Don't forget to sing--Easter 2024

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Clare L. Hickman

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale

March 31, 2024—Easter B

Mark 16:1-8

          As Easter proclamations go, Mark’s is somewhat strange and unsettling: “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Who ends a story like that? As a rule, humans do not like being left up in the air, poised in uncertainty. Far better to read the account from John’s gospel, in which the resurrected Jesus calls Mary’s name in the garden, and she turns around to embrace her beloved teacher. Now THAT is good news!

But I have to admit, there are times when such a concrete encounter with the living God actually leaves me feeling … alienated, somehow. Mary Magdalene reaches out with joy to the risen Lord, but it can be difficult for us to take hold of the truth of that. Because it’s just too far away from our lived experience.

These are the times when we very much identify with the women in Mark. When the good news of resurrection sounds incredible … which is to say, both amazing and not quite believable. And we certainly don’t want to appear so foolish as to simply run home and proclaim it to the rest of the world: “Hooray, it’s all fine!”

We saw how the worldly powers reacted to him. We saw him die. We know that was not fine in any kind of way that we would recognize. And even him being alive wouldn’t erase that memory, wouldn’t mean it didn’t happen … or that it won’t happen again.

That’s not what the resurrection means. Sadly. And let’s face it, disappointingly.

Like those female disciples who came to the tomb that day, we too are loath to speak about it. And maybe it’s mostly because we don’t want to seem foolish. But it might also be because we prone to do the same thing the women did: run away from the one thing that would anchor our message and make it real, make it believable, rather than some airy fairy nonsense.

We run from the tomb. Which means we wouldn’t have much truth to tell anyway, even if we weren’t afraid to speak. Because the power of the resurrection must always be centered in, anchored by, the tomb.

The tomb is not just the setting for the resurrection. It is the tunnel through which we reach the truth of the resurrection. As Episcopal priest Sam Candler once phrased it, “To walk the way of Jesus means that we do not, we cannot, avoid death. We don't walk around death, or over death. The way of Jesus is down and through death, through that tunnel first, and only then out the other side.”[1]

If we wish to experience the full truth of resurrection, we have to be willing to face into the worst of this world: the betrayal, the injustice, the unfairness, the hopelessness, the suffering and the death. To square our shoulders, and take hold of this absurd tale told by women (as Luke describes it), and allow that to give us courage to enter the tomb. To bear the pain and the loss and the outrage. And perhaps … just perhaps (but look, otherwise, there is only despair and loss) to move through it to the other side.

And on the other side, is resurrection. IF we are willing to enter the tomb, rather than run away in fear. The other side is the living God, is hope that cannot be destroyed, is the sustaining force of life and justice and thriving for all of God’s people.

Mark’s gospel, with its uncertain and unsettling ending, reminds us that it’s rarely as easy as just turning around and grabbing onto it. Most of the time, it requires us to walk in: to enter that hospital room; to call that lawyer your friend recommended; to find a meeting in a local church basement; to march out into the streets, with as many people as you can get to come along … to walk into the tomb, not knowing where that will lead us.

It helps to go together.

Some of you have surely seen the documentary series “Welcome to Wrexham,” in which American actors who purchase a low-ranked Welsh football (AKA Soccer) team discover, among other things, the way in which football fans sing together.

As a Brit myself, I have long been aware of both the upside and downside of the togetherness of football fans. The downside, clearly, is the mob behavior that can arise when such intense identification meets great disappointment and extreme intoxication. But the upside is when the fans sing together. And football fans LOVE to sing. Men that are otherwise as Bro as they come, sway with their arms around each other’s shoulders, singing songs that might well come from Broadway musicals that are nonetheless the song of THEIR team, at the top of their lungs. They sing because they love their team, and so, they love their fellow fans. They sing to celebrate, and perhaps more powerfully, they sing to encourage their team (and each other) through the rough times.

The theme-tune to “Welcome to Wrexham” is haunting in many ways. In a small town that has had its share of economic hard knocks, and whose football team has also struggled in a system which essentially forces you down into the minors if you don’t have enough success, the show’s theme is one of resilience and togetherness: “Don't forget where you came from; don't forget what you're made of. The ones who were there, when no one else would care. Don't be afraid to cry now. Even when the world comes crashing in. Don't forget to sing when you win.” (Songwriters: Jon Hume / Giosuè Greco)

And the Gospel would remind us to add: And sing even louder, when you’re afraid you might lose. Grab hands, and sing together, when you are standing outside the tomb, and God has sent a messenger assuring you that this is not the end. Let that promise LIVE in you. Put your arms around each other’s shoulders, and sway together, and sing. Dance, perhaps, because that too connects us, reminds us of the energy that can only be found when we do things like this together. It is the power of the living God, pulsing through us. Bringing us joy. Giving us courage. So that we can bear the hard things. DO the hard things.

Like walking into the tomb. Neither running from, nor despairing at the injustice and death of this world. Singing at the top of our lungs, if need be, so that we can walk through the tunnel, to discover the resurrection on the other side.

As the angel tells the women: Jesus is no longer dead in the tomb. But he has gone through it himself, and will always walk with us when we do too. And God’s promise remains: that the risen Christ will be on the other side. Leading us out into hope and possibility!

Only then, can we go and tell. And … don’t forget to sing. Alleluia Amen!

[1] Sam Candler, http://day1.org/7774-sam_candler_the_tomb_is_a_tunnel