Rolling Stones (Easter Sunrise 2015)

 “Rolling Stones”

Mark 16:1-8

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

Easter Sunrise 2015

         Triumph! Victory! Sin and death have been defeated! David’s eternal throne has been occupied! Isaiah’s “new thing” has begun! Love wins! Alleluia!

         Easter proclamation is thick with heroic utterances like these. And in spite of all these happy pronouncements, the women still cannot purchase spices until sundown, until the Sabbath has officially come to a close. In the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the Law may have been superseded by grace, but it remains in full effect for those who have chosen to honor it, for those for whom it has become a kind of righteousness drug, and for those who have been so beaten into submission by it that they remain entombed behind this apparently immovable stone.

         Rome holds a similar power. Jesus will not be the last criminal crucified on Golgotha. Caesar still demands taxes, worship, and the willing conviction of his subjects to take up the tools of violence and don the uniforms of expendability on behalf of the state. It seems that plowshares may always be nothing more than swords in waiting, even in the hands of those who follow the Prince of Peace who speaks words of blessing on the meek, the peacemakers, and those who endure persecution for his sake.

         The Prince of Peace whose most direct references to the Law include the revisionist words, “You have heard it said…but I say to you…”

The Prince of Peace who is now risen, but who still has his work cut out for him as he continues to raise us from the catacombs of legalistic and competitive religion, and from religion that buries us in mortal conflict with a vengeful, all-too-human god who tries us with temptations and tempts us with trials, a “god” who is, finally, powerless to save us until we empower that god with our consent.

         “Who will roll away the stone for us?” ask the women. Oh, Sweet Jesus, who indeed? From that first Easter morning to this one, mountains of stones stand firmly in place.

We could recite a litany of stones, but many of them would end up being big things like poverty, hunger, climate change, and endless wars. We can and must do our part on the big things, but none of us alone will change the course of global events. Jesus was the original practitioner of the contemporary proverb, Think globally; act locally. And his efforts did change and continue to change the world. Not being Jesus, though, we can only chip away at one stone at a time.

The women are concerned with a particular stone. And that stone prevents them from a particular task – embalming Jesus’ body. I find it very interesting that these women head off to the tomb on Sunday morning without a plan. As they trudge toward the tomb, they have no idea how they will enter it. It makes me wonder: Had they not gotten to know Jesus, had they not followed him, and listened to him teach, and watched him roll away one stone after another, would they even be heading for the tomb? Might they not have just rolled over in bed saying, “Ah, let somebody else pour Old Spice on him. It was too good to be true, anyway”?

To everyone with eyes to see and ears to hear, Jesus demonstrates the art of rolling stones away. He shows us how to live – boldly and graciously – beyond the political, social, religious and even physical boundaries that seem to hold the same kind of permanent authority as death itself. And while all of his followers have witnessed these things, Jesus’ courage and hope seem to have taken deeper root in these three women than in his twelve male disciples. That wretched crew of traitors is cowering behind locked doors, hiding from soldiers and shadows.

The lesson comes into focus: Stones don’t get rolled away by circling the wagons, digging in our heels, and playing it safe. Stones get rolled away by living in the throes of death-defying faith.

I recently flipped through a collection of inspirational sayings, scripture verses, and personal reflections that someone gave to my wife. In that diverse assortment was a quotation borrowed from a greeting card. The quotation reads: “Each one of us who travels further than the obstacles will know a different kind of life from that time on.” (J. Stone)

That little proverb contains Easter truth. To travel beyond an obstacle is to roll away some stone that seals some tomb. Now remember, the givens for us are obstacles and travel. They can be overwhelming obstacles and wearisome travel. Even if the women don’t have to cover a lot of ground, their Sunday morning walk becomes a terrifying trek that takes them into and beyond Jesus’ death. This journey transforms and transports them. After this walk, the women still occupy the same time and space, but they live in the realm of resurrection.

How each of us experiences that depends on who we are, and how we connect with pain and possibility in the world. For Thomas to have that experience, he must touch Jesus’ physical wounds, and thus the deep wounds of the creation. On the lakeshore, Peter is forced to see that his self-preserving denials are spiritual rigor mortis. When Jesus asks Peter three times, “Simon, do you love me,” it is the same as Jesus calling Lazarus out of the grave. Paul must get knocked from his horse and blinded before being shown his new path. Each of these followers of Jesus dies with Jesus and must have some stone rolled away before they can fully appreciate how far beyond the obstacles they have come. Each of them learns, by gracious necessity, to live in a world in which their ultimate destination is the same as their ultimate origin: the Love of God.

Years ago I went on a personal retreat at a place called the Well of Mercy down near Statesville, NC. It is run by a couple of nuns who belong to an order called the Sisters of Mercy. I went there with a pastor friend. We spent time talking about personal issues big and small. We spent time in solitude, as well. And the moment I remember most vividly was from a vesper service led by one of the nuns.

The sister invited all who were interested to join her in a small room for a time of meditation and prayer. My friend and I went. Everyone sat on pillows on the floor. The sister read some scripture. She allowed for long, rich silences. Then she told us of a kind of vision she had, a vision of God. In her vision, God was a woman carrying a basket full of gifts. The gifts she gave were whatever the receiver most needed. The sister invited us to ponder what we thought we needed, and what we might ask God for.

I imagined God as a woman with a basket. And while this may sound contrived, I have to say, she was stunningly beautiful, but with the most unpretentious beauty. As she drew close, I felt myself go tense with anger. “Answers!” I demanded. “I want answers!” I don’t remember exactly, but I’m sure that I wanted answers to the kind of unanswerable questions that humankind has been asking for eons.

When I screamed my rage at God, she turned to me and smiled the most disarming smile you can imagine. Then she leaned in and she kissed me ever so gently on the cheek. But in that kiss there lay a depth of passion that completely stilled and silenced me.

After living with that experience, I have realized that my questions about a suffering world’s agony, that all my stony doubts and righteous indignation are answered with a kiss – a kiss that says, I Love You. A kiss that says, Now, go and share my Love, because to Love as you are Loved is to make resurrection real for those who suffer.

Resurrection is not about ending suffering. It’s about entering it in Christ’s name. Even if it kills us.

May you find in your Easter baskets a kiss from God. And may you discover that God is already rolling away whatever stones keep you from living in and inviting others into the realm of Resurrection, the realm we call the eternal kingdom of God.

Brothers and sisters, he is risen. He is risen indeed!