Just Not Here
Matthew 28:1-10

March 27, 2005

On the campus of Princeton University there is a chapel designed in the old Greek revival style, still used for worship by a wide variety of religious groups and organizations. It was not always there, having lived its earliest existence some miles away. The University bought it, raised it up off its foundation, placed it on a flat bed, then moved it very carefully to be reestablished on campus.

As the building was making its slow procession, a number of people stopped by the side of the road to watch the spectacle, including a certain Albert Einstein. A smile broke out on his face, and he turned to speak to one standing nearby him - and for some reason when Albert Einstein spoke, people listened to or at least remembered what he had to say. “That little box is not big enough to hold God.”

An odd way for the great theorist of relativity to state the matter, can anything hold God? If something were big enough to hold or contain God - the Ground of Being Itself - would not that thing be God, replace God? A container named God. The grammar needs to be turned around: does God hold you? Is there anything God cannot hold?

This is the Third Day, impossible to imagine without the First or Second. An earthquake, nature’s most unstable terror, punctuates the First Day, timed precisely with Jesus’ last loud groan. The earth shook so violently that the Temple in Jerusalem - God’s most intimate dwelling place, a place big enough to hold God - suffered a huge crack down its wall, from the ceiling right down to the floor. God’s place was no longer safe.

Rocks split and tombs opened with the bodies of the saints being raised up from sleep. At this moment when Death had apparently won its most crushing victory over hope, death is nevertheless reversed and many are now awake. Apparently, the raised saints do not rush out, they wait, patiently wait for the Third Day. No one else knows, because it is not yet time.

The day ends in the triumph of brutal power, in hopelessness and final injustice. It is not really the First Day, but the Last Day. The saints have not appeared. There is no more to the story as a tomb is sealed and the ministry of Jesus of Nazareth are merely bitter memories.

A Second Day, but perhaps better call it the Day After the Last Day, comes mercifully after the dark night of that Sabbath had begun. There always seems to be a “day after,” during which the despair empties us of all feeling and will to continue. No wonder the Apostles’ Creed squeezes into its terse lines, “He descended into hell.” It felt like it for every one who knew Jesus. Modern versions cringe at such bluntness, pasteurizing the phrase into “He descended to the dead.”

In Matthew alone does something secular does occur. The Pharisees meet secretly with Pilate to ensure adequate security for Jesus’ tomb, lest wild rumours and shenanigans are allowed to spread. Pilate grants permission to post a guard, but he seems to almost be taunting them, “if you can.” Did Pilate know something about the difficulty of holding on to God?

This meeting, of course, was most unholy, like so many smoke-filled back rooms to come, for it was conducted in the middle of the Sabbath. Maybe they thought God wouldn’t find out. Their religion depended on making sure that Jesus did not get away with violating the Sabbath Day. Now their religion depended on violating the prayers of the Seventh Day to ensure their dead remained really dead. Even their religion is dead now.

The next day - not yet the Third - was dawning. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb, no spices or ointments in hand to anoint the hastily buried body. They just want to “see” it, a yearning most of us have satisfied at one time or another. When you go on a pilgrimage to see an historical site, a monument to a significant event, what is that you expect to see. You go not to adjust or change what happened, just to see it and be part of it in a small way. That’s what the two Marys went to do.

At the moment they arrived an aftershock, or maybe this was the Big One, shook the ground underneath them. Matthew is not subtle. Many readers attempt a scientific explanation, but here an angel in full whites comes down, rolls back the stone, and sits impudently upon it. This is not a drill, the evangelist wants to tell us readers, this is the real thing.

The guards get the full message and were so scared that they became like dead men. The roles switch again - these armed guards alive with the power that matters are dead; those dead by the exercise of brute power are alive so that no power can touch them.

The angel turns directly to the two Marys, “Do not be afraid. I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised.” They are invited to see the place where he lay, unoccupied, just like the beds of famous men and women we historical tourists like to do.

But then they had a commission to proclaim the resurrection to the other disciples. What grammar do you use, what vocabulary, what accent and tone of voice do you adapt to say the impossible, to say what has never been said before?

Tell them also that he is going ahead to Galilee to meet them there. Why Galilee? Why Regina? It is home, where ordinary life happens. Jesus is not going away to Galilee, not running away, he is going ahead where there is a lot more to do. You and I are not getting away from this church after the service this Easter; we are going ahead with purpose back to our homes and families, our schools, our businesses to do what we know needs to be done.

The women head off with their messages. They had been looking for Jesus, but around the corner he finds them. Wherever we think Jesus belongs, he is just not there. He will find us first where we are - and yes, Jesus confirms to the women - it’s on to Galilee where the Resurrection life begins again. I’m certain some must have laughed: Galilee!? That’s no place to do resurrection.

We are presumptuous enough to think we can go looking for Jesus and find him conveniently in the boxes just the right size to hold him for us. Easter Day is one of those boxes whose dimensions we have figured out. Yet nothing is predictable about the Third Day, and it is never a day you can count on or depend upon. You never know when there is a Third Day, amidst all our Last Days. The clock starts counting only on the Third Day, and then you look and count backwards. You cannot count on Easter as your triumphant final answer to all your problems in this world. Nor can you explain its “outside the box-ness” by looking for a believable resuscitation. This is something so unique, and frankly so beyond our human brains to contain, we can only call it Resurrection.

This is not a story about religion, nor about politics corrupt and inhumane, nor about the quality of faith of certain disciples compared to others. It is about God. Albert was right, no little box can hold God, not our God. Yet, it is amazing how our God can hold and squeeze you and me into the smallest places and give you life.

You just cannot count on finding God here where you would like to have God be. God has a habit of finding you and me where God wants us to be. That is never comfortable, but then is it ever easy to be raised back up from the dead? It is after death has finished you that the days start counting from three.

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