Gospel: Luke 24:1-12
The women knew. Peter knew. They had absolutely no reason to believe, of course. The only thing they could point to with any certainty was an empty tomb, but that meant nothing other than verifying the body – his body – wasn’t there. Jesus hadn’t appeared to anyone … yet. No one had heard his voice or seen his wounds … yet. There was simply an empty burial chamber and two visitors who told the women he had risen.
But to Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other unnamed women standing together early that morning, what they knew in those moments was sufficient. The empty tomb; the words of the strangers; a moment of reflection on what Jesus had told the before: nothing else was needed. They knew, and they went to share that knowledge.
Then there was Peter. Alone among the disciples, he knew. The others didn’t believe the women when they first appeared at the door, telling a wild story about an empty tomb and two strangers and … a risen Jesus? Surely, they were simply affected by overwhelming grief or creating a wild story out of something they’d hoped to find that morning. Whatever the cause, it was idle talk. The women were being ignored.
But to Peter, the words of the women were sufficient. What they said, and perhaps even his own reflection on all Jesus had said and shown him and the other disciples over the past three years, was enough. Nothing else was needed. He knew, and he went to the tomb to test that knowledge.
What those women and Peter shared on that first Easter morning was faith. They carried within them “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”[1] Despite the fear and grief and – to put it bluntly – horror of the past few days, these faithful few carried something within them … something they may not have understood or been able to explain, but it was most definitely there. On Friday they were overwhelmed by what had taken place and couldn’t see it. Now, on Sunday morning, a few days removed from those events and with the opportunity to look at more of the picture, they knew.
Faith is a challenge. For many it’s difficult to not only comprehend faith but, because of chaos in the world or in their own lives and the instability with which they live, to feel like they could even possess faith. I think of the moment in Mark that occurs not long after the Transfiguration. Jesus has encountered a father whose son is stricken with what we would understand today as epilepsy. As we read there, “Jesus said to him, ‘If you are able! All things can be done for the one who believes.’ Immediately the father of the child cried out, ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’”[2] Look at the order there: the father professes belief before sharing his doubt. For many, the order is the opposite: sharing doubt before professing belief.
Yet here in today’s passage from Luke we don’t see doubt. The women depart the tomb, responding in faith. Peter returns to the tomb, responding in faith. They are acting in these moments – they are living in these moments – as one who recognize that, in a quote I’ve shared before from the Russian writer Leo Tolstoy, “Faith is the strength of life.” He continues, “If a man lives he believes in something. If he did not believe that one must live for something, he would not live. If he does not see and recognize the illusory nature of the finite, he believes in the finite; if he understands the illusory nature of the finite, he must believe in the infinite. Without faith he cannot live.”[3]
Without faith he cannot live.
Tolstoy isn’t speaking here about physical life; he’s instead speaking about the depth of life, the richness of life, perhaps even the joy of life. Somehow, I think the women standing in the empty tomb that morning and Peter, by the time he had come there himself, understood that what was there was an illusion. The risen Christ was – and is – the infinite.
The world now finds itself at a chaotic point in history. With every day that passes it seems there’s more and more uncertainty taking root. We simply don’t know what the next hours will hold, let alone the future. To paraphrase Paul, many may feel that living every hour of every day is like “seeing through a glass darkly.”[4] If we look at things now in the context of Holy Week and more specifically the past few days, we could in some ways compare the feeling to the living on that Saturday between the crucifixion and the resurrection.
But as time continued moving for the followers of Jesus two millennia ago, time continues moving forward for us. Despite any feelings we harbor now that we’re stuck in place, dawn will break, and Sunday will come. The tombs of life in which we may feel we’re buried will be opened. We’ll go from seeing darkly to seeing clearly – and in that moment, I pray we all feel like the women and Peter on that day. I pray that we all understand the illusion of the finite in front of us and know the power of the infinite.
I pray that we will believe.
Amen.
[1] Hebrews 11:1 (NRSV).
[2] Mark 9:23-24 (NRSV).
[3] Leo Tolstoy, from A Confession. https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/900009-faith-is-the-strength-of-life-if-a-man-lives
[4] 1 Corinthians 13:12 (NRSV).