good thing. It was the call we had been dreading, informing us that Marcos’s mother had died. And so, we got up, while it was still dark, to get ready for the long journey to Brazil to lay her to rest. Death is a very busy business. And there were clothes to pack and airline tickets to purchase and bosses to inform.
We worked all night and into the next morning. Sometime late in the morning, the intercom rang. We weren’t expecting anyone, but I buzzed them in without asking who it was. It was a friend from church, who had somehow heard this news. He didn’t have much to say. Death so often leaves us speechless. But just before he left, he handed me a fistful of cash and said: “It’s not much, but we hope it helps.” And then he was gone.
And there it was, in a wad of crumpled twenties, a promise that we would not traverse that valley of the shadow of death alone. And there it was, that presence that knew our names. And there it was, hope, rising like the dawn.
Skeptics might scoff. Others might dismiss it as a simple act of friendship. But not for me. For me, in that moment, I knew the Risen Christ. And all these years later, I can stand here today, without irony or metaphor, and proclaim, with the Apostle Mary, “I have seen the Lord.”
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
John 20:1-18
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
The easiest of the three is the Sunrise Service. It’s easy because standing, outside, in the cold, means that no one really expects much of anything from the ministers other than coordinating the service with the sunrise – which is sort of the whole point. No sermon, no elaborate liturgy. Just the sun in its course. Easy peezy.
Then there is the 8 am service, the middle child of Easter Sunday. This (That) one is sort of like a dress rehearsal for the much larger and far more boisterous 10 am service. True, at 8 am there is glorious music and I am certainly going to preach, but the expectations are more manageable. Folks at 8 am are still a little sleepy, a little more content with a smaller and more subdued production. Yes, we still proclaim “Christ is risen” but just not too loudly.
But if the Sunrise Service has few expectations, and the 8 am is content to be more subdued, the 10 am service might as well be opening night on Broadway. The pressure is really on. At the 10 am service, with a church full of people, that music better be spectacular, those flowers better be vibrant, and the sermon – well, the sermon needs to tie up all this Resurrection business in a neat and mildly entertaining package, delivered in fifteen minutes… or less. Not so easy peezy. In fact, it makes Christmas Eve seem like kid’s stuff.
Even so, I do love Easter. It is, by far, my favorite Sunday of the year. And I always want it to be spectacular! I want everything to be perfect. I want the sun to shine and the daffodils to have opened. I want 1500 butterflies and trumpets and organ and choir. I do want opening night on Broadway. And I bet some of you do too.
It’s funny what we have come to expect of Easter, considering that on that first Easter Sunday, the total attendance at church that day was two, if you don’t count the angels. And the sanctuary, well, it was a cemetery. And all the action happened while it was still dark.
While it was still dark… those are perhaps the most important words ever recorded about this day. Because none of it makes any sense outside the context of deep darkness.
While it was still dark, a woman named Mary Magdalene traveled, all by herself, to a graveyard. In John’s version, she carried no spices. Instead, she came empty-handed, except, of course, for her broken dreams, her broken heart, and her raw grief.
And you know the story. When she got there, the stone that covered the mouth of the tomb was somehow rolled away. And the body of Jesus was missing.
So, Mary Magdalene ran to get Peter and John. She woke them up with this wild tale. They followed her and found it just as she had said. And then they did what all brave men do. They went back home and went back to bed. They left Mary, a woman of that time and place, all by herself, in a cemetery, while it was still dark.
Imagine, if you can, her grief, loneliness, and despair. Something inside of her broke. And she wept and she wept and she wept, until her grief literally doubled her over. And that’s when she saw them - strangers in the tomb who asked her what was wrong. We call them angels. But that’s just hindsight. For Mary, they were just people who might know where the body of Jesus was.
And then another man appeared, while it as still dark. Mary mistook him for the gardener. Maybe he knew where Jesus was. “If you know, sir, tell me, and I will go and take the body away myself.” As if she could. It was a moment of pure despair and darkness.
And then the stranger spoke. “Mary,” he said. And even though it was still dark, she suddenly saw everything clearly. And she cried out: “Rabbouni” meaning “My dear, dear Rabbi!”
And no one else saw a thing. And no one else heard his voice. And no one else held onto his body. And that makes that first Easter a singular and private and deeply personal event. And thus, it has always been. Churches full of people and glorious music and inspiring words can never prove the Resurrection to anyone. Because the Resurrection is not something to be believed. It is an experience of the living Jesus… and so often in the darkest part of our lives.
The question of this day is not now nor has it ever been: “Do you believe in the Resurrection?” The question of this day is: “Have you ever experienced the Risen Christ?”
Well, Mary did. And it changed her whole life. This woman who was not believed by her friends went from being a disciple (one who follows Jesus) to being an apostle (one who is sent by Jesus). And even though the patriarchy has tried to humiliate her and hide her witness under centuries of misrepresentations about who she really was, the fact remains that we gather here today because she once dared to proclaim what she had experienced: “I have seen the Lord.”
Peter and John did not, at least on that morning. And so, according to the Gospel of John, “they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead.” Well, how could they since they had not yet seen him. And how can we, unless we too have seen him in the brilliant disguises he so often wears.
The phone rang in the middle of the night. That is never a good thing. It was the call we had been dreading, informing us that Marcos’s mother had died. And so, we got up, while it was still dark, to get ready for the long journey to Brazil to lay her to rest. Death is a very busy business. And there were clothes to pack and airline tickets to purchase and bosses to inform.
We worked all night and into the next morning. Sometime late in the morning, the intercom rang. We weren’t expecting anyone, but I buzzed them in without asking who it was. It was a friend from church, who had somehow heard this news. He didn’t have much to say. Death so often leaves us speechless. But just before he left, he handed me a fistful of cash and said: “It’s not much, but we hope it helps.” And then he was gone.
And there it was, in a wad of crumpled twenties, a promise that we would not traverse that valley of the shadow of death alone. And there it was, that presence that knew our names. And there it was, hope, rising like the dawn.
Skeptics might scoff. Others might dismiss it as a simple act of friendship. But not for me. For me, in that moment, I knew the Risen Christ. And all these years later, I can stand here today, without irony or metaphor, and proclaim, with the Apostle Mary, “I have seen the Lord.”
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