Rolled Back
Mark 16:1-8; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11

April 12, 2009


You may have noticed that many preachers have difficulty ending. A common ailment for preachers, but congregations are the ones who suffer.

Nevertheless, it is hard ending the Gospel. Most of us would prefer it to be like Perry Mason meeting with all of his colleagues following the dramatic end to the trial, and tying up all the loose ends. The Gospel would be decided very neatly, and we’d no longer have to think about or struggle with it, and can go home satisfied that all is well. Especially Easter, that’s what we need.

It’s only fair that Easter should start where it should have ended. On Friday the dilemma for the good religious folk was whether you could allow such an unclean thing as a crucified body to remain hanging on a cross once the Sabbath began at sunset. To avoid the sacrilege, Jesus died in plenty of time.

Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin council, and as it is slyly noted, “who was also looking for the kingdom of God,” received permission from Pontius Pilate to take possession of Jesus’ body and quickly laid him in a rock-hewn tomb, against which he rolled a big stone against the opening. The two Marys made a point of seeing where the tomb was located.

And then there was Friday night and Saturday, the sabbath. As was properly religious then and now, nothing happened, and no one did anything. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James, and Salome had to spend all of the sabbath doing typical sabbath chores which could never appear to be like work. Perhaps they went to the synagogue to worship, ate meals they had prepared ahead of time, but could not stomach as their hearts grow heavier. Once sundown came on Saturday they were able go buy the spices necessary for the anointing of a dead body - with the extra day was getting a little old.

They could not safely walk to the tomb without stumbling over stones and roots in the pitch dark outside of town, so they waited until the sun rose and then walked out to the tomb with all their materials, and along the way someone remembered about the stone.

Nothing ever did go right this past week. On Palm Sunday a couple of disciples were sent to politely steal a donkey for a triumphal entry into Jerusalem that was decidedly not triumphant. As soon as Jesus and company reached the Jerusalem gate the exultant crowd had better things to do, so they entered the Temple as tourists, gawking at the sights and meekly adjourned back out to the village of Bethany for the night. Our liturgies and pageants around the Christian Church treat what happened as if they were cinematic spectacles, grand larger-than-life events in a cosmic drama. In some ways they may be that, but when you think about the way the world really works, it wasn’t spectacular at all. And after last Sunday, things only became worse. Even the Church hates the Gospel.

After teaching preaching at Vanderbilt Divinity School for 15 years, John Killinger took his first pastorate, the First Presbyterian Church, Lynchburg, Virginia, an Old First Church of prestige.

Arriving in 1980, Killinger realized some of the church’s members were under the influence of that other preacher in Lynchburg, Jerry Falwell. He knew he had to preach against the religious right, and began with a sermon titled “Would Jesus Have Appeared on the Old-Time Gospel Hour?” He was careful to craft his sermon biblically, echoing Jesus’ words. “You appear to be very religious before your television audience,” he charged. “But inside you are rapacious, unconverted wolves, seeking only a greater share of the evangelical TV market, without really caring for the sheep you devour.”

Killinger didn’t know whether Falwell would find out about this sermon. But the very next Sunday Falwell said to his congregation, “I don’t want you to hurt Dr. Killinger, but we don't need him in this town.” Killinger’s family received death threats. Hate mail arrived from all over the country, and some of his mail was diverted to Falwell’s Liberty University. His garbage was raided and he was sure his phone line was tapped. He and other Falwell opponents in Lynchburg were repeatedly harassed by the Reagan-administration IRS. While Killinger was careful not to attack Falwell personally, he would occasionally preach against Falwell’s ministry and methods, to the consternation of some of his own members.

Eventually, through the mediation of several members at First Presbyterian, the two pastors became acquainted and even friends. When Killinger heard that Falwell had died, he was saddened, “It’s as if a great ship has gone down.”

Is it hard to understand how and why Jesus met so much opposition and antagonism during that week, ending with a torchlit parade to take him captive and be tried and condemned to death? Jesus did not become friends with his opponents that week; his own friends betrayed and abandoned him.

“So who will roll away the stone now that we’re almost there?”

Before they really had time to worry about it, there they were and the stone was a moot point, rolled back, giving clear access to the interior of the tomb, and they did not hesitate to enter. Joseph must’ve come by again; I hope he hasn’t done all the anointing of the body? What are we going to do with this stuff? These thoughts never really had time to be put into words, for it wasn’t Joseph inside the tomb, but a much younger man, arrayed in dazzling white, lightening up the dank darkness.

The women, instead, lost all colour, pale as ghosts, but the young man tried to reassure them, “Do not be afraid. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. Go tell the others and get on back to Galilee where he will meet you.” No polite euphemisms here - we are talking about the Jesus who was crucified, brutally and unjustly executed. He is simply not here because everything has been changed.

There was no joy, no singing, just terror and fear and trembling had taken them over. They knew how Jesus had been utterly destroyed by the powers-that-be, and those people really wouldn’t like this. The women did not comprehend what had happened. They fled from the tomb and “said nothing to nobody.” Afraid to say anything - that is the conclusion to the Gospel, the Good News. No trouble for the preacher to end this sermon. We can go home, for there is nothing more to say.

I don’t know about you, but something more needs to be said. These women knew that God was in there, a God so completely out of our control that it was frightening. We all prefer a God we can control. But if God will do This, what else might God do to us? No matter how scared they were and how mute these women were, somebody said something and she said a lot. Jesus kept telling the people he had healed not to say anything about it, but you and I know that is the best technique to get it said the loudest. If you are given something written to say, you will repeat its formula with as little emotion as possible. But when you are told to keep something important quiet, it tickles you, it eats at you, it devours you until you whisper what it’s all about to someone else. It’s in you and it’s got to come out, and aren’t you excited and all worked up about it? They were scared speechless, like in your worst nightmare, only when they regained their wits, they laughed. The greatest joke ever, at the expense of death and all those who thought they had the power to use death against those who spoke the truth.

The women said nothing in the Gospel, but now that you’ve heard the story, there’s something you have to say, to keep the story going. Is there anyone here who has been brought back from death, and now knows how powerful this life is? Is there anybody here who has not been utterly defeated and destroyed by some circumstance or other person, and yet you are living a new life? Is there anybody here who has not been scared to death at least once just like those three women when you thought you were a goner or the people or things mattering to you most were in dire straits?

Then you were there at the dawn’s early light on the Third Day and you know that death no longer has the power to kill you. You have something to say!

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan