The Ven. Margaret Grayden
Easter Vigil; April 8, 2023
Matthew 28: 1-10
Have you ever noticed that when something really important is about to happen in the Bible, an angel dressed in white appears, saying, “Do not be afraid”? I don’t know about you, but when I imagine myself in the place of the women at the tomb that first Easter, my instinctive response is to be afraid…to be very afraid! Not afraid in the sense of being terrified—I don’t believe God intends us to cower in terror in response to the Good News that Jesus has been raised and that death no longer has dominion over Him. But rather, afraid in the sense of “holy awe”—the intuitive recognition that something much larger than ourselves is at work here, something holy and mysterious, something we do not and cannot truly understand.
Knowing the story as we do, it is easy to forget just how amazing that message is. The narrative in Matthew is short and to the point. It announces the fact of the Resurrection and ends with the command to go and spread the word. It offers neither explanation nor interpretation. And perhaps that’s how it should be—after all, how can we possibly explain something as unprecedented, as earth-shattering, as awesome as the Resurrection of the One who lived and died as one of us, fully human and yet fully God?
As Episcopalians in the Anglican tradition, what we believe about Jesus is reflected not in a written document such as a confession, but rather in the words that we say with others in our worship. During one of our Eucharistic Prayers, we affirm the mystery of faith by saying: “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.”[1] Religion is not the same as science. If someone could “prove” that Jesus physically rose from the dead, there would be no need for faith. It would be a matter of historical fact, like the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.
It is enough for me that Jesus rose. How do I know this? The love and compassion that God through Jesus Christ has manifested in my life are what convince me that in some way Jesus overcame death and rose again—otherwise, how could I know (and be known by) Him? This is a different kind of “knowing” than the certainty of scientific knowing. It is the knowing of my heart, the knowing of my lived experience of faith. In the words of singer-songwriter Iris DeMent, sometimes you have to “just let the mystery be.”[2] Some things are so awesome and mysterious that they are beyond human understanding—and that’s okay.
For my part, the journey to belief in the Resurrection has been a long one. When I was baptized thirty-three years ago, at the Easter Vigil at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Berkeley, I had a lot of questions about the Resurrection. I didn’t know what to believe. What I did know was that I was drawn to Christ, that I longed to become part of His church and serve Him. Much later, I came to understand that what matters is not the details of the Resurrection—how exactly Jesus was raised from the dead. What matters is the fact of the Resurrection, and our response to that fact.
Christians are “an Easter people.”[3] We are called to treat Easter as a verb, not as a noun. That is, Easter isn’t simply a religious holiday that we celebrate as a sort of liturgical reward for surviving the rigors of Lent. Rather, Easter is a way of living, of what theologian Megan McKenna calls “practicing resurrection.” Although we can’t literally bring the dead back to life, make no mistake–there are other ways to practice resurrection, that is, to bring new life to people and to situations in which all appears to be lost. As McKenna explains, “Every time I bring hope into a situation, every time I bring joy that shatters despair, every time I forgive others and give them back dignity and the possibility of a future with me and others in the community, every time I listen to others and affirm them and their life, every time I speak the truth in public, every time I confront injustice…I bring people back from the dead.”[4]
This is what it means to practice resurrection. It means being a candle of hope, a light in the darkness of this broken and hurting world. When we cultivate new connections—for example, through our Seeds of Justice and land-based ministry initiatives—we create new life. When we open our hearts to help our neighbors—for example, by creating a Project (Re)Start disaster response bin or by donating to our Easter offering in support of UC Davis students experiencing homelessness and an Afghan refugee family resettling in Sacramento—we create hope.
On this most wonderful and holy night, as we prepare to welcome Ben, Joe, Jordan, and Yanbing into the Body of Christ through the sacrament of Holy Baptism, I can’t help but think of my own baptism and faith journey. It took many years before I could accept and even welcome the gift of not knowing and not understanding certain things. After all, we live in a post-Enlightenment world in which rationality and reason are valued and mystery is denigrated. It is hard to suspend disbelief and accept the gift of faith. But with God’s grace, we can do that. My prayer for Ben, Joe, Jordan, and Yanbing—and indeed, for us all—is that no matter the twists and turns of our spiritual journeys, as we continue to growth in faith, may we always have that felt sense of God’s love and compassion for us, to anchor us even—and especially when—we don’t understand. May that love move us all to practice resurrection each and every day.
AMEN
[1] Eucharistic Prayer A, The Book of Common Prayer 1979, p. 363.
[2] https://genius.com/Iris-dement-let-the-mystery-be-lyrics
[3]https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/angelus/1986/documents/hf_jp-ii_ang_19861130.html
[4] https://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/practices/naming-the-days/view/10963/easter-resurrection-as-a-spiritual-practice
