Easter Sermon

When the women set off for the tomb on that sad Sunday morning so very long ago, they were a devoted, if disappointed and disillusioned little group.

They set off in the first light of day to anoint the body of their friend. The one who had been taken. Taken. Tortured. Mocked. Crucified. Buried.

The one who had preached good news to the poor was dead.

The one who had preached that a new reign of God was at hand, was himself dead and buried.

The one who had been a friend to the outsider and untouchable was himself now lost and gone.

And here they come to do what they can. What grim forbearance they bring to the task. They are women of the world. Their hopes have been dashed. They have, I think, seen it all.

They have not only seen their hope dashed, they have witnessed the oppression of the Romans at first hand. They have seen the collusion of organised religion with the power of the state which brought about this senseless death. They have seen oppression – personal and political. And to top it all, when they were needed most, all the men in their group had done a runner. (And I suspect that I can hear one or two people saying under their breath – “Men always do!”)

It is not hard to understand what the women’s feelings had been throughout their vigil – their wait through the Sabbath before going to anoint the body. It is not hard to enter into their mood on that Sunday morning, the first day of the week. It is not hard to understand them. Perhaps we want to embrace them, to talk to them, to give them what comfort we can. Perhaps we want to tell them that we know how it feels.

The mood of the women through the Sabbath day and which they carried with them on their way to the tomb, is the mood that the world knows well. It is a mood that millions share. Waiting in hopelessness. Tight-lipped forbearance. Anger. Powerlessness. Grief.

The women had plenty to be unhappy about. They had plenty to despair over. And I have no doubt that they were not just carrying their spices to the tomb – they were carried a heavier load – their own grief at the loss of the Lord – their own particular individual burden of sadness and loss.

And yet. (Two words pregnant with an alleluia). And yet…

The news we preach today is the same news that those self-same women were to preach to the disciples on that very day. The news that notwithstanding all that is wrong in the world, Christ is risen!

These women, these first witnesses to the Resurrection turned round from the tomb. Left their embalming apparatus and ran to tell others the good news – ran indeed to find some of the feckless men to tell them that all was not lost.

And, for their trouble, they were met by disbelief.

Those who preach the resurrection often are. (Disbelieved, that is).

And perhaps that is how you feel as you sit here this morning – simply disbelieving in the news that Christ is Risen.

Well, this is what I say to you this day:
· However many Maundy Thursday betrayals you ever know,
· However much Good Friday suffering you still encounter,
· However much you wait through Sabbaths of despair,

…I believe in an empty tomb.

And it is not just the witness of the disciples that makes me believe, compelling though that is. The truth is, I’d rather find faith and make community with others of the same mind than face the possibility that life is meaningless.

I’d rather preach hope than face the possibility that despair, death and sadness are the end of the story.

I’d rather preach love, than face the possibility that alienation, loss and separation are true human condition.

For there are things that I cannot believe on this Easter morning. There are things I will not accept this Resurrection day. There are things that I will not preach to you on this day of new life.

· I cannot believe that there is no answer to the oppression of human beings.

· I cannot believe that there is no answer to those without food or shelter.

· I cannot believe that there is no answer to human pain and human suffering.

· I cannot believe that there is no answer to corruption and deceit.

· I cannot believe that there is no answer to those who are grieving.

I cannot believe these things. An empty tomb seems more likely to me than that these things can be true.

It may be that we have to pray for the answers to these things. It may be that we must work for the answers to these things. It may be that we must be the answers to these things.

For I know that when oppressive regimes are turned upside down, Christ is risen!

I know that when the hungry are fed, Christ is risen!

I know that when the homeless are given shelter, Christ is risen!

I know that when relief comes to suffering, Christ is risen!

I know that when the truth is told against all the odds, Christ is risen!

I know that when love touches grieving hearts, Christ is risen!

And I have never stood by a grave or taken a funeral without feeling the warm breath of Jesus Christ on my neck and hearing his voice in my ear: “All that is buried will rise with me.”

I know these things. I believe these things. In God’s time, it is always Easter – time to live these things.

For that is the message that the women returned from the tomb with. That is the message that they greeted their men folk with. That is the message that those men checked out for themselves. That is the message which they preached in Jerusalem. That is the message that they preached took to the ends of the earth. That is the message that Christians down the ages have preached year by year and century by century on every Easter morn. The message that all is not lost. That the tomb is empty. That Christ is not there. That He is risen. Risen in us. Risen in his church. And risen, and out and about in this created world.

And if Christ were not risen, we would not be gathered here. Amen.