Their home district is Galilee. That's where their families are. That's where they've tended their domestic responsibilities and earned their livelihoods. Yes, Galilee's their home, but Jesus had inspired them to leave their families and their work behind and to set out with him from home on his quite extraordinary pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
Just ten days ago, as they journeyed, Jesus was told by the mother of his disciples James and John that her sons were eager to occupy the places of honor at his right and left hands. And James and John affirmed grandly that, yes, they would indeed be able to drink the same cup that Jesus was about to drink—not comprehending the great suffering that would soon fill Jesus's cup. (Matthew 20:20-23, esp. 22)
Then last Thursday, in Jerusalem, Judas, a disciple, betrayed Jesus, telling the authorities where they could find him, in order to arrest him (26:14-16, 20-25). And when the High Priest's posse did arrive at that place, Gethsemane, Jesus's other eleven disciples soon fled the scene, deserting him (26:56b). Oh, one of them, Peter, followed Jesus and the crowd, at a safe distance, into the courtyard of the High Priest, but then, in the wee hours of the morning, when some of those standing there had seemed to recognize Peter as a follower of Jesus the Galilean, Peter denied it flatly, saying three times, "I don't know the man!" (26:69-75)
Then last Friday, Jesus was tried before Pilate, and scourged, and mocked, and tortured on a cross. (27:11-37) Those on his right and left hands were not James and John, but two bandits (27:38). And having been abandoned by his disciples, including Peter, and having been forsaken, it would seem, even by God (27:46), Jesus cried out in a loud voice and breathed his last (27:50).
None of the men who'd come with Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem were there to watch his death. A number of his women followers, however, were looking on from quite some distance away (27:55), stunned by such a cruel and senseless end to their beloved master's life. And I imagine them there keening and wailing their mourning in traditional fashion, crying out the kind of lamentation that Jewish women and men have uttered from time immemorial—words such as these from Psalm 88 (vss. 3-6):
My soul is full of troubles,
and my life draws near to Sheol.
I am counted among those who go down to the Pit;
I am like those who have no help,
like those forsaken among the dead,
like the slain that lie in the grave,
like those whom you[, O God,] remember no more,
for they are cut off from your hand.
You have put me in the depths of the Pit,
in the regions dark and deep.
Or to give a more modern expression to the agony of grief that these women from Galilee must have felt, let me quote a contemporary psalm of lament uttered by the poet Ann Weems following her son's murder. She cries out (in Psalms of Lament [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995, pp. 20-21):
O God, what am I going to do?
He's gone—and I'm left
with an empty pit in my life.
I can't think.
I can't work.
I can't eat.
I can't talk.
I can't see anyone.
I can't leave my house.
Nothing makes sense.
Nothing seems worth doing.
"Nothing makes sense. Nothing seems worth doing." Thoughts like these must have occupied the minds of Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of James and Joseph, as together they stood their numbed death watch, there opposite the rock-cut tomb in which Joseph of Arimathea was laying the linen-wrapped corpse of their Messiah. (27:59-61) "Nothing makes sense. Nothing seems worth doing." It must have been words like these that the two Mary's were muttering to themselves as Joseph rolled that great circular stone across the entrance of Jesus's tomb, ending his story.
"O God, what am I going to do? He's gone—and I'm left with an empty pit in my life. I can't think. I can't work. I can't eat. I can't talk.... Nothing makes sense. Nothing seems worth doing." Some such cycle of sentences must also have served as the mantra for these two Mary's and the rest of Jesus's followers as all day yesterday, the Sabbath, they sat shiva in shocked silence.
And then early this morning, when, after the Sabbath, persons could once again stir beyond their lodgings, something like this same mantra of grief must have been filling the minds and hearts of these two women as once again they set forth on their death walk to Jesus's tomb, this time to go stare at its now-sealed entranceway, in a traditional vigil of mourning. (27:66-28:1)
But wait! Upon their arrival, the morbid wilderness of their death walk and watch is suddenly dispelled by a truly amazing series of grace-filled events that transforms the stupor gripping them—transforms it first into startled fear and then into feelings much more welcome than that—into feelings of transfixed awe and heart-stirring joy. (28:2-8; cf. Jeremiah 31:2b)
First they feel an "earthquake." Next they behold an "angel" rolling back the stone. Then they hear that "angel" saying to them: "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised.... [G]o quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.'"
"He has been raised! ... And he's going to Galilee." And from now on in this sermon, let's do some "call and response," just as we did at the beginning of our service. So whenever I say, "He has been raised!" please shout back, "Christ has been raised indeed!" And whenever I say, "He's going to Galilee!" please respond, "There we will see him!"
OK! Got it? Let's try it: He has been raised! ["Christ has been raised indeed!"] And he's going to Galilee! [There we will see him!"]
Great! Now, back to our story.
No sooner have the women left the tomb, running in awe and great joy to deliver to the apostles the message they've been given than the risen Jesus himself steps into their path (28:9-10). And as they fall down in worship, he repeats the instructions the angel has given them: Tell the others (are you ready?), he has been raised! ["Christ has been raised indeed!"] And he's going to Galilee! [There we will see him!"]
Yes, the grace of Christ's living presence will be awaiting them in Galilee, and that same grace—the transforming presence of the living Christ—now awaits all of us, too, in our "Galilees," in our home districts, where we live, and work, and have influence.
Yes, here is the grace-filled Good News of Easter. Friday's death watch is over. Why? Because he has been raised! ["Christ has been raised indeed!"] And he's going to Galilee! [There we will see him!"]
And in our Galilees, the living Christ graciously awaits us, in order: to heal "the Judas in us, that part of us [that's] willing to betray a close friend," to heal "the James and John in us, that part of us [that's] consumed with achievements and recognition," to heal the Peter in us, that part of us that sometimes professes Christ but at other times denies knowing him. (Gary W. Charles, in Brian K. Blount and Gary W. Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002], p. 272)
Yes, the Risen Christ of Galilee is awaiting all of us who have lost our bearings, whose faith is at best flickering, who sit in church pews on Sundays yet still are mostly confused about who Jesus is or how to follow him. (paraphrase of Charles, p. 272) He is awaiting us.
For he has been raised! ["Christ has been raised indeed!"] And he's going to Galilee! [There we will see him!"]
Yes, the Risen Christ of Galilee "awaits all who are open to God's future." "The good news that [Matthew] promises us is that the risen Lord awaits us not in an empty tomb or in some ... remote place; the risen Lord awaits us in Galilee—[that is,] on our [own] city streets, in the halls of our schools, in the wards of our hospitals, and behind the bars of our prisons. The Lord awaits us in the market and the gym, when we sit down to dinner and when we lie down to sleep. Want to find the risen Lord? Want to serve the risen Christ? 'Then[, says Matthew,] go to Galilee.'" (Charles, pp. 272-273) Why? Because (say it with me) [There we will see him!"]
Yes, "Easter comes [anew] when[ever] we set our face toward Galilee to sow hope where despair [now] rules, to speak consolation where desperation [now] dwells, and to break wide open all [the] tombs that the [self-]righteous have built [in order] to keep God only for themselves." (Charles, p. 273) For Christ wants to use us to help transform all our Galilees into the kind of places where life is continually being raised up from the ruins of death, where poverty and despair are continually being transformed into sufficiency and hope, where old enemies are being turned into new friends, where violence and death are yielding to peace and long-life for all, where one spouse doesn't abuse the other, where adults don't pollute God's world, where youth don't open fire on schoolmates, where love is seen to be stronger than sin and all the forces of death.
He has been raised! ["Christ has been raised indeed!"] And he's going to Galilee! [There we will see him!"] Yes, Easter begins with God, yet it ends with us. It begins in a vigil, yet it ends in a task. It begins at the tomb, yet it ends in our Galilees.
The living presence of the risen Christ—that's the grace we encounter in the homes, offices, and spheres of influence that are our Galilees, and that's also the grace we can encounter this morning right here at this table, the Table of our Lord.
So today, as we approach this table, this Galilee, this home of ours where we experience the risen Christ, let us once again proclaim the words of our Easter faith: He has been raised! ["Christ has been raised indeed!"] And he's going to Galilee! [There we will see him!"] Alleluia! [Alleluia!] Amen. [Amen.]
Let us pray:
Gracious Lord of Life, we thank You that the story of Jesus does not end on the cross. We thank You that the story of Jesus does not end at the tomb. We thank You that the story of Jesus continues on into our Galilees, that that story has not yet ended, and that, in truth, it will never end. We thank you that Christ is eternally alive, coming to us in all our Galilees to offer us the grace of abiding hope and joy and through us to transform the world. Alleluia. Amen.