Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!
“They left the tomb quickly, with fear and great joy,” writes the author of Matthew’s gospel. With fear and great joy. There is an obvious tension in today’s resurrection story. Two seemingly opposite emotions—fear and joy—are felt simultaneously by the women who encounter an empty tomb guarded by a ghostly angel. There is fear as the earth shakes, the angel descends, and the women begin to worry about what has happened to the body of their teacher. Joy at the possibility—however unlikely, even absurd—that he was raised from the dead, as the angel said. Fear and great joy.
As we celebrate the strangest Easter—surely in my lifetime, maybe for generations—I sense a similar tension. It is hard to ignore—and we shouldn’t ignore—the real fear, pain and suffering going on in our communities: fear of this mysterious coronavirus, the pain and suffering that has resulted in the wake of lost jobs, mandated isolation, severe illness and death. And yet, here we are, gathered, albeit virtually, to celebrate the great joy of the resurrection. Here we are to give voice to God’s transformation of death into new life. Fear and great joy.
As the story from Matthew goes, the women don’t get far before running into Jesus himself, very much alive. Jesus meets them, right in the middle of that tension, right in the middle of that clash of fear and joy. Jesus meets them and says, “do not be afraid.” It’s like Jesus knew that sometimes the new life that emerges can be just as unsettling as the death itself.
Something that I’ve started to think about is the new life that will emerge from this moment in history. What resurrection will we begin to see in our nation? What transformation will we begin to see in our communities? What new life will we begin to see in our congregations, in our families?
I think that new life is already starting to appear. I see it in the countless ways that people are giving of themselves, going over and above to help out their neighbors. I see it in the ways that ordinary people are doing extraordinary and heroic things for the well-being of their community. I see it in the ways that people are re-dedicating themselves to their jobs, their families, their churches. I see it in the ways that people of all ages are finding new ways to connect. I see it in the ways that church leaders are reinventing aspects of their ministry. I see it in the way that the church has been forced to leave the building and get out into the world.
That’s what this Easter story does, it promises the possibility of transformation, it promises the possibility of new life, in every moment—even moments of despair. Even in seasons of suffering, Christ’s resurrection is emerging.
You know, there’s a refrain that is often sung at funerals—even at the grave we make our song. That refrain captures this moment for me. Even at the grave we make our song. Even in fear and death we make our song. Even in despair and uncertainty we make our song. Even physically separated, unsure of when we’ll actually be back together in the sanctuary again, we make our song. And the song that we lift our voices to sing proclaims the great joy of resurrection new life.
I know many of us are looking forward to the day we’ll be able to gather safely outside of our homes, in backyards, in parks, in stadiums, in theaters, at festivals and in sanctuaries. Whatever day of the year it is, it will be an Easter celebration. But in the meantime, God gives us the joy of resurrection each day. God will continue to bring life out of death. God will continue to re-create that Good Friday to Easter Sunday transformation. God will continue to empty tombs. And the resurrected Christ will continue to meet us, especially where fear and great joy collide.
Alleluia, Christ is risen. Christ is risen, indeed, alleluia.