The Rev. Sara Warfield
Scriptures: Matthew 28:1-10
While studying for this sermon, I found myself scoffing at some commentary on the gospel passage. It points out that, unlike Mark and Luke, Matthew doesn’t say anything about Mary Magdalene and the other Mary bringing spices to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ dead body. Instead, this commentary suggests that they were going to the tomb for a different reason: because they actually believed Jesus when he had told them, “I must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”
I scoffed because of course the Marys didn’t believe him. Would you believe anyone who told you that, yes, they’re going to die, but don’t worry because they’re also going to be resurrected after three days? I wouldn’t. Even if it was Mother Teresa or the Dalai Lama or Martin Luther King, Jr., I would not believe them.
I spent a good chunk of this past week just reflecting on what a dumb idea it is that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were going to the tomb expecting not to find Jesus. That they had believed him.
But then came Maundy Thursday. During that service, I stand at the back of the nave and bear witness to the Altar Guild stripping our altar space, taking away all that we give sacred meaning to—the book of scriptures, the candles, the chalices and pattens we’d just used for communion—all the objects and colors that help us to remember Christ every Sunday. During that time, we chant Psalm 22, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And then, when the space is completely blank, when everything that brings it life has been removed, I come forward and wash the altar.
As I was on my knees cleaning the fir tree on the front, I heard the drum beating to the dark notes of the piano, I heard the congregation singing “why have you forsaken me,” and I found myself fighting back tears. Here I was, preparing the altar that Jesus would be sacrificed upon, listening to the last beats of his heart before Good Friday, when we call for him to be crucified.
Yes, we call for Jesus to be crucified everyday when we call for the elimination of immigrants, for harm upon Iranians or Palestinians or Israelis, for affliction upon those with whom we disagree. “Just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.”
But just as my heart was about to shatter, I remembered what Jesus said, “I must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” In that moment on my knees at the altar, I believed him. I believed that he could be raised, that we could be redeemed.
It’s so much easier to be skeptical, to expect to be disappointed, than to hope. At least for me. Because hope can feel dangerous. It’s so much safer to have low expectations, to settle into the predictability of pain or suffering rather than the uncertainty of the hope that they can be alleviated. Skepticism is safer. Skepticism starts me down, so it never lets me down. And I’m not the only one. Even when Jesus appears to the disciples just a few verses after the Marys go to the tomb, some of them still doubt.
And I don’t want to judge those disciples. They’ve just come from what is likely the most devastating thing they’ve ever been through. They’ve experienced the friend and teacher they love being mocked, tortured, and hung on a cross, even as they believed that Jesus would be the one to save them and their people from such suffering. They’re disappointed. They’re despairing for the future they thought they’d have. And they’re in deep grief. That’s a lot to bear. So even when they see the risen Jesus, they doubt.
But Mary Magdalene and the other Mary are in the same situation as those disciples after Jesus died. In fact, they were even closer to it all. While the disciples had fled, the women had followed Jesus after he had been arrested, keeping an eye on him and tending to him as they could. When he was nailed to the cross, they saw it with their own eyes. They saw him take his last breath. They saw the soldiers take his body down and Joseph of Arimithea bring it to the tomb. They saw the stone rolled to close it.
If anyone could be sure that Jesus had died, if anyone could testify to his painful last hours, it was these women. If anyone had cause to abandon hope, to forget what Jesus had told them, it was these women.
But when we’re in the deepest throes of suffering, when the currents of pain and fear have cut the rope to all the certainty and safety that have anchored us, faith is all we have to hold onto. That’s when we remember what Jesus taught us:
That all the law and the prophets hang on one thing: love.
Love God
Love your neighbor
Love your enemies
For God so loved the world
That’s when we remember that our God is a God of love who will never abandon us in our suffering, who, though death is part of our human experience, will never let death have the final word. And that’s when hope can truly come alive.
That’s where we find Mary Magdalene and the other Mary that early Sunday morning. They rush to the tomb, not sure what they would find—but hopeful. What they do find is honestly not very comforting: when they get there, there’s suddenly an earthquake, and an angel like lightning with clothes white as snow appears. The scene is so terrifying that the guards at the tomb faint from fear. But not the two Marys. I think their hope holds them together, keeps them awake, opens their eyes to the new reality: “He is not here; for he has been raised.” Just as Jesus promised.
“Go!” the angel tells them, “tell the disciples!”
So, the scriptures tell us, they leave the tomb quickly with great joy, yes, but also still some fear. Their hope has been bolstered by the empty tomb, but they haven’t seen Jesus themselves, so they’re still at risk of being disappointed. Could it really be true?
But then the risen Christ meets them on the road, and I like to imagine the smile on Jesus’ face when he says, “Greetings.”
And then I like to imagine the look on the faces of Mary Magdalene and the other Mary. I like to imagine the hugs and the laughter and the tears. That feeling of release, the words “do not be afraid” coming alive and sparking,
We all know that feeling. When we’ve heard officially that the cancer is in remission. Or when the police call and say, “We’ve found him. He’s safe.” Or when the doctor finally gives us a diagnosis to explain all we’ve been going through for years. Or even when, after days of hospice care, the person you loved now gone but no longer constantly grimacing in pain, no longer confused and withering before your eyes but now released into God’s love.
These are all resurrection. These are all reminders that our God who is a God of love will never abandon us to our suffering, will never let death have the final answer. That when Jesus tells us that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering, and be killed, we can believe him that on the third day, on Easter Sunday, he will be raised.
Amen.
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