All Shook Up
Matthew 28:1-10
Believe it or not, a few weeks ago an earthquake rumbled across the region, affecting Westchester and Rockland Counties and even northern New Jersey. Like me, you may not even have been aware of the earthquake, given that it measured just 2.3 on the Richter scale. I’ve felt more rumbling when a large truck trundles up New Main St. and rattles my living room windows. Funny enough, though, the other day I did spot a large crack in the pavement near the clock tower that I don’t remember being there earlier.
According to Matthew’s Gospel, a great earthquake occurs shortly after dawn on the day that Jesus is raised from the dead. And that’s not the only time that Matthew mentions the earth shaking. At the moment that Jesus breathes his last, as he hangs from the cross, Matthew writes that “the earth shook and rocks were split” (Matt. 27:51).
As Matthew tells it, the earth trembles in response to Jesus’ death and resurrection. This calls to mind poetic passages in the Old Testament in which nature springs to life at something that God has done. For example, when Isaiah prophesies the return of the exiles to their homeland, he writes that “the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands” (Isa. 55:12). Nature itself celebrates God’s graciousness.
But beyond the poetic symbolism, there’s another sense in which the earth shakes at the resurrection of Jesus. With Jesus’ resurrection, the ground beneath our feet has shifted. The powers of sin and death, so long sovereign, have been upended. Their reign has come to an end. That has implications not only for what happens to us when we die but also for how we live right now. If death has been defeated by the love of God, if sin has surrendered to the forgiveness found in Jesus Christ, then we have been set free to live in the light of that truth. We are no longer subjects under the empire of sin and death but citizens of the kingdom of God.
The resurrection of Jesus is found in all four Gospels, and every one of them begins in the same way—by referencing the day and the time: it was dawn on the first day of the week. Actually, Matthew writes that the first day of the week “was dawning.” The sun has not yet risen.
Ever since we set the clocks ahead, and the sun now rises an hour earlier, I’m often awake before sunrise. Before the sun appears in the eastern sky, first an aura of light spreads across the horizon, heralding the arrival of the new day while darkness still hovers above. Those first moments of dawn are a transitional time as darkness slowly releases its grip on the earth.
As Matthew and the other Gospels proclaim, the first Easter Sunday marks the dawn not only of a new day but of a new age—the age of resurrection. Like the sound of a drumroll that precedes a ceremonial announcement, the angel’s rolling of the stone away from the entrance of the tomb precedes the announcement of the resurrection. Even before the angel announces to the women that Jesus has risen, the gospel is being proclaimed!
And at the sight of the angel, whose appearance is like lightning, the Roman guards shake like thunder and become like dead men. The irony could not be clearer—the living have become as though dead while he who was dead now lives again! What’s more, as if to underscore that death has no hold on Jesus, after the angel has rolled away the stone that covered the entrance to the tomb, what does he do? He sits on it! Death is no longer the black hole that absorbs all life into its gaping maw. It’s now a footstool! A sofa cushion! A resting place for the angel of the Lord!
The first people on which the light of this new age dawns are not Jesus’ eleven male disciples but two women—Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary.” As a quick aside, I must say that I feel bad for Mary #2, who becomes known to us as simply “the other Mary,” as if she didn’t merit being known in her own right. But Matthew means no disrespect. At the end of chapter 27 he lets us know that she is Mary the mother of James and Joseph. Referring to her as “the other Mary” is merely a form of shorthand.
Mary Magdalene and the other Mary have come to see the tomb. Perhaps they have come to anoint the body of Jesus with spices, to mask the smell of death. Perhaps they want to pay their respects and say their final farewell. The point is, they are expecting to encounter death. Death in all its finality.
But the angel directs their attention to something else. “I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified,” he says. “Come, see the place where he lay.” The angel invites the women to look upon the place where Jesus’ body had been, the place where his hair had mixed with the dust of the earth and the pools where his blood has stained the ground. “He is not here, for he has been raised…as he said.”
“As he said.” In other words, while the resurrection of Jesus is extraordinary, astonishing, miraculous, it is not surprising…at least, it should not have been.
“As he said.” In other words, while the resurrection of Jesus is extraordinary, astonishing, miraculous, it is not surprising…at least, it should not have been. Three times Jesus had told the disciples that he was going to Jerusalem to be handed over to the religious authorities, rejected by the people, and crucified by the state. After that, on the third day he would be raised from the dead. This was God’s plan to save the world from the very beginning. Death and resurrection was always the way. The cross may have been a surprise to the disciples, but not to God. God did not watch Jesus crucified and think, “Uh oh! I’d better do something about that!” The resurrection was not Plan B.
Three times Jesus told his disciples that the path he was on was leading to the cross, but they could not bring themselves to accept something so preposterous, something so unthinkable as a crucified Messiah. A crucified Messiah? That doesn’t make any sense! The Messiah is God’s anointed. To be anointed is to be set apart for a special purpose. Why would God anoint someone for a special purpose only to have him suffer and die? What good was a crucified Messiah? The very idea was an oxymoron.
The disciples may not have been biblical scholars, but they understand logic and reason. The can’t imagine a crucified Messiah because by definition suffering and death represent failure, and the Messiah, by definition, must succeed. What’s more, crucifixion was Roman state torture, a death reserved for, in Rome’s eyes, the worst of the worst—enemies of the state, rebellious slaves, disgraced soldiers, pirates, traitors.
The can’t imagine a crucified Messiah because by definition suffering and death represent failure, and the Messiah, by definition, must succeed.
From the disciples’ perspective, Jesus’ being crucified would prove that he was not the Messiah. That’s why when he is crucified none of them are on hand to witness it. They don’t want to be associated with it. They want nothing to do with it. Just ask Peter. “I tell you, I do not know the man!”
And even though Jesus had told the disciples that he would be raised on the third day, on that day none of them rush to the tomb at the first light of dawn. They’re still in the dark, hiding in the house with all the doors locked, terrified of hearing a knock at the door, which goes to show that they were not expecting Jesus to be raised from the dead. Nobody was.
Resurrection from the dead is not only implausible, it’s impossible. And yet, here we are. Here we are because Jesus was not there.
Resurrection from the dead is not only implausible, it’s impossible. And yet, here we are. Here we are because Jesus was not there. He was not where he was supposed to be. He was not buried in the ground, sealed behind a stone, his body wrapped in a shroud of death.
Here we are because the women were there. They were there at the tomb to hear the stone rolled away, to see the angel perched upon it, and to feel the ground beneath their feet shake, a shaking stronger than that which brought down the walls of Jericho. The women were there to be told by the angel to go and tell the disciples the good news, the impossible news about Jesus who was crucified: “He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.”
At the Good Friday service we sang the well known spiritual “Were You There?” Each verse asks a question. Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Were you there when they nailed him to the tree? Were you there when they pierced him in the side? Were you there when they laid him in the tomb? The words of the chorus that follow each verse are the same: O, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
As is often the case with the spirituals, the lyrics are not standard but vary from hymnal to hymnal. Some versions include an additional verse, more appropriate for Easter Sunday than Good Friday, that asks, “Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?”
Were we there when God raised him from the tomb? We were not, but we are here now. And even still, it causes us to tremble. To tremble at a love stronger than death, at a mercy deeper than sin, at a Savior who lives—and goes ahead of us.