The First Easter

Reverend Janet Parsons

Today, probably more than any other day, our new way of daily life just feels wrong. We have been asked to make many sacrifices during the past few weeks. And the timing of that is appropriate, in its way, as we have just finished the 40 days of Lent. The time of Lent in the Christian tradition is offered to us as a time of waiting, of doing without some things that we love, in order to make room in our lives to examine and discern new ways of living. But much has been asked of us this year; much more than usual. As one popular social media post puts it, “This is the Lentiest Lent that I have ever Lented.”
Of course, the promise of Lent is that it ends, and that Easter morning ushers in joy and celebration. We return to eating the indulgent food we might have given up. And so often we look forward to celebrating: big family gatherings, flowers, new clothes, Easter baskets and egg hunts, exuberant church services with soaring music and words. The promise is one of joy returning, of celebration of new life, of resurrection.
But this year, our life of waiting and doing without just continues. We wait in fear of a tiny virus that we cannot see. We give up time together, seeing friends, seeing the grandchildren, in-person church, family dinners. We might feel that we are still in a tomb of our own. And we can be forgiven for asking, is it really Easter? Can we sing alleluia?
And so, to answer that question: is it really Easter, I invite us to think about the very first Easter. We had a glimpse of it in our gospel reading this morning. That first Easter, full of grief and mystery. Consider the scene: Jesus’ followers afraid for their lives, afraid of showing themselves and being caught and tortured and executed themselves. They would have been huddled together in grief, wondering what would become of them and the movement that Jesus had begun. Where would the path lead? What should they do?
In our reading from the Gospel of Mark, we hear words that have nothing in common with a celebration. We hear words like terror, and alarm, words like mourning and weeping. When the first Easter dawned, no one was celebrating. That very first Easter began in lament. The followers of Jesus were sad and confused, not jubilant. They had no idea that the time of waiting had ended, that the new life that Jesus had been promising them was at hand. All was dark, in the pre-dawn hours. Although the women were told by the man they encountered in the tomb that Jesus had been raised, they didn’t know what he meant, and according to the account in the gospel, they were too afraid to tell anyone. All was darkness, weeping and confusion. And sadly, that is the reality for far too many people around the world this Easter morning.
The confusion comes to us down through the ages written into the Gospel of Mark itself. This gospel has two endings. The longer ending, believed to be the older version, tells of Jesus appearing to Mary Magdelene and then to the disciples in different places, until he was taken up into heaven. The shorter, later, version, believed to date from the 4th century, merely mentions that Jesus sent the disciples to proclaim eternal salvation. So the very narrative is confused, evolving over the first centuries of the Christian story as people began to interpret the story and to make sense of it.
If the gospel itself tells the story in different ways, imagine the confusion and fear in the moment, of not knowing whether to believe a witness who had visited an empty tomb before dawn. There was the uncertainty of not knowing what would come next. The sorrow over the torture and death of one they had loved so much. The followers of Jesus were caught in a liminal time; a time in between. Something had happened, but they didn’t understand it. A new life began to beckon, but they were not yet able to feel hope.
This is the Easter story that speaks to us today. The story we need to hear today, during the pandemic of 2020, is the story of grief and loss and uncertainty. Like the disciples, we sense that we are on the edge of something; that we are poised at the brink of new ways of life, also caught in a liminal time. There is great grief over the deaths that we have not been able to prevent. There is anger over our lack of control, and also over how much we have had to sacrifice, not just today, but throughout the past month and for months to come. We think of promising and dedicated medical professionals losing their lives in the fight to save others. We think of all those who are losing their jobs. And as spring approaches, we think of college and high school students who will not have proms and graduations and parties, and of couples forced to give up their wedding dreams.
We wait. We grieve all our losses. Is it time for resurrection, and for its certain message of hope?
Is it really Easter? Yes, it certainly is. For today, there is resurrection. There is new life. Resurrection takes place around us and within us, every day of our lives. On Easter we celebrate resurrection, but it is present every day, if we recognize it for what it is and allow it to fill us with hope.
Where do we find rebirth, and resurrection? Where do we find hope? There are many places to seek hope. I see it in the response of people, giving up their daily lives, staying apart, wearing uncomfortable masks, protecting each other. This is a life-giving, life-sustaining act, a daily act of love.
I see hope and new life as we all learn to do new things; to try new ways to manage our daily lives. One thing is clear: this pandemic will not leave us where it found us. We’ve learned new technology. We’ve learned to sew masks, to order groceries online. We have new skills. How are you changing and growing through this? Do you have your own sense of new life within you, of life calling you forward in new directions? This is a powerful resurrection, and a source of hope.
I see our planet beginning to heal itself. Seismologists are measuring vibrations at the Earth’s surface, and report that due to reduced travel and other human activity, the Earth vibrates less. We are seeing from satellite images that air pollution is reduced, with fewer emissions from vehicles and power plants. Perhaps you saw, as I did, the photos from India where people can see the Himalayan mountains in the distance for the first time in many years. Also, life in cities is quieter. An American named Rebecca Frank, who lives in Wuhan, in China, reported that she began to hear birdsong. The resurrection of our creation is a powerful one; and a great source of hope. If we see so clearly how our actions affect the planet, can we finally marshal the will to make permanent changes, and offer rebirth to our home?
I gain hope from the number of people beginning to recover from the Covid-19 illness. Many of our families, friends, and neighbors will be returning to us healthy and whole. I think often of the people who have been on ventilators, who have been sedated for days and had a mechanical device providing all their oxygen. Being weaned off a ventilator, or off of an oxygen machine, offers us a powerful image of resurrection, of rebirth.
And then there is this story. At the Baystate Health hospitals, when a patient is well enough to leave the hospital, “Code Rocky” is announced over the public address system. The staff who have cared for that patient line up to offer a standing ovation, and the theme song from the movie Rocky is played as the patient leaves. There is joy, and celebration taking place, not where we usually find it, but right there among those on the front lines of caregiving. This Code Rocky ritual offers us a powerful story of resurrection for Easter, in the year 2020.
My friends, small resurrections are everywhere, signifying new life and rebirth. May your faith in the power and goodness of life itself be sustained at this time. May you remember to look for these small resurrections that surround us every day, as new life finds a way to emerge, and may you celebrate daily, not just on Easter, as you discover that new life both within and without.

May it be so
Blessed Be,
Amen. Alleluia!