In my previous life living near downtown Phoenix, each morning, I awoke to the sounds of the train just 500 yards from my front door, the nearby industrial recycling plant’s occasional explosions that shook my home, ambulance sirens, loud music, and a half-mile long string of halted traffic on the main thoroughfare just one empty lot away. I would dress in my running gear and jog north to Thomas Avenue, a major city street that runs through the entirety of Phoenix, thick with cars and buses zipping by from stoplight to stoplight or crawling slowly from stoplight to stoplight. At church, a constant stream of folks experiencing homelessness coming through the church office, donors dropping off food, clothing, and hygiene products, parents dropping off their kids at the Montessori preschool on site, young people coming for concerts put on most nights by a ministry partner, random people stopping by with questions or wanting tours of our historic building, plus, of course, regular church programming. Life was, to sum it up, loud and busy. Right around this time 4 years ago, at the start of the pandemic, I remember leaving my house to jog each morning the same as always, except this time, when I got to Thomas Avenue, there was not a single car. With everyone working from home or simply not working, the half-mile string of traffic on the main thoroughfare was reduced to just a few stray cars at the intersection. Not able to welcome people indoors anymore, the constant hubbub at church slimmed down to just a person or two at a time grabbing water or a meal from the outdoor stations we had set up for the duration of the pandemic. Life was, to sum it up, still. Quiet. Empty.
The stillness of the pandemic reminds me of the stillness of that first Easter morning. For the year of ministry preceding Jesus’ death was loud and busy. After the opening words: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” the gospel of Mark tells how Jesus is baptized, is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit and tempted, and then, we’re off to the races. Jesus “immediately” calls disciples and proclaims the kingdom of God, heals people and feeds them, “immediately” used time and again in the gospel of Mark, 41 times in all. With his disciples in tow, Jesus is mobbed by crowds wishing to be healed and needing to be fed. They travel by foot from village to village, and seemingly everywhere they go, people have heard of Jesus. They cry out to him, wish to touch the hem of his robe, want him to stop and touch them, send their children to him. When Jesus enters Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the intensity of following Jesus only increases. The Last Supper, Jesus’ arrest in the garden, Jesus before the high priest and Pilate, Jesus crucified, Jesus’ body laid in a tomb. It all happens so fast, I’m sure the disciples can hardly take it in. Afraid for their own lives that Good Friday, the disciples are, apparently, locked in the upper room. Saturday, the sabbath, passes. Still. Quiet. Empty. Their savior dead, their purpose gone, their lives upended. They will soon go back to fishing and tax collecting, back to their families. The people who cried out “Crucify him” are at home and have forgotten how they helped put an innocent man to death. Pilate has washed his hands of the matter. Everyone else, the crowds and bystanders, have shrugged their shoulders and moved on. Jesus is dead. That’s all the women know when they go to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body with spices that first Easter Sunday—they only know Jesus is dead. These women had followed Jesus, provided meals for him, gave up family obligations in order to travel with him. Like the disciples, their lives too are upended, both by Jesus’ appearance in their lives and now by his sudden crucifixion. But, soon, things will go back to the way they were before Jesus… Except that, when Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome arrive at the tomb, the stone is already rolled away from its entrance, and a young man in a white robe tells them Jesus is not here, that he has been raised. And the young man, presumably an angel, tells them, “Go, tell his disciples and Peter that Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” In Mark’s account of Jesus’ resurrection, the women are seized by terror and amazement, and they say nothing to anyone for they are afraid. The End. Still. Quiet. Empty. Yet this is not the end of the story. For Jesus is going ahead of the disciples and the women to Galilee. Jesus is going ahead of them to the place where it all began. There, they will see him. Mark’s gospel ends here, but it really begins a new chapter in the life of Jesus. According to the other gospels, Jesus continues ministry for 39 days after the resurrection—until he ascends into heaven on day 40. Then, on day 50, Pentecost, the Holy Spirit fills the disciples in Jerusalem, the Spirit that then sends them out to do the work of Jesus. The resurrected life of Jesus continues in the people of God through the pouring out of the Holy Spirit on them. The gospel of Mark ends with the women’s terror and amazement, but the good news of the angel, that Jesus is going ahead of them to Galilee, means there is more to come. Jesus is going back to the place where he taught and preached, healed and forgave, fed and loved. And through the pouring out of the Holy Spirit, he will empower the disciples, who become the church, to continue his ministry of teaching and preaching, healing and forgiving, feeding and loving. Friends, we are now that church; we are now Jesus’ disciples. And we too have received the Holy Spirit in baptism. Our life in God is not still, quiet, or empty. For we are the ones in whom the resurrected life of Christ continues. We are the ones called by Jesus and empowered by the Holy Spirit to teach and preach, heal and forgive, feed and love. Today. Now. This is not the end of the Jesus story. This is only the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God—For Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen.
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AuthorPastor Sarah Stadler shares her sermons from the previous Sunday. Archives
May 2024
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