The sermon series during the Triduum (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter) is best understood when read in chronological order. Therefore, it is best to scroll down to the Maundy Thursday sermon first, before reading the sermon for Good Friday and, finally, Easter. Again, I feel it necessary to make the disclaimer that I relied heavily upon the book by Dr. Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist: Unlocking the Secrets of the Last Supper, published by Doubleday in 2011.
Easter Sermon, Saturday, April 19 and Sunday, April 20, 2014:
If you were with us on Thursday night and Friday afternoon, you know that I invited you to imagine yourself in the Upper Room for the Last Supper and at the foot of the cross for the crucifixion. I asked that for just a moment, you suspend everything you know in 2014 about who Jesus is, why he came from Heaven, why he died for us and to really suspend that you know how wonderfully the story ends.
Instead, I want you to be a first-century Jew who is a disciple and follower of Jesus - someone watching all of these events unfold, but not really certain why. I want you to tap into the emotion of the moment 2,000 years ago.
When we last left you, you had collapsed on a bed of pillows in the Upper Room on Friday night after scrambling to bury Jesus before sundown which marks the start of the Sabbath. This is the same room where you shared a Passover meal with Jesus and your friends. This is the room where Jesus broke with Jewish tradition and did not bless or drink from the fourth cup of wine which ends the feast of Passover. You were shocked on Thursday night when Jesus said that he will not drink the fruit of the vine until he drinks of it in God's Heavenly Kingdom.
Later that night as Jesus prayed in the garden, he asked God to take this cup from him and you began to wonder if he was speaking of the final cup he skipped.
Then, yesterday afternoon, while watching in horror at the brutal execution of your friend, you heard him say "I thirst" - a guard gave him a bit of wine and in that moment Jesus died. You had a sense that this was the final cup which concluded the Passover meal from the night before. You didn't understand, and still don't understand, how Passover and this crucifixion are connected, but you know in your heart that they are. As you fell asleep on these pillows, watching the golden candle light flicker next to the cup that Jesus had used only 24 hours earlier, his voice echoed repeatedly in your head: "Do this in memory of me."
The Sabbath morning arrives - Saturday. The morning sunlight washes over your face with warmth, but its brightness is so sharp that it makes your eyes feel bruised, even when they're closed. As you sit up, your other friends are sleeping - Peter is snoring loudly in the corner, Thomas is so motionless that you wonder if he's dead, waiting to watch his chest rise or fall with a breath. The table is exactly as it was left on Thursday night. You know that it will stay that way for another day since the work of clean up is forbidden on the Sabbath. Crusts of bread, bones of lamb, leftover Haroseth sauce remain.
As everyone wakes up, conversation about yesterday's events quickly turn into questions about what to do now. Some of your friends want to violate the Sabbath and go to the tomb where Jesus was laid, but you and others make the compelling argument that surely you'll be watched closely and could meet the same fate and that there's no good reason to break the commandment of God to rest on the Sabbath. The decision to stay put is confirmed when word comes that the Chief Priests have requested and received permission to place guards at the tomb.
The day passes slowly. There is much conversation about what Jesus said Thursday night, how he said it and what it all means. You chime in about your own thoughts regarding the skipping of the fourth cup, the prayer in the garden about letting the cup pass from him and Jesus' taking wine at the moment of death. Everyone understands the conclusion you're laying out: That Jesus is the new Passover Lamb. Everyone has different ideas of what that even means, but there is general agreement that if the first Passover lamb saved your ancestors from death in Egypt - how will Jesus as the new Passover Lamb save you and your descendants from death?
Someone asks the question: If the first Passover lamb set our ancestors free from slavery, what slavery does Jesus, as the new Passover Lamb, set us free from?
And yet another of your friends suggests: If the first Passover lamb started the Exodus to the Promised Land, what Exodus and what Promised Land is Jesus, the new Passover Lamb starting? Where are we going? Where is this new Promised Land?
The events that have taken place, the slowness of the day, and the depth of conversation lull you back to sleep. You awaken early in the morning - Sunday morning - the moonlight the only thing illuminating the room. You hear jars clanging and hushed whispers of the women. They are busy cleaning up. You hear them leave, shutting the door behind them as you fall back asleep in utter exhaustion. But you do not sleep for long before the women return in a panic. They are speaking so fast and are out of breath, making it nearly impossible to understand what they're saying.
"The rock's been moved!" they say.
"He's gone - his body is gone!" they wail.
"There was an earthquake! We saw an angel!"
Everyone, it seems, is talking over them, shouting questions. All of these things they say make no sense, but you are filled with dread, wondering if you will have to go into the danger of Jerusalem looking for the stolen body of your friend, Jesus.
Peter and John run out of the Upper Room, but you and the others are paralyzed by fear. If they've stolen the body of Jesus, who knows what they'll do to you!
Peter and John soon return and confirm all that the women have shared: The huge stone that had taken nearly all of you to roll into place has been moved; inside, the burial clothes are placed to one side with the cloth that had been wrapped around his head rolled up and put to the other side; his body is gone. The body of Jesus has, without a doubt, been stolen.
The air in the room is heavy. There is no joy. There is no songs of praise and thanksgiving. There is only the dread associated with the sudden realization that at any moment you could be captured and executed just as Jesus has been. All you want to do is stay in the security and safety of the Upper Room, your fear of the Jews holding you captive there with your friends, your group dwindling with the absence of Jesus and Judas. You feel stuck in an in-between place - a desire to go back to your previous way of life prior to meeting Jesus versus the unnerving sense that this isn't over, that you've not yet reached the end of what you're supposed to do.
The words of Jesus come back to you again: "Do this in memory of me."
Let us take leave of the Upper room and the fear and confusion that is there that morning. And let us come back to 2014. Here, in this time and space, we know that the group wasn't captured that day - though eventually some were captured and executed for their belief. We also know that Jesus' body wasn't stolen, but that he rose from the dead - appearing to his friends again in the Upper Room and on the Road to Emmaus. We will hear those stories in the coming weeks.
We also know the answer to some of the questions that might have been asked among the disciples: How will Jesus, as the new Passover Lamb, save us from death? Through his resurrection.
What slavery does the new Passover Lamb free us from? The slavery of sin.
What Promised Land does the new Passover Lamb beckon us towards in this new Exodus? Not an earthly land, but the Heavenly Kingdom where Christ awaits to drink with us that final cup at the Heavenly Banquet.
We now know the rest of the story - that Jesus died for our sins and, in so doing, opened wide the gats of Heaven, restoring God's creation to fullness with Him. This knowledge beckons us to rejoice, to sing, to praise - joining the choirs of angels and archangels, saying: "Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!"
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