The tomb is (not) empty: Easter Sermon from Jerusalem, 2018

Easter Sunrise Sermon 2018
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

Preached on the Mt. of Olives

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith


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The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.


Easter Sunrise on the Mt of Olives, 2018
Photo by Ben Gray/ELCJHL
Shortly after my Grandma Goldie died, my mom and I traveled together to her house in northwest Iowa to start the process of cleaning for it to be sold. Keep in mind that my grandma had lived in only three houses in all of her 89 years, and she kept everything. So we were pretty sure of what to expect when we got there: namely, about 150 sets of collectible salt and pepper shakers, drawers full of recycled jars containing items like the last 10 chocolate chips from a bag, and decades of Reader’s Digest and Guidepost magazines.

We knew and loved my Grandma Goldie, so we came expecting a huge organizational—and emotional—task. But at some point as Mom and I were going through Grandma’s collections of knick-knacks, I found something I didn’t expect. High up on a shelf, hidden behind an artificial plant, I saw a flash of hot pink. It made me smile as soon as I saw it, because I knew exactly what it was.

It was a plastic Easter egg.

The thing is, my brother is almost 5 years younger than I am, which put him at a disadvantage for our family’s annual Easter egg hunts. I also was (and still am!) an expert finder of lost things, so I could collect a basketful of eggs in just a few minutes, leaving my little brother holding an empty basket, tears streaming down his face. So one year, to make things a bit fairer, the adults started writing our names on the eggs. The rule was, if I found one that said “CARL” I was supposed to put it back for him to find. Only the ones that said “CARRIE” could go in my basket. (I seem to remember that Carl eventually just started following me around and picking up the ones I put back! Smart kid.)

Now, all these years later, I reached up and removed a hot pink plastic Easter egg from my Grandma’s knick-knack shelf and saw that it had “CARRIE” written on it in black Sharpie. Since it had my name on it, I cracked it open and saw…that it was empty.

And this made me very confused.

I thought: How could this be? Maybe my grandma hid an empty egg? That didn’t seem like her.

Maybe it contained a marshmallow peep that just evaporated after thirty years?

Maybe someone else found it, ate the Tootsie Roll out of it, and then put the egg back on the shelf! Scandalous!

Or maybe, one day when she was cleaning, my Grandma Goldie found it, thought of me, and put it back, for me to find one day.

As I stood there holding that empty egg, I realized it wasn’t empty at all. 

It was full of memories—of Easter ham and mashed potatoes, of new Easter dresses with matching hats, and of hymns like “Lift High the Cross” and “I Know that My Redeemer Lives”, which we sang every Easter at the Swedish Lutheran church across the street.

That little plastic egg, which had at first seemed empty, was in reality full of my Grandma’s love for me. And it was full of her love for Jesus, which she passed on to me.

So I snapped it back shut, and put it in my pocket.

Now, when Mary, Salome, and the other Mary got up early to attend to Jesus’ body on that first Easter morning, they thought they knew what to expect, too. Although Jesus had told the disciples several times how he would “suffer, and die, and on the third day be raised”, the women fully expected to find the body of their beloved Jesus in the tomb that morning. They bought special spices they expected to use for anointing his body. The Gospel according to Mark even tells us what they were talking about on the way to the tomb—and it was not a theological discussion about whether or not the Father would raise Jesus from the dead. It was, “Who will roll the stone away from the tomb for us?”

In other words, they expected a stone.
They expected a body.
They expected death.

But when they arrived, the women encountered something wholly unexpected. 

They saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled away from the tomb, and the tomb was empty.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

To be honest, I don’t really love the Easter story as told by Mark. I don’t love the way the women are portrayed in this account of the Resurrection (first of all, they don’t plan ahead for someone to move that stone for them, and then at the end of the story, Mark says they failed to share the Good News, most likely because women were not seen as worthwhile witnesses. This is not exactly a feminist text. But that’s a sermon for another day…)

Most of all, I dislike how Jesus makes no appearance at all in Mark’s version of the resurrection story. I mean, this is Easter. Give me some angels, not some guy in a white dress! Give me an earthquake and some lightning! Give me some Jesus, not some old empty cave! Amen!

But listen, as the man in white said: “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place where they laid him.”

Some details may differ, but the empty tomb appears in all four Gospels, and for good reason:

The empty tomb is the ultimate sign that what Jesus had prophesied is true: that he is risen from the dead. 
The tomb did not, and could not, contain Jesus for long!
The tomb did not, and could not, bury God’s love for us!

So yes, the tomb is empty--
It is empty of death.
It is empty of despair.

But it is full of something else: It is full of hope!
The tomb of Jesus is full of hope, for there is no situation in life which God cannot transform for the good! Amen!
The tomb is full of hope, because we never have to settle for things as they are. God is always making things new! Amen!
The tomb is full of hope, because goodness is stronger than evil! Amen!
The tomb is full of hope, because death never has the last word! Amen!

And the tomb of Jesus, which the women found empty, is also full of love—the love of the Father for the Son, and the love of God for the world, a love which we have come to know through Christ’s suffering on the cross, with us and for us. Thanks be to God.

My dear siblings in Christ,
This has been one heck of a Lenten season. 

It started off with a bang—and I mean that literally—with the shooting deaths of 17 students and teachers at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School on Ash Wednesday.

And the season culminated on Good Friday, which also happened to be Land Day here in Palestine. As we were remembering the crucifixion of Jesus, walking the Via Dolorosa here in Jerusalem, at least 16 Palestinians were being killed by IDF forces near the Gaza border.

I can’t stop thinking about those 17 who died in their school in my home country,
And of those 16 who died while protesting, while praying, even while running away, trying to protect the hope of simply having a home country.

Lent always begins with ashes and ends with the cross, but this year, the reality of sin, violence, death, and our human brokenness seems especially heavy, and especially predictable.

Worshipers at the Easter Sunrise service 2018
Photo by Ben Gray/ELCJHL
So I understand if maybe you came here this morning not expecting much.

I understand if you came expecting more of the same from the world, and from the church.

I understand if you, like Mary and Mary and Salome, came to worship feeling empty, and you are just going through the motions:

Because this is what we do on Easter Sunday,
Because this is what we do when someone we love dies,
Because this is what we do when the world seems to be falling apart.

But dear people, hear the Good News of Easter:
God has seen our broken hearts,
God has seen our broken promises,
God has seen our broken societies,
God has even seen the broken body of the Son, Jesus—a body broken by our sin—and God has done something completely unexpected:

In great love, God has raised Jesus from the tomb, and has raised us to new life with him. Thanks be to God, the tomb is empty! He is risen! Amen!

But in this difficult time, when so many feel empty already,
hear me when I say that the empty tomb of Jesus is not the absence of anything.

It is the presence of God’s love for you.
It is the presence of resurrection hope.
It is the presence of salvation for a broken world and for broken people.
It is the presence of healing, of wholeness, and of new beginnings.
It is the presence of peace with justice for every nation.
It is the presence of life, and life abundant, for all of God’s creation.

When I think of the empty tomb today, and all that it means for followers of Jesus, I can’t help but think about that plastic Easter egg I found in my Grandma’s house—the one that appeared to be empty, but was full of so much love: 
The one with my name on it.

On this Easter morning, I invite you to think of the empty tomb of Jesus as a precious, unexpected gift, with your name written on it.

Some of the Redeemer community enjoying the sunrise after worship
Easter morning 2018, Mt of Olives
Photo by Ben Gray/ELCJHL
In great love, God has carefully placed this gift where seekers could find it, again and again: 

In Scripture, 
in bread and wine,
and in the company of fellow believers,

here in Jerusalem, and wherever two or there are gathered in his name.

Thanks be to God! And so, with all the saints on earth and in heaven, let us proclaim once again:

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!
Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!
Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

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