Sermon for Easter 2025

April 20, 2025, Easter

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Luke 24: 1-12



When I first thought about this sermon, I was fresh from last Sunday’s Palm and Passion texts, and I saw some similarities. I had it all planned out in my head, how I could once again preach about the contrasts. We have Mary Magdalene and the other women who believe even though they have yet to see the risen Jesus. That strange encounter with men wearing dazzling clothes is enough to convince them. The women bring the message back, but it’s not enough for the disciples and the others. They decide the women are telling an idle tale.


Let me reassure those of you who are afraid that I’m now about to take sides in a gender war: I don’t fault the men for responding this way. They have seen what happens to people who are crucified. It would not be possible to live in first century Rome without being aware of crucifixion; people were crucified along roadways and on city gates—the public nature of it was the point, because it was meant as the ultimate in deterrence, showing what happens to those who are not loyal to Rome, and the Roman empire made sure that no one could avoid the sight. My New Testament professor commented on the lack of description of crucifixions in both the Gospels and other literature of the time, and she said that you wouldn’t describe it because everyone knew what it looked like, much the same way that we don’t need to describe our phones—we all have one, and we all know what they look like. People did not survive this execution—Rome made sure of it. So this doubting of the story of the empty tomb makes sense.


Let’s be honest—they are probably not only doubting the women, but doubting themselves. They must look back on the expectations that they had and wonder how it had all gone so wrong. Some of them must be doubting the original decision to follow Jesus at all. How could they have been so stupid? They are likely doubting each other. Think about the horrible week they have had. Not only have they lost their beloved teacher in the most horrible way imaginable, but Judas has betrayed them, and so has Peter. It’s no wonder they take the cynical route, not believing in anyone.


Peter’s reaction makes me think that the women are convincing on some level. He leaves to go investigate. Peter has often been criticized for being skeptical, since he’s the one named in this Gospel, but he shows us a healthy reaction. Isn’t that what Jesus said all along? “Cast down your nets in deep water.” “Come and see.”


What I love about the Easter stories, the one today and the ones we’ll hear in the coming weeks, is that we have so many points of entry, so many places where we might find ourselves identifying with those first witnesses of the resurrection. You might be a skeptic, like like Peter, or a cynic like the others who first hear the women, but the resurrection story is for you.


You might be like these women, up before the rest of the world awakens, up to attend to the caretaking duties that no one else wants to do. You might be the one who makes sure that the customs are followed—and we all have a variety of reasons for tending to the customs that make sense to us. I think of those ancient women, the ones who stayed with Jesus until the horrible death was complete, the ones who came to tend to his dead body. I think of that first Easter morning, and I wonder how many of them were thinking about the customs that needed to be followed and who would really notice if they slept in and ignored custom and propriety, just this once.


I think about the unnamed followers, the ones who might have been too stupefied by grief and disorientation to respond at all. Like them, we may be in an Ash Wednesday time of our lives, not a time of miracles and wonders. Like those followers, we may be whipsawed by the way that life has changed all of a sudden; we may be gobsmacked by the way that all that we thought we knew about the world and our place in it has been shattered. We simply cannot bear one more time that needs us to pivot. Maybe our understanding of who we are as a people has been stripped bare. In this mental state, we may have stopped listening to the women when they talked about the empty tomb. We might have taken on that protective shield of cynicism. We may have assumed the news after the words of an empty tomb would be something catastrophic, not something miraculous. We may turn away, unable to bear any more bad news.


I want to stress that none of these mental states—or any of the other mental states we might experience—not one of them means that we are more or less worthy of this redemption. As Jesus makes his appearances, he doesn’t say, “You there—you, who are still back in the tomb where I am no longer to be found. If you can’t snap out of it, I’m off to find better followers.” Jesus doesn’t come back to call the followers morons for not perceiving what he was up to. No—as we will see in the coming weeks, he comes back and cooks for them.


One of the benefits of having a God who has been fully human, as Jesus has been fully human, is that Jesus understands how hard it is to understand. Jesus understands our human exhaustion. Jesus understands our inability to believe in miracles. Jesus understands all the ways that grief and horror weigh us down and threaten to drown us.


The men in the tomb understand too—the reason why I think they are angelic messangers is that the same verb is used here as is used for the angel choirs that sing in the skies over Bethlehem to the shepherds on the night that Christ is born. These are messengers with knowledge to impart, and they seem comfortable with the idea that the followers of Jesus still might not be grasping the full importance of what he has told them. I imagine them saying with great gentleness, “Remember how he told you.” And then, they do remember.


In other Gospels, the women are told to go and tell the disciples that Jesus is risen. In this Gospel, the women are told to remember, to remember all that Jesus told them, all that he has promised. These women are the first witnesses, just as Elizabeth is the first witness before Jesus is even born, as is Anna, the first witness to proclaim that the Messiah is come when Jesus is presented at the Temple. These women are the first, but they will not be the last to proclaim that Christ is risen.


And so, too, every Easter, we are told to remember. We may be looking for the living among the dead. We may be unable to get the taste of ashes out of our mouths. We may have forgotten the promise of abundant life that Jesus offers to us. Happily, it’s not an entrance exam, but an ongoing revelation. Christ is risen.


Jesus is not captured by the tomb. The forces of evil do not have the final word or the last laugh. I do realize that at times, it may look that way. The inbreaking Kingdom of God that Jesus proclaims forces us to live in an essential mystery—that Kingdom is happening now, it’s underway. But that flourishing life that God intends for creation isn’t fully formed yet. We have to live in the now and the not yet at the same time. We have to believe that a better life is possible, even if we don’t have it all figured out. Christ is risen.


Paul tells us that the last enemy to be destroyed is death. The angels in the tomb proclaim that the destruction of death is in progress. Rejoice. Redemption Day is here. Resurrection is underway: for Jesus, for the world, for each and every one of us. Christ is risen--he is risen indeed.