Sermon for SMHP, Easter Vigil, April 19, 2025
Scripture: John 20:1-18
Early on the first day of the week,
while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone
had been removed from the tomb. 2So she ran and went to Simon Peter
and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have
taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.’ 3Then
Peter and the other disciple set out and went towards the tomb. 4The
two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the
tomb first. 5He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings
lying there, but he did not go in. 6Then Simon Peter came, following
him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, 7and
the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but
rolled up in a place by itself. 8Then the other disciple, who
reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; 9for
as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10Then
the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the
tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; 12and she
saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at
the head and the other at the feet. 13They said to her, ‘Woman, why
are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not
know where they have laid him.’ 14When she had said this, she turned
round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15Jesus
said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing
him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away,
tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ 16Jesus
said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which
means Teacher).
17Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me,
because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to
them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” ’ 18Mary
Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she
told them that he had said these things to her.
In Fredericksburg, Texas, on this night every
year, they turn out all the lights in town, ring
the church bells, and light bonfires on the hilltops. They’ve been doing it almost two hundred
years. Fredericksburg is in the Texas Hill
country between Austin and the Mexico border.
That part of Texas was settled first by native Americans, then primarily
by German immigrants, lots of them Lutheran.
They brought the tradition of the Paschal Fire with them from Germany,
where it dates back to rituals performed by the Saxons, which were then picked
up by Christians around the time of Luther (early sixteenth century). No one knows how far back the tradition of
lighting a Paschal Fire goes. It is
almost universally acknowledged as one of the many pagan rituals that
Christians appropriated, particularly once the Council of Nicaea fixed the date
of Easter to springtime. Lots of religious
festivals which welcomed Spring and its longer, warmer days with a fire that
dispelled the darkness of winter.
In Fredericksburg, one tradition holds that it
was actually Native Americans who lit the first fires on the hilltops, to
inform each other about the movements of the European settlers, and doesn’t that
add another wrinkle to the story?! Then,
the story goes, parents explained the fires to their children by telling them
that the Easter Bunny was boiling eggs to dye for their Easter egg hunts in a
giant caldron on the hill. They’ve celebrated this story in Fredericksburg
since the days of black and white photography.
Fire at Easter makes sense, right? The fire,
our liturgy tells us “symbolizes the radiance of Christ and his power over
death.” The Vigil service in
particular is full of images of darkness and light—so much so that we want to
be careful to recognize that darkness itself isn’t bad. For many years, the unexamined idea that
light was good and darkness was bad became a useful metaphor to support the
insidious racism baked into our culture.
The first act of creation was the separation of
light from darkness. God calls the light
good, but does not call the darkness bad, or cast out the darkness. We need darkness for rest and
rejuvenation. Darkness can be
generative. Life-giving. Some things only grow in darkness.
More important to our purposes tonight: the resurrection of Jesus took place in
darkness. It was discovered either in
the first light of the day—according to the synoptic gospels, or—according to
John, our evangelist for this evening:
“while it was still dark.”
Mary went to the tomb while it was still
dark and discovered the stone rolled away.
She went and got the boys and they all came back to the tomb, where
it was still dark, and they checked out the tomb—in the dark—and one
“saw and believed,” and then…
…went home. John says he “saw and
believed,” but his actions suggest something else. Or maybe another way to say it is that he
“saw” physically, but not spiritually. The
most faithful act, John teaches us, is to truly see what God is doing
around us, to truly believe in the power of Jesus, and to act out
of that faith.
In our gospel for tonight—the Easter
narrative—both physical and spiritual
“seeing” and “unseeing” are at play. The
Beloved disciple sees the linen wrappings and Jesus gone, and John even
says that he believed, but he did not yet “understand.” So he saw, but he didn’t see, and now you
know why John is a challenging gospel.
After the boys go back home, Mary speaks to a
pair of angels, and then to Jesus himself.
But she doesn’t see that it’s Jesus. Why?
Well probably because it’s still dark.
And maybe because he looks different.
And surely because she doesn’t understand
what’s going on yet. It’s a lot to comprehend.
Honestly, it’s pretty impressive that she recognizes him when he calls
her name. When he appeared to the
disciples, he had to show them the marks on his hands. Poor Thomas gets such a bad wrap. None of the disciples recognized Jesus
without seeing the marks or hearing him speak.
None of them truly see and more importantly understand
what is happening.
Who can relate?
Who has struggled to understand what’s happening, even when you can see
it unfolding before you? I know I expend
countless hours just saying to my poor wife these days, “I just need someone to
explain it to me.” Trying to use
logic. I think if I point out malignant
narcissism or blatant lying or—and this one is probably my favorite: wildly unchristian behavior that flies in
the face of everything Jesus taught…I think if people can just see that and
understand it, then they’ll change.
Believe in the good again. Follow Jesus again if they purport to be
Christians or just be decent and not be terrible. Again.
These are the moments of darkness that Jesus
describes in John’s gospel. It’s not the absence of light, exactly. It’s the willing suspension of decency. Truth.
Justice. It’s not new and it didn’t start last year, or eight years
ago. The cosmic battle between the
forces of light and the forces of darkness has waged since God separated the
two physically.
And there is no story that the church tells, no
story from our faith that speaks into this struggle as well as the story we
have heard and told this week. We follow
a savior, teacher, healer, Messiah who went all the way into the darkness in
order to show us the light. Those of you brave enough to come to the cross on
Good Friday have stared down human brutality, political violence, religious
intolerance—the worst kind, the internecine stuff.
And here we are, in this place we call
“sanctuary,” staving off the darkness with chandeliers and fire and the
peaceful sense that for an hour and a half, we are safe, from ignorance, and
prejudice, and the news cycle.
The darkness still exists. Nothing we do tonight can totally dispel the
darkness
Not that they don’t happen here, but we don’t
let them live here.
It’s safe here.
Even in the dark. [turn out
lights]
Here in this place, there is peace. There is justice.
We bring in just enough light to see. [light candles]
Enough to see each other.
Enough to see the beauty that surrounds
us.
I want to just pause here and breathe it all
in.
Keep your candle lit for as long as you can,
and let’s sing. You’ll need to look up
front, because I’ve altered the words a bit and it’s dark in here. Let’s sing this nice and meditative.
[Sing 2 verses of “Here in This Place]
This place isn’t magic. It’s much better than that. This room is love. This body is love. This place, this body is a living reflection
of the one who became incarnate for us, gave his life for us, and
rose out of the darkness in order that we might have light.
Here in this place, the light of hope streams.
Here in this place, the joy of chosen family
weaves among us and creates a rich tapestry of coolness and weirdness and joy
and just a dash of irreverence.
Here in this place, you are loved. Filled up with a love you honestly won’t find many other places. A love that says, “Come in. Be you.
There’s another tradition relating to the
Paschal Fire. In ancient times, before people
went to church for the Easter Vigil, they put out all of their lamps and
cooking fires. Then at the end of the
service, they would take some of the Easter fire, which had burned for the
whole service, back to their homes to relight everything.
We do that tonight. Here in this place, we fill each other with
enough love to take home and rekindle our spirits, even in challenging and even
dark times. Take home the light of this
love tonight. Let it burn like a fire on
a hillside, for all the world to see.
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