University Christian Church

On this glorious, transcendent, happy day, with our praise music, Easter lilies, baptisms, and joy, I need to halt our festivities for just a moment.

This morning, I want to challenge our default Easter attitude -

It’s time to put a little terror back into Easter.

Now, I know, for many of you, Easter is your favorite Sunday of the year. You are excited about that baked ham waiting for you at home, the triumphant melodies we will sing together, and those baskets of pretty colored eggs filled with candy.

Why do we need to talk about terror on this day of all days?

Well, did you hear it in our scripture this morning?

On that Easter morning so long ago, Mary Magdalene, Mary, mother of James, and Salome came to the tomb with burial spices to anoint the body of their beloved Jesus. Their hearts were heavy. Tears stained their faces. They lamented together as they prepared to offer a final honor to this man who blessed them with life and hope.

A man who now lay rotting in a tomb.

But that morning did not go as they planned.

In the light of dawn, the women were startled - the tomb was wide open. As they peered in, expecting signs of death and decay, instead there was a young man there, dressed in Easter whites, proclaiming - “He is not here; he has risen!”

But rather than rush from that strange sight singing their best resurrection hymn, the Gospel tells us:

So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Terror and amazement.

Not exactly Easter joy!

What was so terrifying about that moment?

The Greek words for “terror and amazement” in our scripture are used throughout the New Testament to signify the limits of human experience - those moments in life when we see or witness something which cannot be articulated by mere human words or feelings. A spiritual awakening. A Holy Spirit moment.

The women rushed away in terror for what they saw and heard turned their world upside down.

Their beloved Jesus was not dead - he had risen.

How long do you think it took for them to think through it all, put the pieces together, make sense of this startling good news?

This wasn’t an Easter message made out of marshmallow chicks and chocolate bunnies.

This was dangerous stuff - this was a revolution.

That first Easter wasn’t safe.

Not for the world. Not for the Roman Empire. Not for the powers that be. Not for evil. And not for our lives.

That’s why Jesus had been crucified after all - here was a man who dared offer an alternative to the ways of the empire, the ways of greed and consumption, the ways of poverty and injustice. Here was a teacher who dared to threaten the religious institutions of his time that parted out grace and forgiveness like it was in short supply. Here was one who proclaimed freedom for the oppressed, healing for the sick, and justice for the poor, all without asking for permission from the mighty and powerful. Here was one who saw beyond skin color, nationality, and identity and made clear that all had welcome in the family of God.

Here was a man who loved fully, completely, unconditionally, suffering even for the sake of a world that rejected him.

No, Easter wasn’t safe - and neither was Jesus.

The women at the tomb fled in terror and amazement, because in their surprise, Jesus’ love couldn’t be contained or stopped by any power of this world, even death itself. Jesus wasn’t done loving them - and Jesus wasn’t done loving the world.

A love that will never let us go.

Brothers and sisters, coming face to face with unconditional, courageous love is a frightening thing.

How many times have each of us rejected an act of kindness, a word of grace, an invitation to be loved in our imperfection regardless of what we have done or who we are?

Like those women who became the first evangelists of Christianity two thousand years ago, we are too often tricked and bamboozled by the messages of our world which tell us that there is no such thing as unconditional love. We are invited to hate ourselves - our weight, our hair, our skin color, our experiences, our inadequacies. We are taught that injustice and violence are the way things are. We are encouraged to believe that our worth is based on our bank account, our retirement plan, our status in this world. We are shaped by division and sin, despising our neighbors and fearing that which makes us whole. We lust for that which cannot fill us, and we cling to the regrets of our failures and disappointments.

But Easter morning shakes the very gates of hell and and exposes the false, toothless gospels that lead to death and destruction.

As Dr. James Cone writes in God of the Oppressed, “Jesus’ actions represent God’s will not to let his creation be destroyed by non-creative powers. The cross and the resurrection show that freedom promised is now fully available in Jesus Christ.”

In Jesus, we find God’s love with skin on -

a love that cannot be vanquished by a bullet from a gun, by the mightiest empire, or by death in any form.

Resurrection is God’s final word that God will go to the ends of earth to love us.

God will reach into the deepest tomb - into the most hardened heart - and love you into eternity.

So this Easter, be afraid. Be very afraid.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him might not perish but have life everlasting.

For God so loved the immigrant families, documented or undocumented…

For God so loved the gay and straight and transgender child…

For God so loved the victim of violence and the grief-stricken mother…

For God so loved black, white, and brown…

For God so loved the rich and the poor…

For God so loved the heartbroken and the hated…

For God so loved YOU.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Max Lucado shares a powerful resurrection story he first heard in Brazil.

There was a poor family with barely anything to their name living in a rundown little shed on the outskirts of a poor little village in the Brazilian countryside. When tragedy struck and the husband passed away unexpectedly, it left the mother, Maria, and their only daughter, Cristina, to eke out a meager existence in the slums. Maria did what she could, but life was hard.

Cristina grew to be a headstrong and spirited, beautiful young woman. She began to dream about leaving home and venturing out into the big city of Rio de Janeiro to make her own path, away from her mother. She wanted adventure - she wanted success, but Maria knew that Cristina, without much education and with her beautiful brown eyes and bright smile, would instead likely be forced to sell her dignity, her values, and even her body to the highest bidder on the bitter streets of Rio.

And despite Maria’s love, her persistence, their late night arguments, pleading for her beloved child to stay home, the mother came home one afternoon to find her daughter gone with a farewell note left on her pillow - Cristina had gone to the city to find the better life she had always dreamed of.

Maria knew immediately what she must do to find her daughter. She quickly threw some clothes in a bag, gathered up all her money, and ran out of the house.

On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing. Pictures. She sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain, and spent all she could on pictures of herself. With the purse full of small black-and-white photos, she boarded the next bus to Rio de Janeiro.

When she arrived, Maria began her search. Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place where those who fell on hard times might end up. She went to them all. And at each place she left her picture – taped on a bathroom mirror, tacked to a hotel bulletin board, fastened to a corner phone booth. And on the back of each photo she wrote a note.

It wasn’t too long before both the money and the pictures ran out, and Maria had to go home. The weary mother wept as the bus began its long journey back to her small village.

It was a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs. Her young face was tired. Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth, but spoke of pain and fear. Her laughter was broken. Her dream had become a nightmare. A thousand times over she had longed to trade these countless beds for her secure pallet. Yet the little village was, in too many ways, too far away.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small picture of her mother. Christina’s eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo. Written on the back was this compelling invitation. “Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.”

She did.

This Easter morning, God invites you home.

“Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn’t matter.”

May this Easter morning fill you with terror and amazement. May the sin and regret in your life wilt in the face of God’s fierce, unending love for you. May the evils and injustices of our world shatter against the power of the resurrection. May you know an Easter that is not safe - but very very good.

He is not here; Christ is risen!

Christ is risen indeed!