Sermon: “Ahead of You”

Text: Matthew 28:1-10

Easter Sunday (A)

March 23, 2008

Scripture introduction.  Our second reading this morning is Matthew’s account of Easter morning, the day of Jesus’ resurrection.  All four of the gospels tell us of that morning.  Yet although their basic message is the same, each version differs slightly from the others.  I have always viewed this as evidence that the narratives are genuine.  Slight differences in stories of the same event are to be expected when the accounts come from different cities and were written down forty years or more after the events in question.  We would be surprised and suspicious if all the versions were identical.

In Matthew’s gospel we read that Mary Magdalene and the “other Mary,” arrived at the tomb of Jesus early on Easter morning.  In contrast to what we read in other gospels, in Matthew they came not to anoint Jesus’ body and to cover him in spices, but rather to “see the tomb.”  With a company of Roman soldiers guarding the place, they probably knew they would not have access to the body.  They must have come simply to keep faithful vigil.  After they arrived, however, amazing things began to happen. 

There was a great earthquake, and an angel came down from heaven and rolled the great wheel-shaped stone away from the front of the tomb.  Having done so, he sat jauntily on top of it.  (In my imagination I can almost see him wiping the dust off his hands!)  The guards, who were there to make sure that the dead man stayed in the tomb, ironically became as dead men themselves.  The angel told the women that Jesus was not inside—that he had been raised—and he invited them to see the empty tomb for themselves.  Thus, we can reasonably infer that the stone was removed not to let Jesus out—he already was out!—but rather to allow the women to see that he was gone.  Soon the women themselves encounter Jesus, and he greets them almost casually with a common phrase that we might translate as “Good morning.”  The women recognize Jesus immediately and—as we learn only from Matthew—take hold of his feet as they kneel in worship.  We know from other scriptures that Jesus’ resurrection body is unusual in some ways; nevertheless, Matthew wants us to understand that it is physical, of this world.  The risen Jesus can be recognized; and he is no floating spirit or ghost.  You cannot hold the feet of a ghost.

Sermon.  On an August day in 1976 a car traveling at top speed came swerving down a neighborhood street in Belfast, Ireland.  There were rifle shots from the police; and the wounded driver lost control of the car, which careened off the road.  At that very time a young mother was out with her children.  The car plowed into the lot of them, severely injuring the mother and killing three of her four children.  This horrific incident was not so very unusual given the state of affairs in Northern Ireland in 1976.  For years the British police had been battling it out with the Irish Republican Army, which claimed to represent the Catholics in Northern Ireland.  Soon, the Protestant militias, too, entered the conflict, and from that point on even those of us in the United States were served up in our TV news a nightly dose of bombings, shootings, and other killings, as these ostensibly Christian groups engaged in a cycle of terrorism and revenge killings that shocked the conscience of the world.  In a way, this particular incident was no different from the others.  The driver of the car was a member of the I.R.A., and he was fleeing police pursuit.  The dead children and the severely injured mother were simply innocent bystanders.  Every war has them.  Today we call it “collateral damage.”

But because of how two women reacted, this incident was unique.  The first was Betty Williams, a housewife who lived nearby.  She heard the noise of the crash, rushed to the scene, and witnessed the death and destruction.  At that moment, something clicked in her spirit.  She knew that the violence and the terror had gone on too long.  She resolved that, since the political leaders seemed powerless to stop the killing, the people themselves would have to rise up.  Already there were belligerent marchers on the Protestant and Catholic sides; in her vision, there also needed to be marchers for peace.  The more vocal she became, the more the media began to take notice.  One of the first persons to answer her call for peace marchers was Mairead Corrigan, the sister of the woman who was injured, the aunt of the children who were killed.

Betty Williams was a Protestant, and Mairead Corrigan a Catholic.  Together they created a multi-faith organization called “Peace People,” which called the warring factions to respect the lives of the very people they claimed to protect and to explore non-violent possibilities for resolving the historic conflict.  When Egil Aarvik presented the Nobel Peace prize to these two women in 1977, their movement was still quite new.  It was not clear how things would turn out.  He said,

These two women who share the Peace Prize for 1976 have refused to bow to bleak skepticism: they simply acted.  They never heeded the difficulty of their task; they merely tackled it because they were so convinced that this precisely was what was needed.  There was no talk here of ingenious theories, of shrewd diplomacy or pompous declarations.  No, their contribution was a far better one: a courageous, unselfish act that proved an inspiration to thousands, that lit a light in the darkness, and that gave fresh hope to people who believed that all hope was gone.[1]

That was more than thirty years ago, and the Peace People never gave up.  Almost exactly one year ago today, Gerry Adams, the leader of Sinn Fein, the political wing of the Irish Republican Army, met in a joint press conference with Rev. Ian Paisley, the head of the Protestant Democratic Unionist Party, to announce an agreement to share power in the government of Northern Ireland.[2]  So far, the peace has held.

In fact, if we are seeking examples of Christian hope in this world, there is no need to go across the ocean.  Right here in this congregation I have seen examples of persons who stubbornly continue to hold their faith despite the daily reality of tragedy, loss, and illness.  I won’t single anyone out because there are too many examples.  A moment’s consideration will bring to our attention friends who are living each day by hope, and into hope.  We are grateful for your inspiring witness.

In this morning’s gospel passage, the angel tells the two Marys to inform the disciples that Jesus is “going ahead of” them to Galilee, where they can meet him.  Of course, Jesus always was ahead of his disciples.  And he goes ahead of us.  As Paul wrote in First Corinthians, Jesus by his resurrection has become the first fruits of those who have died, and who will die.[3]  That is, he leads the way—goes ahead of us—in resurrection of the body after death.  Again, Paul says in Romans, “For if we have become united with Him in the likeness of His death, certainly we shall be also in the likeness of His resurrection . . . .”[4]  We are not certain exactly what the resurrection body of Jesus was like, but we can expect ours to be like his.

It is hard to overstate the importance of this affirmation.  Our eternal life will not be as is imagined by some.  We will not be absorbed into God, or into the greater creation, losing our personality as individuals as we merge into the greater consciousness of the Universe.  While all of us have been created us in the image of God, each of us is different.  According to C.S. Lewis each of us has been created for a unique eternal purpose, which it will be our glory to fulfill in the Kingdom of God.[5]  God created us good and, although we often have put God’s good creation to unholy purposes, in Christ we will be reconciled and repaired, once again showing the glory with which God first conceived us, performing with honor the eternal task that has been assigned to each of us uniquely.

That is part of the Christian hope—our hope for the future, for our future beyond this life.  Yet our hope is also for our present life.  If God cares enough about our material existence to preserve our identity when we become spiritual bodies, then God must also be concerned with all creation.  If our physical bodies are not destroyed, but rather transformed into something recognizable, but even better, then we can believe that God will not destroy this world in which we currently live, but rather will transform it—is already transforming it—into what God intended from the beginning. 

When the Allied armies successfully stormed the beaches at Normandy, World War II was not over.  But looking back we can see that it was the beginning of the end.  Given the population and productive capacity of the United States and a delivery point on the Atlantic Coast of Europe, it was only a matter of time until the Nazi armies were defeated.  To be sure, there were battles to be fought in the hedgerows of Normandy and later at the Battle of the Bulge.  The outcome was not so clear at the time, but in retrospect the end was already determined.[6]  At the time Mairead Corrigan and Betty Williams began their movement, they could not have known that thirty years later the civil war would end.  But they had hope and faith that God was still active in the world and was bringing about reconciliation.  Like the battle of Normandy, like that day on which Betty Williams let her voice be heard, the resurrection of Jesus, his victory over the powers of death and destruction, was the beginning of the end.  Sin and death no longer have the last word, and we can be assured of the final outcome—God’s complete reconciliation of all creation, which has been groaning for the day of liberation from dark forces.[7]

Many battles remain, and we are called to fight them.  But we strive in complete assurance of a victorious outcome.  Therefore, we Christians have a hope not only for the hereafter, but also for this weary old world in which we live.  Our hope is not for the destruction of this world, but rather for its complete redemption.  We hope for a victory that does not destroy evil, but rather transforms it back into the goodness that God intended from the beginning. 

As we engage ourselves with this hope, we know that God has power to redeem.  Betty Williams and Mairead Corrigan, and what they accomplished with their “Peace People,” remind us of how God adds to our strength when we rise up and say to the forces of darkness and despair, “Enough!”  In examples like this, and in the hope that we see daily among our own members, we experience God’s victories, and we ourselves are inspired to action.  On this Easter morning, we are as confident of the outcome as the angel who sat so casually atop the stone.  We see Jesus, we recognize him, we experience his grace and forgiveness.  We kneel to worship, holding the feet that will go ahead of us.  When we hear his voice, his simple “Good morning,” we know that the future is in his hands.  It is a new morning.  It is a new day.  Hallelujah!