God is faithful.
In the midst of deepest night for this beloved world, God gives blessing.
Alongside our weeping, joy sings out with strength and surrender:
Easter is here.
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Matthew 28:1-10
1After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And 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. 3His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. 4For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7Then 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.” 8So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. 10Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”
On this Easter morning I’m considering—and clinging to—the power of AND.
Earlier this week I couldn’t imagine celebrating Easter today. I didn’t feel ready to proclaim resurrection.
I wanted to wait in the dark of Holy Saturday and allow the grief of this Good Friday time to keep washing over me.
I wanted to wait at the foot of the cross, where there’s such strange comfort in knowing that our Savior experienced the same crushing heartache that marks our lives.
I wanted—more than anything—to linger at the table in that upper room where Jesus shared a last meal with his friends. I wanted to avoid all of this altogether—gather around a table with all the friends and family I miss so much and bask in the warmth and laughter and love of it all—and not go out to the garden, not go to face the betrayal and the arrest and the wrongful conviction, not wake up to the virus’ morning death count, not expose myself to the fear and the grief.
I wasn’t ready for Easter. I couldn’t begin to imagine how to celebrate in the midst of such a time.
And then I remembered the power of AND.
e see it in our gospel reading for this day. The women, on that first Easter morning, left the tomb quickly with fear AND great joy. The first witnesses of the resurrection experienced fear AND great joy. We, too, can give ourselves permission to feel fear AND great joy on this day, an Easter unlike any we’ve ever known.
We can yearn to go back to a different time AND celebrate the incomparable gift of this day.
We can pray for things to be different AND recognize the blessings we’re receiving even now.
We can weep at the foot of the cross AND stand at the empty tomb.
We can wait in the dark AND rejoice in the light—the SON-rise of this Easter morning.
With fear AND great joy, we can spread the good news that Jesus has been raised from the dead and that indeed he goes ahead of us no matter where the journey leads.
Go quickly, the angel says to the women, 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.’ The women leave the tomb. They obey the angel. They’re not paralyzed by what they’ve seen and heard. They’re not rendered immobile by their fear. The guards shook and became like dead men. But the women—the ones who knew Jesus before his death, the ones who had followed him and had provided for him, the ones who loved him and were loved by him, the ones who were there when he took his last breath, still providing for him even in death—the women leave the tomb quickly with fear AND great joy.
They leave that place of death. It doesn’t hold the one they love any more. He’s not there. Death couldn’t hold him. And now death cannot hold them.
They leave the tomb quickly. They run to tell the disciples the good news they’ve been given to share.
And while they’re on their way—with fear AND great joy—suddenly Jesus meets them. He meets them in their fear AND in their joy. He doesn’t wait. The angel had said the women would see Jesus in Galilee, that he would go on ahead and meet them there. But Jesus refuses to leave them alone with their fear AND great joy. He meets them on their way to a promised future. He meets them where they are.
He meets you where you are on this Easter morning filled with yearning AND celebration, weeping AND singing, waiting AND rejoicing, deep grief AND great joy.
And what does Jesus say to those first witnesses to the resurrection? What does Jesus say to us, on this Easter morning?
Do not be afraid.
The word of Jesus creates what it declares. Do not be afraid, coming from the mouth of Jesus, is less a command and more a declaration. As if to say, you may fear, but you are not afraid. Fear doesn’t define you. Fear isn’t who you are. No. You are a beloved child of God. You are joined to the one who has risen from the grave. You are a witness to new life emerging from deepest sorrow and struggle.
No, you are not afraid. You are not the sum of your fears. You are not the weight of your tears. You are death-defeating love. You are through-the-night hope. You are a witness, beloved one…in your fear and in your great joy.
Jesus meets you in all those times and places where you have come to believe that death holds sway and he gives you a word to share. Do not be afraid. Sing it through your tears. Whisper it through your fears. Tell it to yourself and tell it to the ones who need to hear; tell it to this broken and hurting world. Jesus meets you where you are. Fear does not define you. Death does not have the final word. Easter is here. Amen.