Fear in the Age of Resurrection [The Great Vigil of Easter]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Luke 24:1-12

Fear in the Age of Resurrection

It was Easter Sunday and the tomb was empty.  And while the wide world struggled under the weight of those same ancient foes – fear and pain, sorrow and death – God had just whispered a word into the darkness, the darkness that would soon give way to the dawn.  It was a word much more powerful than any terror that stalked the human race.  The world waited and wondered and God had the answer. 

The women, the first to see the stone rolled away, had stumbled into, rather unexpectedly and unawares, this new age of Resurrection.  When they willed themselves out of bed on that first Easter morning, nothing seemed different except the heaviness in their hearts.  And yet, everything was different, because the tomb was empty.  Everything was different because resurrection was in the air; everything was different because Jesus was alive and on the move.  They just didn’t know it – at least not yet.

Today we celebrate Easter Sunday.  We are experiencing, living in, the age of Resurrection.  But the theme that runs through our Scripture readings today is fear.  That is what we get: fear in the age of Resurrection.  Abraham standing ready to plunge a knife into the precious body of his terrified son, afraid that this was the sacrifice God demanded.  The children of Israel standing on the banks of the Red Sea crying out to God in fear.  A prophet standing alone in the midst of a horror scene: the valley of animated, dry bones.  A people that had known only disaster, afraid of what fresh hell might visit them next, waiting desperately for the voice that would finally say to them what a terrified people always long to hear: “You shall fear disaster no more.”  That is what we find in our Scriptures this morning.

And then, the women at the tomb.  They arrive under the cover of darkness, in the early dawn, before the sun can be seen.  Because of fear.  Because the one whom they ventured to visit, he had been executed by the state.  They followed him from Galilee; they took his so-called “blasphemous” message to heart; they bankrolled his criminal acts.  And they watched Jesus die.  If they weren’t considered accomplices, they were at least associates.  And so who knows?  Perhaps their faces too were on the most wanted poster.  And so they come to the tomb before the brightness of the sun can give them away.

I imagine the open opening was, as they approached from a distance, nothing more to them than a trick played by darkness and shadow.  Of course there was a large stone over the entrance.  They were there on Friday when that stone was placed, blocking the way, separating the life outside from the death inside.

But as they came closer, illusion became perplexity.  The open opening was the first surprise.  The missing body was the second – probably more shock than surprise; surprise is probably an understatement.  And by the time the two men in their dazzling clothes appear, the women are quite literally floored – face-down on the ground and terrified.  Fear in the age of Resurrection.

Easter Sunday morning and our Gospel is absolutely devoid of any mentions of joy.  There is no hint of happiness.  There are no Alleluias at this grave.  Instead the women journey from surprise to confusion to terror.  These are the first reactions of the first witnesses to the Resurrection.

And so perhaps we might be tempted to entertain the idea that the Resurrection, at least in those earliest moments, changed nothing.  The new age had dawned.  The tomb was empty.  God’s word had been whispered into the darkness.  But fear was still powerful enough to bring these women to their knees.

And still powerful enough to lock Jesus’ twelve disciples up in a room.  John’s Gospel tells us that the disciples were hiding behind locked doors on that first Easter because of fear.  And perhaps it was that same fear that caused them to dismiss the women’s story, to call it an idle tale.  Jesus is alive and they are too afraid to leave the house, too afraid to face the broad daylight, too afraid to even believe the good news.     

On the day of Resurrection there was still plenty of fear in the air.  Two thousand years later, in this age of Resurrection, the age in which we live, there is still plenty of fear in the air.  The old prophet’s words ring in our ears, as they did this morning - “You shall fear disaster no more” – and yet we still fear disaster and plenty of other things that are much less scary than disaster.  Jesus is alive and yet fear still stalks the earth.  A new age with the same old devils.

There is still fear in the age of Resurrection.  All of the terrors that haunted this terrestrial sphere on Good Friday continued to pervade the planet on Easter Sunday.  Easter, it seems, does not protect us or remove us from the hard realities of life in this world – from fear or pain, sorrow or death. 

Easter does not take away the terrors; Easter defies them.  The promise of Easter, the promise that God whispered into this world on that holy Sunday, gives us the courage to face our fears, to bear our pain, to hold our sorrows, to sing our Alleluias at the grave.  Easter happens in this world, our world.  Easter happens in the same world that gave us Good Friday.  Easter is not permission to pretend, for one day, that everything is just fine.  The violence and hatred and fear that nailed Jesus to the cross are still lurking beyond those doors, are still hiding in the shady corners of human hearts.  Easter is not a pastel cover for what ails us.  Easter is the answer God shouted in the face of our darkness.  This haunted world needs an answer.  God answers with Easter.

God has an answer to the pain that inflicts you.  There is healing in that empty tomb.  God has an answer to the despair that threatens to overwhelm you.  There is hope in that empty tomb.  God has an answer to the sorrows that try and drown you.  There is joy in that empty tomb. 

God even has an answer to that final and most perplexing question.  Easter tells us that God has an answer even to death.  That is why we shout our Alleluias at the grave.  We know something those women did not yet know when they arrived at the tomb that first Easter morning.  We know that God is the God of Resurrection, that God is the God of new life.  When it looked like death had won the victory, God had an answer.  God answered with Easter. 

Yes, this life will break our hearts and chill our bones.  But we live in an Easter world; we have an Easter God. And that Easter God has an answer to the problems that perplex us, to the fears that terrorize us.  The tomb was empty because God spoke the word.  And that word, that powerful whisper, rolled the stone and emptied the tomb and raised the dead. When it seemed like there was no answer, God answered with Easter.   

There is plenty of Good Friday in this world, but we do not live in a Good Friday world.  We live in the age of Resurrection.  God has an answer to the heartbreak of Good Friday, to your Good Friday, to every Good Friday.  You can face your Good Friday because you know that Good Friday never has the last word.  God answers with Easter Sunday.  The stone is rolled away, the tomb is empty, Jesus is alive – not just two thousand years ago, but today, and tomorrow, and forever. 

There is still plenty in this world to fear, but you don’t have to be afraid.  The miracle of Easter morning gives us the courage to face our fears, to bear our pain, to hold our sorrows, to sing our Alleluias at the grave.  On Friday it felt like there was nothing left to say, but Easter Sunday proved that God has an answer.