Remember: Grief and Hope
Imagine that you first met Jesus somewhere near the sea of Galilee. You didn’t just “meet” him, you became part of his inner circle. You sat at his feet as he taught. You asked questions. You wrestled to understand what he was saying. You witnessed miracles. You saw him challenged by the religious authorities. You were even sent out to teach and heal with others.
The women at the tomb on Easter morning had that experience.
And, they had witnessed all of the violence of his arrest, trial and crucifixion. They watched as he was taken down from the cross and carried to a borrowed tomb.
And typically, when a loved one died in their tradition, these women would have sat with the body and prepared it in the hours that immediately followed, weeping, retelling of their experiences with Jesus, whom they loved.
But Jesus was cut down from the cross as the sun set on the eve of the Sabbath. These women had, in keeping with Sabbath law, returned to wherever they were staying. They had to wait until the Sabbath ended to tend to the body.
Think about sitting with your grief for that long next day. The images of the last few days bubbling up in front of you – the crowds as Jesus entered Jerusalem earlier in the week, the dinner where all had prayed and shared bread and wine, Jesus’ charge that his followers should serve one another. And then the arrest, accusations, the angry mobs, the violence and humiliation of execution by the state.
Nothing could be done to blot the memories out. Hands remained idle. This was the work that day - honoring God with Sabbath rest.
Holding on to the weight of that kind of grief, imagine next the moment when night becomes daytime. The horizon takes on a sort of glowing depth even in the inky darkness. Daylight is coming. Slowly…slowly. It is time to break the Sabbath.
The air still feels like nighttime. The birds are beginning to rustle about, singing, twittering, alerting others to the approaching sunlight. It was into this air, into this emerging light that the women stepped out from their place of rest and made their way to the tomb.
Carrying baskets and jars, oil and aromatic spices and herbs with which to anoint and honor his body, I can imagine them talking quietly among themselves. They’re still a little numb with shock and grief that has had no real outlet since darkness fell on Friday night. Their murmurs are punctuated by long silences as they go.
Arriving at the tomb, they find the stone rolled away.
This might not have been entirely surprising. The crowd in Jerusalem on Friday had been whipped up in a frenzy; Jesus’ followers might expect the tomb to have been plundered, vandalized, desecrated. With that possibility, the women have come anyway.
But inside, there is no body. At least, there is no dead body belonging to Jesus. In their shock, they instead see two men in dazzling clothes stand before them.
“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but he is risen.
Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”
Remember…
Imagine these words striking a chord, causing an echo of memory. Imagine the womenfeeling the call to remember deep in their bones…
They’ve heard that word recently. Just a few nights earlier as they broke bread – Jesus had said, “do this in remembrance of me.”
And so, from their grief, they turn toward their memories – they bring forward bits and pieces of the last three years.
That moment when they had been with the others and Jesus, Jesus silently talking to God. Then he had turned to them and asked what the crowds were saying about who he was.
And several had responded – they say that you are maybe John the Baptist, or Elijah, or some other ancient prophet resurrected to save Israel.
But Jesus had dismissed this – yes, yes… but who do YOU say that I am? You who are sitting at my feet, asking me questions, watching me heal. Who do YOU say that I am?
And they remember that Peter, ah, Peter in all of his quick-to-answer boldness – he blurted out, You are the Messiah!
They remembered the way that the gathered fell into a deep hush as they held their breath waiting for Jesus’ response.
And that response was hard – and confusing, and unbelievable at the time: The Son of Man must suffer greatly, be rejected by religious leaders, and be killed. And be raised on the third day…
It seemed such an unbelievable statement – they had kind of swept it way. Buried it…like you do when you hear something that you don’t really want to be true.
But on this morning, I can imagine them counting – Friday, Saturday, Sunday!
This.
This is the third day!
I don’t imagine their grief disappears at that moment, but I can imagine a sense of hope seeping into their spirits.
If he is not here, perhaps we will see him again. We remember what he told us!
The women, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and others with them, left to tell the 11 remaining apostles.
And the men don’t believe their story.
Perhaps because it was simply unbelievable –
they had seen Jesus flogged and then crucified, a horribly violent death.
They had seen this with their own eyes. He’d been laid in the tomb dead. This they knew.
Bodies did not simply recover from such things.
These men have not yet remembered what Jesus had told them.
But Peter…Peter ran to the tomb to see with his own eyes. Isn’t that so very in character for Peter?
No dazzling men greeted him there.
Jesus was not there, either.
Just some linen cloths.
I have to imagine that Peter might have done his own remembering in that moment. Maybe he remembered that same proclamation – You are the Messiah!
Maybe in his remembering, he brought together his experiences with Jesus and this moment right now when the tomb is empty.
On this Easter Sunday as we read from Luke’s gospel, we do not yet see the risen Jesus. All we have is an empty tomb and the assurance and encouragement of some men in dazzling clothes. And the hope of the women as they remembered what Jesus had said.
And WE also have the instruction offered by those men in dazzling clothes – remember what he told you.
I wonder, what do you remember about Jesus?
I don’t mean what do you remember about what you have been TOLD about Jesus.
I mean what do you remember about your encounters with Jesus.
What moments and snippets and experiences can you bring together as you remember?
Some remember a gentle voice speaking into their life.
Some remember the delight of finding new green growing things emerging from the soil at the end of a long winter.
Some remember healing, and others, answered prayer.
Some remember a not-quite-rational sense of hope in a time of great grief or great fear or great pain.
In grief,
in moments of disbelief and disorientation,
when we cannot believe the world right in front of us is the world that is,
may we hear this same call –
Remember what Jesus said to you.
Remember what Jesus taught.
Remember what Jesus did.
Remember.
Bring the parts and pieces of your experience – individual and collective – back together to see a bigger picture.
And do the things.
Love God.
Love one another.
Feed the hungry.
Clothe the naked.
Heal the sick.
Protect the refugee and the widow and the orphan.
Seek the Kin-dom of God.
Remember.
Remember.
Remember.
Christ is risen! He is risen indeed, alleluia!I
Amen.
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