“In Between Grief and Hope”
Luke 24:1-12
On the cover of your bulletin this morning, you see this picture, a free version generated by AI, painted initially by artist Hershel Pollard, depicting three women coming to the tomb. The same image is here on screen and in the entrance to the sanctuary this morning, along with the rest of our “Lenten Journey Through Art” display. Who were these women?
Luke identifies them as:
- Mary Magdalene. Back in Luke 8:2-3, we can read that Jesus healed her of demonic possession. We also read that she is one of several women who helped support Jesus’s ministry with her financial resources. We believe that she was from a wealthy family and came from the fishing village of Magdala on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. She is mentioned by name 12 times in the Gospels, more than most of the male disciples. Many Christian denominations recognize her as “The apostle to the apostles,” since she is mentioned in all four gospels as either a single witness of Christ’s resurrection (John’s Gospel) or one in a group who go and tell the men what has happened.
- Joanna, the wife of Chuza, King Herod’s “steward,” meaning his property/finance manager. According to that same section in Luke, she was also cured in some way by Jesus and supported Christ’s ministry through her means. As Chuza’s wife, she was wealthy.
- Mary of James. This woman is a bit more obscure. She isn’t listed in chapter 8 and gets lost amid all the other Marys mentioned in the New Testament. Most scholars, however, list her as an essential member of Jesus’ immediate family, as the sister of Mary, the mother of Jesus.
- But wait, there are more women! Verse 10 mentions that “the other women” were with the three when they shared their story with the male disciples. So, that means there were at least two more, which means at least five women went to the tomb that Sunday morning. So the artwork is incorrect, sorry. If you look closely, not only is the number of women incorrect compared with scripture, but their fingers and toes are also a bit off. AI is weird!
However, many women there were, they were the first human proclaimers of Jesus’ resurrection. Let us look closer at this story to see how it applies to us this morning.
Since Jesus died on a Friday, and his entombment by Joseph of Arimathea took place that afternoon, the women gathered their oils and spices that same evening, then observed the Sabbath, which was Saturday. They had to wait until Sunday morning to go and anoint Jesus’ body. What role did they play in Jesus’ band of disciples? Since these things happened in the first century, were they just servants of the male disciples, along for the ride? Theologian Amy Jill Lavine says, “They weren’t just the traveling hospitality and patronage brigade.” They had heard Jesus’ teachings and had been healed by his touch. In addition to helping finance his ministry and likely cooking meals and serving the men, they, too, were disciples of Jesus.
They saw his long, torturous death from afar. They saw Joseph of Arimathea remove his battered body from the cross, wrap him in linen, and lay him in a tomb. These women were grieving the death of their teacher, their Rabbonai. In their grief, they did what little they could. They practiced their faith by preparing Jesus’ body for burial.
Someone had already moved the stone from its entrance as they arrived at the tomb. Initially, they likely thought the tomb had been broken into. Graves were for paupers to be buried in. But tombs signified wealth (In this case, Joseph of Arimathea’s wealth). So, the women disciples’ first inclination may have been that someone had broken in looking for valuables. Also, in those days, nails used to fix victims to crosses were valuable and considered to have magical powers. Despite the stone being moved, it hadn’t been robbed. And the tomb was far from empty.
They saw two angelic men in “dazzling” clothes as they looked inside the entrance. The word in Greek, translated as “Dazzling,” is the same as “star.” These guys were bright and shiny, signifying holiness. The angels were surprised that the women did not know Jesus had been raised. But since they had inside information, it wasn’t fair to assume mortals would understand what had happened. Their bringing of spices to anoint the body indicates where they are emotionally. They are in grief, yet do not remain there.
Grief is a healthy response to Jesus’ death. What revives hope in grief? Sometimes it is a memory. The women remembered Jesus’ words through the two angels in the tomb. Jesus told them he would be handed over, crucified, and then risen on the 3rd day. The third day was that very day. Hope flickered. Could it be? So they returned to where the rest of the disciples were gathered, most likely in the upper room where they had celebrated the Passover together just a few days prior.
They told the male disciples about their experience and what they had been told. Jesus has risen! They were the first to proclaim Christ’s resurrection, the apostles to the apostles. But they did not believe it because the message was unbelievable. In the disciples' view, no one rises after dying on a cross and being entombed for 3 days. Not only that, but they also knew what had happened to Jesus. He was dead and gone, and they, too, were grieving. Sometimes the grief, depression, and sorrow are too heavy, as it was for the rest of Jesus’ followers. To them, the women’s tale was Leros- “Leros”, an idle tale, nonsense, the mutterings of the delirious.
Perhaps you identify with the feelings of those gathered in the Upper Room and their disbelief? The remaining disciples' incredulity and grief may feel relatable, especially in the context of life in America today. I find myself grieving what was in our nation in light of what is, and can hardly believe where things have occurred in such a short time. In a country beset by sorrow, the loss of freedom for churches to have safe sanctuaries free to worship and welcome immigrants, the worship of nation over God, and heartbreak over the loss of funds for agencies working with the impoverished locally and globally, a glimmer of hope, the possibility of new life, may have a hard time breaking through the gloom. A glimpse of beauty, a flash of loveliness, may be dismissed by us as nothing more than an idle tale, even on such a day as this. Do you find yourself here?
One of the disciples, however, is moved. Amid Peter’s gloomy darkness, a glimmer of hope is born. The women’s tale gave Peter enough hope to get up, run to the tomb, and see for himself. He, too, remembers Jesus’ words and chooses impulsively to run to the grave and see for himself what the women disciples have described. Hope can compel us to action, even during grief.
We don’t know where the upper room was for certain, but it is traditionally located on the second floor of an ancient two-story building next to the church of Dormition, where Mary, the mother of Jesus, was said to have died. The distance from this upper room to the church of the Holy Sepulcher, traditionally where Jesus was crucified and the location of his tomb, is 3.26 miles. Peter ran a little more than a holy 5k!
When he finally got there, scripture tells us he stooped down, looked inside the empty tomb, saw the burial linens, and marveled at the scene. He returned to the Upper Room, wondering and pondering if it was true.
Rev. Sara Speed wrote about Peter’s race with hope in her poem
In the Direction of Hope
I am on my way. Wait for me in the garden; I will be there soon!
I’m not the fastest runner, Lord knows that, but these legs are moving.
I suppose I could blame my weary spirit for the slow speed.
I could blame the grief I’ve shoved into my pockets and laid around my neck.
I could blame my own hesitation to hope, a hesitation that clings like mud.
But I don’t know that Jesus cares about my speed. So tell God when you see them— I am on my way! Wait for me in the garden. I will be there soon! (
Perhaps you identify with Peter this morning. Despite the gloominess and worries about our society, maybe it is time to at least walk, jog, or sprint full out towards something positive and wonderful—resurrection! New life! I remember doing that very thing at the end of last year’s Easter service.
Easter Sunday is meant to be a joyful, jubilant celebration- a chance to begin again, to embrace new life and hope. You may or may not be there.
To close for this morning, I saw this post in our Cascades Presbytery newsletter and wanted to share it with you. In his classic book A Hidden Wholeness, author Parker Palmer reflects on how farmers on the Great Plains used to prepare for blizzard conditions. Farmers would tie a rope from their back door to their barn when a snowstorm loomed. The reason was simple: these blizzards would sometimes be so powerful that farmers would literally become lost in their own backyards, unable to see beyond layer after layer of snow. Though we don’t experience many blizzards in the Pacific Northwest, Palmer uses this metaphor to illustrate our experience of living in a broken and unstable world. He writes: “Today we live in a blizzard of another sort. It swirls around us as economic injustice, ecological ruin, physical and spiritual violence, and their inevitable outcome, war. It swirls within us as fear and frenzy, greed and deceit, and indifference to the suffering of others. Some of us fear that we, or those we love, will become lost in the storm. Some are lost at this moment and are trying to find the way home. Some are lost without knowing it. And some are using the blizzard as cover while cynically exploiting its chaos for private gain.”
We know the reality of the “blizzard” all too well. Not only do we glimpse it in the headlines, but we feel it in the depths of our soul. And yet, the promise of Easter comes to us amid the storm—a rope, a lifeline to guide and hold onto. However you arrived here this morning, whether you feel caught in a blizzard, are steeped in grief, wrapped up in despair, numbed by stress, or running in the direction of hope, this story, this rope of hope is for you. Resurrection is for you. New life is for you. For Christ is Risen. Alleluia! Amen.
