A sermon for the Church of the Epiphany, Euclid, Ohio, Easter 2024. The prelude to the sermon was a children’s message regarding Adaiah, the Easter bat, who witnessed the stone rolled away from the tomb from the inside of the cave …

The rock has been rolled away, and Jesus is risen. But do you know the really odd thing about this Easter Gospel reading? Jesus is not in it! The promise of him is there, and the evidence of his resurrection, the messenger angel reminding the women that he has already said that he will go ahead of them to Galilee, that he will meet them there, at home. But we do not, they do not physically see Jesus, in this account. 

Perhaps if they did they would be less afraid. As it is, in this original ending to the Gospel of Mark, those women disciples are so awe-struck, so wonder-befuddled, that it frightens them. They were so overwhelmed and overcome by the thought of Jesus’ resurrection that it terrified them. Hope can be a scary animal. 

For the women, for Mary, it might have seemed safer to stay with grief, with bewilderment, with confusion. At least we know what that’s like, right? But this, this miracle, although anticipated, although predicted, although expected; this is like nothing that has gone before. This is beyond experience. This demands a whole new level of trusting Jesus, of believing in what God can do through and in Jesus. And this, a scant sabbath’s rest since they dried the tears they shed on the foot of the cross.

Hope, under such circumstances, while Pilate’s soldiers still hold sway in the city, and their own authorities are suspicious of their association with Jesus; hope, when everywhere they go it seems they see crosses, hope seems not only risky, but almost … disrespectful?

Yet here is an indisputable angel, sitting outside a tomb opened up and emptied of its dead, telling them not only to believe that they will see Jesus back at home, but to share that hope with others.

I think we can relate to their fear, their terror. So much has happened to bury our faith, our hope lately, under the rubble of war, in the river beneath the bridge, under the shattered memories of broken relationships, in the grave. It seems risky to hope, almost disrespectful to announce our hope. Not only that, but there are few enough angels out here giving out good news; if one showed up, we would have to wonder if it had been conjured up by generative AI. Truth is hard enough to find, so hope?

And yet here we are, with the women, approaching the tomb and finding that the stone has been rolled back, and the grave is empty, and that Jesus is risen, and has gone ahead of us. Because that is what we believe, isn’t it? That God has defeated death, and more than that, has given us a new life, with and in Christ Jesus.

We believe, without the benefit of angels or appearances, that he rose from the dead, that the Roman Empire, greatest superpower in history, could do their worst to kill him, but that they could not destroy him. 

We believe that in the midst of trouble, in the midst of unrest and unease, in the midst of our lives, there is no grave that can hold God hostage. We believe that Jesus is risen, and hope has been unleashed.

Because if Jesus is risen, anything is possible. If Jesus is risen, the kingdom of God is truly at hand. If Jesus is risen, injustices can be reversed, violence does not have the final word, mercy can overthrow oppression, humility, humanity is stronger than the imaginations and machinations of mighty and military empires.

And so despite the powers of the world, despite the clouds, despite everything that conspires to make us afraid, we will hope. A friend reminded me last night that the angel’s message from Jesus makes a point of naming Peter; Peter, who we last saw weeping after his denials of Jesus, and the crowing of the cockerel. We hope, because Jesus’ love and forgiveness know no bounds, and because nothing we can do, nothing have done, can stop Christ’s resurrection. We hope because if we can believe in a world where Jesus’ love reigns, where resurrection happens, then perhaps we can help bring it to hand.

We do not see Jesus in this morning’s Easter reading, but like the women at the tomb, we don’t need to see his risen body to know that it is true: that God’s life, God’s love for us – for us! – cannot be destroyed. 

The rock has been rolled away. Jesus is risen. Hope has been unleashed, and love has been set free. Do not be tooafraid to tell of it.