by The Rev. Dr. Pamela Dolan

Three women, on a road, talking. This is how the final chapter of the Gospel of Mark begins; with three women, by all accounts the final remaining disciples still faithful to Jesus, who have work to do.

According to Mark, these three women had often cared for Jesus when he was in Galilee. Presumably they followed him into Jerusalem, participating in that triumphal entry, and had been there as everything began to go dreadfully wrong. The three of them are named as the only followers of Jesus who actually watch the Crucifixion, even if it is from afar. They must have experienced the utter darkness that covered the city during the three hours when Jesus hung from the Cross, and they heard the terrible noise of the Temple curtain being torn apart at the moment of his death. Undoubtedly, they were strong women, who had not had easy lives, and yet it is hard to imagine that anything could have prepared them for the utter desolation and despair of these past few days.

Still, now it is morning, the bleak Sabbath is over, and there is work to be done. Whether it will do any good or not, whether they can make any real difference of not, they are going to attend faithfully to the body of their beloved Jesus. They know well that they are likely to be stopped by an insurmountable obstacle before they can even begin their work—the tomb might still be guarded, after all. And even if the guard had left, there was the problem of the stone. The two Marys had seen with their own eyes the enormous stone that had been rolled across the entrance of the tomb and now they have no idea how they are going to be able to move it out of the way so that they can gain access to the body. Thus, that nagging, worrisome question: “Who will roll away the stone for us?” And then, of course, something astonishing happens.

“Who will roll away the stone?” is a question we carry with us day in and day out, and especially so in times of uncertainty and stress. The world teaches us that it is important to be realistic, to have our ducks in a row, to not attempt silly, impossible things that are sure to fail. Faith teaches us something else. When we step forward in faith, as often as not, we find, as the women did, that the stone has already been rolled away. When we step forward in faith, as often as not, we end up astonished, perhaps even amazed into silence, at what happens next, or rather, of what has already happened, of how many unseen helpers have been at work, rolling away the stones that attempt to block our way to freedom, to peace, and to new life.

There’s a beautiful poem by David Whyte that has become for me a kind of Easter poem. It’s called The Opening of Eyes. I’ll just read the a couple of stanzas for now.

The Opening of Eyes
That day I saw beneath dark clouds,
the passing light over the water
and I heard the voice of the world speak out,
I knew then, as I had before,
life is no passing memory of what has been
nor the remaining pages in a great book
waiting to be read.

It is Moses in the desert
fallen to his knees before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
as if to enter heaven
and finding himself astonished,
opened at last,
fallen in love with solid ground.

When I read this poem, I think: if it takes utter astonishment, if it takes being opened at last, to fall in love with solid ground, what must it take to grasp the bodily resurrection of Jesus? And if we don’t fall in love with solid ground, if we don’t feel gratitude for every breath we take, if we don’t marvel at a weed sprouting up from a crack in the sidewalk, what makes us think we will know when we are encountering the sacred, the holy, the miraculous? If we can’t hear the voice of the world speak out, what makes us think we will hear the voice of angels telling us to fear not, for Jesus has been raised and has gone ahead of us to Galilee?

I believe the women at the tomb were broken open and astonished by what they saw there, by all that God had already done, every bit as much as Moses in the desert, throwing away his shoes and falling to the ground in front of the burning bush. Their terror and amazement do not point to a lack of faith, but to the very first stages of a new kind of faith, a new depth of faith, a faith that must in fact begin with astonishment, and fear, silence. They have no words to speak of this wonder that has taken place—not yet. Similarly, the empty tomb is not a symbol of abandonment or futility, as the word “empty” might suggest to us, but rather a sign of possibility, hope, and new beginnings. It reminds us that there is great wisdom in emptiness, in openness, in letting go.

Easter faith, resurrection faith, is what allows us to see with fresh eyes. How beautiful, how astonishing it is to see that the stone has already been rolled away, and to become truly aware of how much has already been done for us, of how exquisitely dependent we are on one another and on the created world, and how much we have already received, thanks to the goodness and generosity of the world as it is and even more so as it can be.

Make no mistake, our efforts, like those of the women, are welcome and salutary, but they are secondary to the great work that God has already done. The day has already been fulfilled, the work of redemption is already in motion, life as we thought we knew it is already changed utterly, because we are changed. Indeed, we will find that our greatest burdens have already been lifted from our shoulders, if only we have the eyes to see and hearts to feel the Good News being offered us.

The Easter message, even when it is embodied in an empty tomb and terrified women, is that God has already triumphed over death and sin, that a new and eternal life has already begun. It is about what happened that day in the garden, and it is also about what is happening every day that we wake with air in our lungs and breath on our lips. We are the unwitting, perhaps undeserving, recipients of so many gifts and so much grace. Once we recognize that life itself is a miracle, then other miracles become as obvious and real as the ground under our feet, and we are ready to fall in love again.

In the words given to us in this morning’s Psalm:

“The same stone which the builders rejected
Has become the chief cornerstone.
This is the Lord’s doing
And it is marvelous in our eyes.
On this day, the Lord has acted;
We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Alleluia! Amen.