“Death Has No Victory”

by Bruce J. Johnson

April 20, 2003

Easter Sunday

 

Today is the church’s big day—Easter Sunday. It is a day on which we celebrate the culmination of all that has preceded it and the commencement of all that God intends to have follow. Our journey has been from Bethlehem and its cradle to Jerusalem and its cross. And today we gather at an empty tomb and it is decision time: does death or life and life eternal have the victory?

On this day I’m suppose to work things into a crescendo, so I ask for all of us---how far we have actually come… have we made it all the way from curiosity to commitment through despair and death to the joy of resurrection and the birth of true and living faith?

 

I picked up the ‘Life’ section of the Hartford Courant on Friday and chuckled over the headline: “Caution: Moose Ahead.” It was an article warning the people of Connecticut, especially the state’s drivers, “The moose are loose!” Maine, though, has the largest population and the most accidents.                                              (Hartford Courant, 4/18/2003)

 

This reminded me of the story of the two old codgers who went hunting for moose in the forests surrounding Moose Lake in the northwest part of Maine. As the pilot of the small airplane let them off on the shore of the lake he reminded them,

“Like I said, I’ll be back in three days. But remember this is a small plane. There is room for the two of you and one moose!

 

When, three days later, the pilot returned and taxied to the shore, he was irritated to see between the two boys, standing proudly with their rifles, not one but two moose, huge ones at that! (The article on Friday said that Moose could be 6 feet tall and weigh 1400 pounds!)

 

            “Look,” he said, I told you--- the two of you and one moose.”

 

The two old timers looked at each other in surprise and answered:

 “Funny, the guy who flew us in last year didn’t complain.”

 

The fear of his competition proving greater than all other fears, the pilot relented. Grumbling, he helped them pile both moose into the little plane, and the two old codgers crawled up and lay down on top of their trophies. The plane took forever to get off the lake, barely cleared the trees on the far shore, and about a quarter of a mile further on clipped a high pine and crashed, sending pieces of its wings and moose antlers in all directions.

 

Finally and fortunately, one of the old codgers came to, pulled his head out of the moss, spied his companion a short way off and asked, “Where are we?”

 

His companion replied:

            “Oh, about a hundred yards further than last year.”

 

I guess that it would be okay to ask this morning “Where are we?” Any further along than last year in what the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth means to us?

 

What’s so interesting about Easter when the gospel according to Mark is read, is that in some ways it brings us backward rather than forward. What I mean by that is that in this account there are more questions than answers. It is not clear that these women believe that love has won and fear and death have lost. It is not clear from the account that these women actually believe that Jesus is risen. We hear early morning secrets, cries and whispers. We read of terrified, terrorized women running away from an empty tomb! Worse yet, they are so afraid they are not telling anyone about the empty stone hewn cave they had just seen! Astonishment, fear and trembling--- rather than resurrection, recognition and rescue—characterize this first Easter story. Mark tells it plainly without much dressing up.

 

On that first Easter, at first light, with the first thin streaks of color in the sky, Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of James and Salome, came to the tomb expecting to anoint Jesus’ body with their spices. It was not customary to bury the bodies of common criminals; usually they were left to the vultures and wild dogs. But a member of the Sanhedrin, Joseph of Arimathea, at odds with the conclusions of his colleagues on the Council, had saved Jesus’ body from this indignity. With Pilate’s permission, he had buried Jesus in a tomb; a great circular stone, which, like a cartwheel, ran a groove across the opening, then closed the tomb.

 

Arriving at the tomb, the women are startled to see the stone rolled away and a youth sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe. They are all shocked when he speaks to them, “Do not be amazed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. Jesus has risen and is not here; see the place where they laid the body. But go, tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus goes before you to Galilee.”

 

In this first Gospel narrative, no one sees Jesus; there are no tearful recognition or reunion scenes. There are no powerful earthquakes, no trembling guards—and no answers.

 

My heart goes out to this company of women, who on Good Friday had watched it all from a distance, in agony of mind and spirit. Now is their first chance to anoint the body of their friend, and they are pushed out again into the darkness of fear and trembling. No wonder they fled the tomb and withheld the story from others!

 

Try to imagine this moment--- standing in the dark and empty cave in which the body of Jesus had been placed only days before. Try to imagine the emptiness in the hearts of the women as they stood there in that empty tomb. It was a moment when everything in their lives must have seemed like it came to a screeching halt.

 

Of the four Gospel resurrection stories, Mark is the only one who dares to leave us in such a state of apprehension and suspense. As the women flee the tomb, we are left to wonder:

“How did anyone find out about Jesus’ resurrection if they were so dumbfounded and filled fear—so much so that their first response was to say “nothing to anyone!”

 

Obviously, at some point, they moved beyond their grief and confusion, their fear and their immobility but we are not told that. The gospel does end, however, with a footnote, indicating that some accounts include post-resurrection appearances. I, for one, prefer the shorter version because I think that that’s the beauty of the Markan account of that First Easter—that in some ways it leaves the resolution of the narrative up to each us. We write the ending with what we do with the fact that the tomb was empty and the reason is that “He is risen.”

 

Do you all remember that wonderful movie that starred Richard Dryfuss, “Mr. Holland’s Opus?” There is that wonderful scene at the end when all his former students return for a reunion to honor him on his last day of employment and his first day of retirement. The governor, a former student, gives a speech, claiming that all those who are now gathered to honor him are his symphony!

 

Well, the truth of the resurrection stands on its own but its transforming effect on people’s lives- our lives--what we feel, what we think and whether we live and how we live and why we choose to love is placed in our hands. We are the ending to Mark’s Gospel and living testimonies to the power of the news of Christ’s resurrection.

 

There was wonderful article in yesterday’s New York Times about the religious pilgrimage that Shiites are now free to take--- from every city or town in Iraq to the Holy City of Karbala. Here’s a quote:

 

“Shiites can journey freely across Iraq now, with a song of joy.

                                                                    (New York Times, B1)

 

Our journey today is not to some Holy City but home…. And it is meant to be taken freely and with a song of joy because Christ is Risen!

 

In today’s Easter lesson, the women are told to tell the disciples and Peter what they had seen and heard and no matter what—get back to Galilee where they have their homes and families, neighborhoods and jobs and there they would see him and talk to him. Today’s fear will be transformed into confidence, today’s doubt into faith and today’s s despair into joy and wherever they go then—they will go freely with a song of joy!

 

Arthur Gordon, in his book, A Touch of Wonder, tells the following story:

 

“One raw, cold day last winter, I found myself having lunch at the seaside cottage of some friends, an attractive young couple in their twenties. The only other guest was a retired college professor, a marvelous older gentleman, still straight as a lance after seven decades of living. We had planned a walk on the beach after lunch. But as gusts of wind shook the house and occasional pellets of sleet hissed against the windows, our host’s enthusiasm dwindled visibly.

 

“Sorry” said the wife, “but nobody’s going to get me out of this house in this weather. “That’s right” her husband agreed comfortably.

So we left them, finally, the professor and me, preparing to do just that. But when we went to our cars, parked some distance away, I was astonished to see the professor open the trunk of his ancient sedan and take out an ax. “Lots of lovely driftwood out there,” he said, gesturing toward the windswept beach. “Think that I’ll get a load for my fireplace.”

 

I stared at him. “You’re going out there to chop wood? On this sort of afternoon?

 

He gave me a quizzical look. “Why not?’ he said. It’s better than practicing the deadly art of nonliving, isn’t it?” And with ax slanted across one shoulder, he set off through the dunes.

I watched him go with the sudden odd feeling that something was wrong here, something curiously inverted in this scene and I was left with a choice and little time to make it.

 

“Wait,” I heard myself calling to him, “Wait, I’m coming!”

 

I think that’s the big choice Easter presents and especially the Gospel according to Mark. Will we give into our fear and our confusion and a paralytic state of unknowing and in the process practice the deadly art of nonliving or will we go forth as we have been told with a song of joy? For indeed, “Death has no victory” and the risen Christ has gone on before us. And all that is required of us to shout out:

 

 “Wait, we’re coming!”

                                       Amen