Layer by Layer

John 20:1-18; Genesis 1:1-2:2; Exodus 14:10-31, 15:20-21; Isaiah 55:1-11; Zephaniah 3:14-20

Centuries ago, and tonight, Jesus’ resurrection unfolds slowly, in half-revelations, stages and hiccups.

 

As the darkness starts to fade into dawn, Mary of Magdala stops and stares at the stone rolled away from the entrance of Jesus’ tomb.

Sees the darkness behind the stone and feels her loss.

They’ve taken him away, she tells Peter and the other disciple.

She sees part of the truth. A clue, but not the answer.

 

Peter and the other race to see for themselves, and see… emptiness.

They see more of the truth – that the disappearance of Jesus probably wasn’t grave robbers – the neatly folded wrappings suggesting gentle care.

The other disciple believes…something. Not everything, but something.

An answer, but not the answer.

 

Mary, weeping, seeks more.

Peers into the tomb, and sees angels.

Sees the divine hand at work, but still the absence of Jesus.

An answer: the presence of God has replaced the presence of death.
But mostly the question still: where is Jesus?

 

Finds someone who should know, who calls her by name, and then, finally,

finally,

she is found.

Jesus is here, alive, vivid, so real.

And at last, the fullness of life and love and salvation are here and now.

The mystery solved, the answer joyful and fulfilled.

And Jesus insists that there is more to come.

 

Similarly – and quite differently! – our liturgy of resurrection tonight refuses to leap straight into the bright Alleluias, but folds and unfolds the facets of God’s salvation like an origami shape.

 

In the darkness (the almost darkness) an ancient chant invokes the benefits and power of Jesus’ resurrection over a fire and a candle.

 

Back, then, to The Beginning – the day-by-day unfolding of the creative power of God – and the clue to the story of salvation (from before we needed salvation) that you and I and all of humanity is made in the image of God.

 

Then the water parts, the power of God reshapes nature and physics for a daring escape, a mighty rescue. A promise of truth that God will not let us be lost to any force on earth. But not yet our whole truth.

 

Isaiah sings God’s invitation and command to dive into abundance, to share all the overflowing gifts of God. Zephaniah calls us to sing in celebration of the victory God is bringing.

The hand of God is upon us now…and we are still waiting for Jesus.

 

Until at last the lights flash bright, the bells ring, the Easter joy bursts forth in full.

And we have arrived at the celebration of resurrection.

Jesus has risen, death is defeated, we here and now are freed from all that separates us from God.

And Jesus tells us (our liturgy tells us!), there is more to come.

 

Tonight, just like that morning long ago in Jerusalem, revelation, resurrection, and salvation unfold slowly; in different shapes and clues and directions.

 

Humans, after all, usually need to receive information, discover truth, in multiple different ways before we absorb it, know it, can act on it.

 

And, for all we throw the lights on and shout “Alleluia!” in one bright moment here tonight, Easter does not really happen in a snap.

 

We might want to, sometimes, but we really don’t go from death to resurrection in the blink of an eye.

Easter, salvation, and resurrection build up in us, in individuals and communities, layer by layer, story by story, experience by experience.

 

Mary doesn’t experience the revelation of new life without first experiencing the absence of death. Or without experiencing – and expressing to the angels, and the “gardener” – her longing for Jesus. She does not see Jesus risen until she hears all the love of God in her own name, spoken.

 

The shock, the yearning, the partial experiences all build up, to the full truth.

The wounds, his and hers, are still there – but now wrapped in the incomprehensible and glorious full experience of resurrection.

 

So tnight, we too enter into the layers of resurrection. We journey together through the stories of creation and salvation, the insistent summons to abundance and celebration, that God lays in front of us in different times and ways and places.

These stories of our community life in God are meant to weave themselves with our personal – and our shared – experiences of self-discovery, and rescue, and generosity, and protection. To wind around and through our own wounds and losses, our fears and fragile hopes, brought together here.
Until, one moment, or many times, when we hear our own name spoken in the voice of love and eternity. As we finally, slowly, repeatedly, suddenly discover that the undefeatable love of God has risen for us.

 

That Easter is ours, now and always.

That resurrection becomes real for us, around us, in us.

Inviting us to what comes next.