But before we take even a single step forward we must remember how we got here. Before we can attest, "He is risen," we must remember, "It is finished."
One week leads to the next- so, let us begin this journey by saying:
"The hour was late on the last day of the week, while the light was still fading…

Judas had betrayed Jesus to the Temple police. Pilate caved into the decree of the Sanhedrin - that council of 71 Jewish leaders who were responsible for collecting taxes, trying capital cases and dealing with religious problems. The restive crowd in Jerusalem was in danger of becoming a mob. All hell seemed about to break loose.

The occasion of sin wasn't just near - it was palpable and present, embodied in weak-willed malevolence and misused power. Caiaphas, the High Priest of Jerusalem that year - and Pilate, the Roman Governor - swam in the same sea of fear and reached for the same pragmatic flotsam that floated near at hand.

Two men with strikingly different allegiances misguidedly grasped for the same ineffectual lifesaver- exigency. Ironically, it had been the act of raising Lazarus from the dead that had sealed Jesus' death warrant. The countryside was abuzz with stories of Jesus' power, and the usual undercurrent of Messianic expectations in Palestine rose up like a powerful wave that carried Jesus into Jerusalem, then lapped at the very foundations of the Temple, and, the city.

It was the kind of thing that Rome seemed able to sense from a great distance like some poisonous spider on one end of a vibrating strand of web that stretched between two far-flung trees. A little wind in the web would not call down the spider. But even a tiny struggle from the smallest insect landing on the connecting strand would be followed by the near immediate present of many legs and indiscriminate death for whatever the spider encountered when it came.

It had been Caiaphas, the High Priest, who had said to the council "it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed." But both Caiaphas and Pilate feared a riot, and Rome's response, more than a travesty of justice. Pilate equivocated, but in the end echoed the Sanhedrin's pronouncement of death, added the imprimatur of Rome and provided the means. Whips, wood and iron would end this. Jesus was innocent. But Jesus was doomed.

The soldiers took Jesus away and the disciples crumbled like an arch when the keystone is removed. They lost all sense of connection, the curving vision that had arced from earth to heaven could not hold in their hearts when their earthly expectations were not met. Jesus had told them he would be killed, prepared them- even warned them- but they could not see it. The bread had been more than bread. The wine, was - it was unthinkable. The disciples certainly couldn't see past his death, so they couldn't grasp the promise He had made about what would happen next.

So the bloody and beaten Jesus was propped up alone and nailed to a cross to die while most of the disciples ran and hid. Only the two Marys and the beloved disciple remained, at the foot of the cross, as life slipped from Jesus and hope drained from them.

Paradox and reversal abound in John's gospel. It was two members of the Sanhedrin who went to Pilate for the body- Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. Joseph must have known that to touch the dead was to be defiled. Joseph must have known that to be seen with Jesus, even after his death, was not good for Joseph's standing in the council. Did Joseph hear an echo of the parable of the Good Samaritan and cringe at the irony as he reached out for Jesus' body? Samaritans were outcasts, unclean in the eyes of proper Jews. In the parable only the Samaritan was willing to aid the wounded man. Only the outcast was willing to risk encountering the dead and becoming unclean. Joseph, the good Jew, leader of Israel, was playing the role of the Good Samaritan. The body of Jesus was the body of his neighbor, not his enemy.

Nicodemus stood next to Joseph holding a hundred pounds of spice. You couldn't have missed the smell of myrrh even in the dark, but Nicodemus was standing next to Jesus in broad daylight. Nicodemus was there in front of God and everyone. How different than the last time when Nicodemus had skulked through the back streets in the dark, avoiding the light, but hoping to see Jesus without being seen.

But here was the bulky bag of linens and spice thrown over Nicodemus' shoulder. Here was the broken body of a man executed like a common bandit, and two prominent leaders that many would have recognized from the Temple standing with him. Joseph and Nicodemus wrapped the body in spices and linen and laid it, quickly, in a tomb - in the very garden in which Jesus had been crucified- for the sun was sinking and the Sabbath was near.

Then it was evening - the Sabbath. Hardly anyone moved. But it could have been a Wednesday, or any other day of the week as far as the disciples were concerned. It was not holiness that caused them to stay indoors and hold as still as a breathless, hiding child. It was fear, shock and utter confusion.

Then suddenly it was morning -the first day of the week, while it was still dark. It was dark but a light stronger than death was about to burst out of a tomb; a beam that would pierce the centuries and knocked the earth off its previously appointed rounds. Do you believe this?

Does it seem just a little too fantastic? Don't feel too bad, even the disciples couldn't connect the dots at first- and they were there. Some of them stood right where the resurrection had taken place and still didn't get it. Mary got there first - she saw that the stone had been rolled away but couldn't make herself go any closer. Full of assumptions she ran to the others with a plausible explanation without even remembering what Jesus had said. It's understandable. How many times have we seen some mysterious sign in our own life - then run without reflection to tell the tale, and explained away the experience rather than remember what we have heard of Christ and looking with expectation for the presence and power of God?

Tombs are dark and fearful places into which we do not gladly go. But a stone that has been rolled away is an invitation. If we enter into the darkness seeking signs that God has not been eradicated, we will find them. Do you believe this?

When the beloved disciple and Peter came to the tomb, Peter was out of breath. He was older than the other. But the beloved disciple waited out of respect and let Peter enter first. They saw more than the darkness. On the floor were the linen cloths that Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus had wrapped around the body of Jesus. The spices must have been in piles around the floor, like an echo of the offering of the Magi all those years ago: but there was no straw in the tomb; no animals; no manger- and most importantly, no body.

What would we have done in the face of this inexplicable scene? Peter and the beloved disciple simply went home. Does that seem strange? But how many times have we gotten so close to the sacred that we were standing next to the wrappings of a miracle, then walked away? Sometimes only a gauzy veil separates us from the numinous. Light begins pouring into the darkness of our souls. But we turn, not necessarily in our bodies, but in our hearts and minds, and leave the scene before full awareness can dawn. We have our expectations. We hold them fiercely. If God Himself presents some image, some sign, some possibility that is outside our expectations we are tempted to walk away in disbelief, certain in our worldly conclusions.

Mary is the last to leave. She is clutching her grief. She is sure that Jesus is nowhere to be found. She is so sure of this that she can't see him when he stands right in front of her. Jesus has died. The dead do not rise. Therefore this man is not Jesus. Mary is not alone in her logic. I remember being an adherent of this view. It is perfectly logical- but it is not, thanks be to God, true.

Jesus speaks. Mary knows. Like lambs that know the sound of the shepherd's voice, those who are prepared to listen with their hearts will see what their eyes cannot register. And you know the sound of His voice. You have heard it on the wind, in the crash of the sea. Christ speaks through the stranger and the mouths of children. Listen… Listen…Listen to Him.

We do not stand at the empty tomb. But we stand with a mighty cloud of witnesses that number in the billions, and populate the millennia. We stand with those who can affirm by simply looking around that the life and death of Jesus has changed the world.

But such facts are just the outward sign, the stone rolled to the side. As we stand in this church we are surrounded by piles of linen and spices, the unspoken stories of resurrection in the lives of those here present. Some who worship here have shared their stories of new life with one another. They know that doing so sheds light in the darkness for others and connects the stories of faith from scripture with the desires of our hearts and the hours of our lives. Resurrection is real. It is not simply a past reality - a saving grace for Jesus alone. It is a promise and an invitation to us. Neither sin nor death can hold you. Even a tomb can be a place of life. Rise up and run to Jesus. Rise up with him, and live.

Alleluia, Christ is Risen!
The Lord is Risen, indeed!