EASTER (Written on March 31, 2009)

For the Lectionary (what's a lectionary?) of April 12, 2009: Mark 16:1-8

 

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

 

EASTER MOURNING by Larry Patten

What will you choose?

Easter mourning or Easter celebration? Fear or hope? Will you choose to read Mark’s or John’s words as the Easter dawn teases the new day?

Usually months before Easter I’ll search the Internet for the official time of the rising sun for my part of the world. Obviously Easter dances from one date to another from one year to the next. Equally obviously, sunrise in Fresno, California will occur “later” than Denver, Colorado or Bangor, Maine. (Though in China, where they ignore time zones, it’s always the same time everywhere!)

I like discovering the official civil twilight. Civil twilight is a naval term for the first glimpse (or last) of a defined horizon. Night is over. Not yet dawn. But dawn will be soon. Whenever Easter occurs, and wherever I live, knowing civil twilight’s predicted start helps me choose a Sunrise Service’s official beginning.

On April 12, 2009 civil twilight is 6:02 AM. Sunrise will take place exactly twenty-seven minutes later at 6:29 AM. Ta-da: plan for a 6:30 AM celebration! Quick, post that time on your church’s web page. And now you can tell the trumpeter when to sound the jubilation and determine the order of songs and scriptures. Of course, you also may choose to ignore this data and have your Sunrise Service always begin at, say, 7 AM. Maybe you start at a particular time because of your church’s we’ve-always-done-it-this-way tradition or your personal pastoral desire to get maximum beauty rest. But you have the data. You choose.

But let’s return to civil twilight to understand another choice. The Earth spins over a 1,000 MPH and you, global citizen (whether residing in Fresno, Bangor, or Beijing), stare towards the east. Brace yourself. 1,000 MPH is not for the faint-hearted. In the dark you wait. The first glimpse. The first hint. Will you delight in the new day or will you have regrets? What awaits? What will you read from scripture that truthfully prepares you for this particular year’s Easter? Hurry, the light’s coming. Choose!

My bet is that for this year’s Easter, if you’re a lectionary preacher, you selected John’s Gospel. This year, the lectionary provided a choice. Mark or John? Easter mourning or Easter celebration?

John’s wonderful. From start to nearly the end, there’s drama, despair, mystery, and more. But, verse by verse, the reader charges toward the climax and overhears Mary, having experienced the risen Christ, declare, “I have seen the Lord.” Alleluia! Cue the choir. Sing Christ the Lord Has Risen Today. Easter celebration!

But what if you chose the other Gospel? Mark’s a prickly pick. Eight brief verses sum up the final chapter. Of course—as with all of the Gospels—only women were present. And yes, as with John, there’s drama and mystery. But oh, that last verse. It sticks in your throat like a soda cracker with not one drop of water to swish it down.

. . . and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid.

Gulp. That’s it. The end. Curtains close. The audience shuffles away. The band packs their instruments and leave.

John shouts, “I have seen the Lord!” Time to celebrate!

Mark confesses, “They were afraid.” Time to . . . mourn? Mourning may not be the best word. Of course, it’s me playing with a word.

And yet it’s close enough. In the time of mourning emotions are legion. Doubt, sorrow, and anger elbow against us. And being afraid can shove its way in. When we mourn, we are often afraid of the past, of the ongoing regrets or unresolved conflicts that burden the soul like an anchor stuck in mud. What were the fears of Mark’s women as they ran away? We don’t know. But wouldn’t it be, based on personal experience, easy to guess?

On the day of Easter, whether at the first hint of light on the far horizon, or in the bright sanctuary crowded with worshippers later in the morning, I’m glad we have both readings. Indeed, I’m glad we have all four Gospels with their individual interpretations and theology of about the resurrection. I am glad we can’t say for sure what happened at that long-ago twilight time for John’s singular Mary or Mark’s women scurrying away from the tomb. And also Matthew with its odd inclusion of the guards paid to be asleep (Matthew 28:12-13) and Luke’s Emmaus walk that took place closer to Easter’s other twilight time (Luke 24:13-35).

For me, some Easters have been spent in literal mourning. Loss in my life. Fresh guilt or old sorrows unexpectedly visiting. Within two weeks of Easter one year, a district superintendent intentionally lied about me to a bishop and the worst time of my ministry unfolded. What an Easter mourning that was.

Some Easters were wall-to-wall celebrations. In March of this year my wife and I rejoiced in twenty-five years of marriage. Which means that a quarter-century ago, not long before Easter, I walked down the aisle. What a bonus! Happy Marriage. Happy Easter. Happy!

So I say let’s read all the Gospels. Dare to include all the feelings. Even in the worst years, though, I stand in that twilight time. I look east. I wait. Darkness loses its grip. With billions of others on Earth, awake and asleep, I rush forward at a thousand miles an hour. Then, there it is! I see light. Just an edge. A hint. Enough. Christ the Lord Has Risen Today!

in Peace,

Larry