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On the First Day of the Week: A Sermon for Easter, 2026

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A bit belatedly…

On the First Day of the Week

April 5, 2026

“Oh God, take our minds and think through them, take our lips and speak through them, and take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen.”

         Why did she come to the tomb? The reason given in the other gospels—that the women came with spices and ointments to anoint Jesus’ body for burial doesn’t fit with John’s version of the story. All that had been done by Nicodemus at the time of burial. Did she come because she wanted to grieve near the tomb; to feel that intimacy with Jesus she may have felt when he was still alive?

         And something else. No matter how many times I have read this gospel; preached on it—that’s is around 20 sermons; how many times I discussed this passage with students in class; you’d think I would not be able to find something new or interesting in these 18 verses. But you’d be wrong. For this year, I noticed something I had never noticed before. All Mary sees is the stone rolled away. She doesn’t actually know that the tomb is empty. but in this case, that’s all she needs to run back to the other disciples to tell them that the tomb is empty; that someone has taken away Jesus’ body.

Mary Magdalene is a figure of endless speculation throughout the History of Christianity. I’m sure you’ve heard some of them. She was a repentant prostitute; possessed by seven evil spirits; the wife of Jesus. But all of that is nothing more than conjecture; and conflation of this figure with other “Mary’s” other women who are mentioned in the gospels. All that is also a product our relentless desire as humans to satisfy our curiosity;  to fill out stories and the relentless desire to fill out stories; to give them detail and deeper meaning. 

Often, such speculation, pious though it may be, obscures the stories the gospel writers are trying to tell; and also obscure the true significance of the character in the story. For example, in addition to all of the accretions to Mary’s story that I have mentioned; the church has also long called her the Apostle to the Apostles, for it was Mary Magdalene who first learned the good news that Christ was risen from the dead, and shared that news with the other disciples.

What we know is this: In John’s gospel, she appears only twice. Mary Magdalene is identified as one of the women standing near the cross at Jesus’ crucifixion, and here at the empty tomb. In fact, one of the few details on which all four gospels agree is that Mary Magdalene was present at the empty tomb. 

         Was her immediate reaction to seeing the stone rolled away a burst of emotion on top of all the grief she was carrying: anger at this additional indignity inflicted on her Lord; fear that his corpse would be or already had been defiled? Was she triggered by the scene and desperate to find help to address this new calamity?

         In any case, she ran back and told the other disciples about her discovery and two of them, Peter and the Beloved Disciple, returned with her, or rather before her because they raced along the way; the two of them looked inside, saw the graveclothes neatly wrapped in two piles. And we’re told, the Beloved Disciple saw and believed; no word on Peter’s response, and they went back home.

         Now Mary lingers in the garden. We can imagine the emotions overwhelming her—disbelief, fear, grief, perhaps anger; weeping for her Lord, for her loss, for the lost future she and the others who had been following Jesus had been imagining and hoping for.

         Only now does she do like the two male disciples had done and peek into the tomb. Perhaps she was curious about what they had seen; why they had looked, and then returned to the place where they were staying. She receives the message, the good news; the first of the disciples to learn what has happened. But still, she waits, wonders, and weeps. And then, the encounter with the risen Christ. Still not recognizing him; it’s only when he calls her by name that it all makes sense. 

         There’s a lovely progression in this story as we see Mary Magdalene coming to faith in Christ. It begins in that walk to the tomb in the dark of night; seeing the stone rolled away, and drawing the wrong conclusion. It continues when she reaches out to others seeking their help to make sense of her experience, and then, when they abandon her to her own devices, continuing to struggle to understand. And finally, there’s that moment of grace, Jesus calling her by name, and all of it finally making sense—knowing who he is; discovering who she is; seeing the world, herself, and Jesus with new eyes, the eyes of faith.

         We might contrast her journey here with that of Peter and the Beloved Disciple, who raced to the tomb, looked inside, and went back home. We’re told that the beloved disciple saw and believed—but did he? Distinguished by his close relationship with Jesus “The one whom Jesus loved” he didn’t tarry, he didn’t open himself to an encounter like Mary had; that would come later.

         Like Mary, we come to the tomb, full of doubts, fears, uncertainty. We may be suffering—our bodies may be broken and in pain; our hearts may be broken and in pain. We may wonder whether life is worth living; whether we can go on. The incessant whirlwind of news; the earthquakes shaking the foundations of our lives and our worldviews; wars, violence, oppression; a planet on the brink. 

         We look for signs in the chaos and darkness; but they are ambiguous at best, easily misinterpreted. We may want to turn away; to abandon our hopes and dreams. But if we reach out to others as Mary did; if we wait in silence, we may hear the Risen Christ calling us by name, inviting us into relationship, inspiring hope , giving us new life.

         The cross and the tomb are not the end of the story. Christ is risen, breaking the bonds of death; defeating chaos. God is still at work in the world; creating and re-creating the universe and us. The resurrection of Christ is proof positive that the forces of empire, evil, and death cannot, will not reign forever. Even now, God’s reign of justice, love, and peace, is breaking in around us. The signs may not be obvious; like the ambiguity of an empty tomb, we may overlook or miss them, but if we persevere in our hope; if we keep our eyes open, we will come to see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up and things which had grown old are being made new. 

         May the embers of our faith be kindled into fires of faith, justice, and love, that spread the good news and usher in God’s coming reign. 

Alleluia! Christ is Risen! 

Empty Tomb and Resurrection: A sermon for Easter, 2023

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Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb.”

During the lockdown, I began walking with some regularity in Forest Hills Cemetery. It’s not far from our home and in those months when we were especially concerned about social distancing, I joked that most people I encountered there would remain more than six feet away, safely buried underground. Over the years, I’ve watched as people spent time at the graves of their loved ones, grieving, or tending the plantings. I’ve noticed graves that were unattended, the dead who lay beneath them long forgotten. There are graves with many ritual objects on and around them. 

The reality is that for most twenty-first century Americans, whose lives may not be tied to particular places, cemeteries have lost the kind of meanings and associations they held in the past. 

We’ve lost most of the rituals and duties surrounding the deaths of loved ones. Few of us have touched the body of loved one, fewer still prepared a body for burial which was, up until a century and a half ago, something taken for granted, a crucial part of what it meant to care for a family member or loved one. 

We see that concern expressed, the roles played out in the gospel accounts of the resurrection. While it’s often assumed that such tasks were the responsibility of women, in the Gospel of John, it is two men who prepare Jesus’ body for burial. Joseph of Arimathea asked for Jesus’ body, Nicodemus brought 100 pounds of myrrh and aloes, and together they buried Jesus in Joseph’s tomb.

So why did Mary Magdalene come to the tomb that morning? Knowing the other gospel accounts, we might not even think that was a question, for in all of them, we’re told the women brought spices to anoint Jesus’ body for burial. 

Consider it. Mary has come with Jesus to Jerusalem. We don’t know how long she had been following him, whether she had come with him from Galilee or met him along the way. She had heard him teach, amazing the crowds, filling her and the other disciples with hope. She had seen him heal the sick, give sight to the blind, even raise the dead. She had been part of that strange demonstration, waving palms and shouting “Hosanna!” as he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, a procession full of royal symbolism.

And then, she had seen it all come crashing down. The betrayal by one their own, the arrest, and finally, the crucifixion. Everything she had hoped for, everything she had believed, crumbled to ashes and dust, her heart empty, overwhelmed by grief and despair.

I wonder whether she came by herself early that morning because she wanted to mourn in the silence and the dark. I wonder whether the feelings that overwhelmed her compelled her to seek solitude, time to be alone with her thoughts, to try to pick up the pieces of her life and figure out what she might do next. She had abandoned her own life, whatever it was, abandoned her family and friends, to follow Jesus, and now, here she was. Alone, with her dashed hopes, her shattered faith, and a meaningless future.

These are feelings we all know well. We have all been on a walk like Mary was that morning two millennia ago. Whether because of a broken relationship, the death of a loved one, a lost job or career, or simply the heavy weight of the world’s violence and suffering, we’ve all been at that spot, a dead-end, where we can’t go back, and where there seems to be no way forward, a spot very much like a tomb or a cemetery.

But the tomb was empty, and in her confusion and worry, she ran to tell the others. Peter, and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, race to see for themselves, they look in, enter, and their curiosity fulfilled, go back home. But Mary stays behind. Instead of reassuring her, allaying her fears, answering her questions, the empty tomb only added to them, raised more questions. 

And then, in an instant, all those questions were answered. In an instant, Mary’s life changed; the world changed. The tomb was not the end of the story; her hopes were not dashed; her faith was not in vain. When Jesus called her by name, she knew her Lord.
         For us though, it may not be so simple. In the last two thousand years, in spite of Christians claiming through all the centuries that Christ has been raised from the dead, that he has conquered evil and the grave, things look very much the same. There is still hatred, and violence, and suffering. We still have doubts and uncertainty. We still mourn the loss of loved ones. We still know the anguish of the painful chasm between the way things are and the way things ought to be. 

But in the midst of our tears and grief, as we cast our eyes on the tomb, Jesus calls us, and if we turn to him, everything changes: sadness into joy, despair into hope, doubt into faith. The tomb is there, but it is empty. Christ is alive! There is no reason to linger there, for he is risen and goes before us.

We come to this place today, carrying the weight of the world and our lives. There are the private disappointments, doubt, despair, the pain inflicted on us by a cruel word; fears for family, for the future. There is all that is going on in the world, war, injustice, a broken political system. There is, yes, pandemic, with a continuing toll both in lives lost and lives changed. But in the midst of that whirlwind of evil and suffering, in the still, center point, there is Christ, calling to us, calling us by name.

Easter changes everything and nothing. Tomorrow will come and with it, all of the problems that were here yesterday and the day before and last week. The scent of the lilies will dissipate; the memories of a full church and with choir and hymns and brass will slowly fade. Life will go on.

But Jesus calls us by our name and he goes out before us, beckoning us to follow him into the future, away from the empty tomb. He calls us into relationship with him. He calls us into new life and into hope. With Mary, may we turn away from the empty tomb and toward the one who calls us by name, who wipes away our tears and embraces us with his love.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

He is not here, he is risen: A Sermon for Easter, 2021

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Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

The Lord is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

The traditional Easter acclamation rings hollow in empty churches today. Whatever joy we may feel on this Easter is tempered by the reality of our celebration. Instead of a church packed to the rafters, with most of us dressed in Easter finery; instead of brass, choir, and the voices of hundreds singing “Hail thee, festival day” and “Christ the Lord is risen today” we have soloists, recordings, livestreamed worship. Most of us are sitting at home, on our couches or at a kitchen table dressed in comfortable clothes or even, perhaps pajamas, with a cup of coffee instead of a hymnal in our hands. 

Yet all around us are also signs of new life and reasons for hope. As the pace of vaccinations continues to increase, we can glimpse and begin to plan for life after pandemic, and lockdowns, and isolation. Spring seems to be on its way. The bulbs in our garden are beginning to show flowers, and there’s clump of daffodils blooming in the courtyard garden here at the church. We are also beginning to make plans to return to public worship in the near future.

Still, the waiting continues and many of us remain anxious about the present and the future, even as we chafe at the continued restrictions and limits on our activities. It’s a difficult time, an in-between time, a time of waiting. 

The gospel of Mark was written in just such a time of waiting and anxiety; written for a community struggling to find a way forward in uncertain times, in the midst of violence, and as the old faith that had brought them into being as followers of Jesus was running up against new realities and new challenges.

The challenges facing Mark’s community are symbolized by the gospel’s ending, here, at the empty tomb. Mark leaves us hanging with the sentence: “And the women fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid.” 

Now, this is no way to end a gospel, no way to tell the story of Easter and of resurrection. If you go to your bible and look up Mark 16, you will see that in most English bibles the Gospel of Mark doesn’t in fact end with v. 8, but has 8 additional verses, often set off in brackets or with asterisks. For while the earliest and most reliable manuscripts end with verse 8 and the women’s silence and fear, very quickly editors and copyists sought to provide a more suitable ending to the gospel, one that included appearances of the Risen Christ to the disciples.

But imagine those women as they came to the tomb. Mark tells us that they had come with Jesus from Galilee, that they had walked with him and the other, the male disciples, learning from, watching him as he healed the sick and cast out demons. Mark says that they had ministered to him along the way. They had heard him proclaiming the coming of God’s reign. They had been among the small group that had staged what we call “the triumphal entry into Jerusalem” casting their coats and tree branches on the road as Jesus entered the city riding on a donkey, a clear allusion to the Davidic monarchy.

They had watched as he turned over the moneychangers temples and silenced his opponents with clever debating tactics. And then, had they been there at the last supper? Mark doesn’t tell us, but they were at the crucifixion, watching from afar. 

All their hopes were dashed; their grief at the execution of their beloved teacher and friend overwhelming. And like Jesus, they were probably alone. The male disciples, easily distinguished by their Galileean accents were laying low, probably trying to figure out how to escape the city and Roman troops without notice. 

But the women came to the tomb, as women have done for millennia; to grieve, and to once again, minister to their loved one, to prepare his body for burial. It was probably a mourning ritual they had done before for other loved ones, but likely none was done with the grief and despair that accompanied them this morning.

And then, an empty tomb, a man clothed in white telling them that Jesus had been raised from the dead, that they were tell the others and go meet him in Galilee. 

Why wouldn’t they be afraid? The tomb had been robbed of their loved one’s body; they received a strange, incomprehensible message, they were to take the risky journey out of their hiding place in the city and go back to Galilee. 

Mark leaves us hanging with this grief and fear. He leaves us frustrated, unsatisfied. Why did he tell the story this way, why doesn’t he end it on a high note with all of the blockbuster special effects we’ve come to expect?

I’ll leave you to ponder that question, to go back and read through the gospel again, full of mystery and ambiguity, to wonder and imagine what he might want his readers to know about “The good news of Jesus Christ, son of God”—a gospel that begins with certainty and ends here, in fear, terror, amazement, silence.

We are like those women, peering into an empty tomb. We are looking back, in fear, despair, disappointment, and anger. More than a year of disrupted lives, suffering, isolation. Two Easters now observed, I won’t say “celebrated” with live-streamed worship. More than a year since many of you have tasted the body of Christ in the sacrament; a year away from friends, family, the body of Christ gathered in community.

Our yearnings are clear, we can feel them in the marrow of our bones. If not to go back to the way things were in 2019 but an intense desire to return to this place, to public worship, to singing, and fellowship.

You are peering into an empty church as those women peered into an empty tomb. The same message resounds: “He is not here, he is risen!” 

We are being called not to return to the past, but to make our way into the future, to meet Christ, not at the empty tomb or in the empty church, but out there, in Galilee, in the streets and neighborhoods of our city, in the world. We are called to imagine a new church, a new community, inspired by the risen Christ helping to heal and rebuild our city and the lives of our neighbors. 

We are called to meet the risen Christ who is going before us into the future. There we will see him, for he is risen. There we will encounter the risen Christ in the new life and new world that is emerging through his resurrection.

That Christ is risen gives us hope. That Christ is risen reminds us that the powers of evil, Satan and his forces, do not have the last word, will not vanquish. That Christ is risen shows us the possibility and reality of new life, of new creation, of God’s reign breaking into our lives and into our world, making all things new, remaking us, in God’s image.

That Christ is risen  gives us strength and courage to imagine a new world emerging, new community where God’s justice reigns, where prisoners are released, the hungry fed, the naked clothed, where the barriers that divide us crumble. 

That Christ is risen gives us hope and courage to build a new community, to rebuild our neighborhood justly and equitably. We see signs of that already in the recent announcement that the boys and girls club will be our neighbors on Capitol Square, a symbol that this neighborhood belongs to our whole city, not just the few.

May we have the courage and hope to heed the call to go out and meet the Risen Christ where he is; and in our encounters with him, may our hearts burn with love and hope as we are healed and as we work toward the healing of our city and world.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

An Empty Tomb, Fearful Women: The Resurrection: A Sermon for the Great Vigil of Easter, Year B

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April 7, 2012

A few days ago, I was walking on Capitol Square. It was a beautiful day, warm, sunny, the crabapples almost in bloom. I looked up and across the square and saw in front of me two familiar buildings—the State Capitol and next to it, the steeple of Grace Church. As I looked, I was reminded of the history of those two buildings, of their long presence next to each other, of the visions of their builders to create and shape a vision of a certain kind of society and polity. I thought, too, of their intertwined history, the men who in the nineteenth century wielded power in both places—Fairchilds, Vilases, et al. From a distance, both church and capitol look solid, secure, built for the ages. Continue reading →