The African American spiritual, Were You There, asks the listener some pretty point blank questions about whether or not he or she was present through the horrific scene that plays out in the death of Jesus. The listener is asked: “Were you there . . . when they crucified my Lord? When they nailed him to the tree? When they laid him in the tomb?” It is almost as if the individual singing the song is trying to make sense of everything that has taken place . . . to make sense of the trauma that has occurred . . . to make sense of his or her feelings about the whole thing. We are told, “Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.”
Make no mistake about it. The events leading up to our celebration this morning were experienced differently than what we are experiencing. Where we have great joy and excitement, those early disciples confronted the trauma of everything that happened . . . the trial, beatings, crucifixion, death, and burial of their beloved master and teacher. Their hope was dashed . . . the dream was destroyed . . . and, the future looked bleak as they hid out to avoid a similar fate. There was no celebration . . . no dancing in the streets . . . no singing. It was a fearful and somber time. It was nothing like we celebrate today.
The song expresses this. Our reading this morning expresses this. In our reading we are told about the women going to the tomb of Jesus to anoint his body. Upon arriving there they see the tomb already open; the guards are gone . . . slowly they enter the tomb fearful of what they would find. In the tomb they encounter another presence—a man in a white robe. The man tells the women that Jesus is no longer in the tomb . . . that he has risen! And, he tells them, they should go and tell the other disciples and Peter that Jesus will meet them in Galilee. Then he reminds them, this is as Jesus told them.
Well, remember the state that the women were in as they were heading to the tomb . . . fearful, somber, and sad. They had just experienced a great trauma in the death of Jesus . . . now they discover his tomb empty with some strange man in it giving them instructions. Their reaction? “Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.”
Trembling.
Bewildered.
Afraid.
Those are the words that our version of the Bible—the New International Version—uses. Those are fairly descriptive words, but I think that the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible uses words that are a better description of what the women felt. The NRSV tells us: “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”
Terror.
Amazement.
Afraid.
No matter how we want to describe it, we get the picture of the feelings and emotions flooding through the women that morning. They were there. They experienced it. And, just as the singer of the song responds to his or her question . . . were you there? We can hear the response of those at the tomb . . . “it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.” Even at the tomb, the reaction is the same as the singer asks in the final verse: “Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?”
As I said earlier our experience of Easter is much different from those who were actually there. Fortunately, or unfortunately we have the gift of 20/20 hindsight playing in our favor that allows us to know the rest of the story as Paul Harvey would say. We know how everything turns out. Because of this we can approach Easter and what it represents differently. We don’t experience any of the terror and amazement of those early disciples . . . we are not bewildered . . . we have nothing to fear. Jesus lives! He has risen from the dead. The gift has been delivered and we shout with joy in receiving it this morning.
Maybe that is the difference between being there and experiencing it first-hand, and hearing about it over two thousand years later. The traumatic impact of it all is lost on us. With the trauma removed we do not feel all those feelings and emotions that are pulsing through our reading this morning. We don’t have to go through it in order to appreciate it. All we have to worry about is celebrating it.
For many it is as it should be. Our voices proclaim with the psalmist: “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever!” We shout with the prophet Isaiah: “It will be said on that day, ‘Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.’” Let the party begin!
But, wait. Behind the noise of celebration . . . barely audible . . . drifts the reminder that the party we celebrate this morning was paid for with a heavy price. If you listen really hard, there in the background, you can hear it reminding us of the mixture of terror and amazement what brought us to this moment. “Were you there . . . oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.” The translators of the NRSV got it right in describing the trauma . . . it was terrifying to experience everything that took place. Terrifying to come to a tomb and discover it empty. Terrifying to wonder what in the world is going on. Fearful of what it all meant. And, yet, at the same time . . . amazing. Amazing in what it represented. Amazing in what it promised. Amazing because it was happening just as Jesus said it would. No wonder those involved trembled.
Have we lost the “terror and amazement” the writer of Mark’s gospel describes of that first Easter? The complete “awe” of it all?
I guess we have to answer those questions for ourselves. For me, our reading shares with us the approach for faith for those who follow Jesus . . . it is one that at times fills us with amazement, at other times fills us with fear . . . and, sometimes both at the same time. There is no denying the trauma of the events that lead us to Easter . . . they are traumatic. Yet, at the same time, it is overwhelming to think that someone would endure such trauma—not for himself, but for others . . . to offer his life for ours. Such grace and love are amazing. In the presence of such a gift . . . such a blessing . . . well, I cannot help but to tremble.
I tremble in amazement . . . I tremble in bewilderment . . . and, I tremble in terror—in fear. Especially when I recall the words of Jesus to come and follow him. To walk in his footsteps. To live the words he has spoken. To go forth and do likewise. It is with terror and amazement that I stand before this gift knowing that anything less than what Jesus was willing to do will not be good enough. It is one thing to celebrate the gift. It is another to open the gift and live it.
None of us were literally at the tomb when God raised Jesus from the tomb. Yet, this morning we stand figuratively before the empty tomb . . . we’ve heard the words of the angel, “Don’t be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here.” Jesus lives! We rejoice! We celebrate! We have received the gift of Easter once again. And, it is good.
The angel also told those gathered at the tomb, “But go, tell his disciples and Peter.” Share the good news . . . let it be known. Jesus lives . . . not in some symbolic act, but in our willingness to truly walk in his footsteps . . . to do as he did and does. A choice that is never easy, a path that can be difficult . . . after all, we know what happened to Jesus. Standing before this figurative tomb the vibrations of the past seep into our souls reminding us that we are called . . . called to go and do likewise. In that moment we realize the terror and amazement our experience of this holy gift . . . this observance we call Easter. The choice is ours this morning.
On this Easter morning I understand the feelings and thoughts behind that old African American spiritual . . . the presence of such grace and love displayed for all is powerful when I consider it. It fills me with awe . . . feels me with terror and amazement. One cannot help but to tremble, tremble, tremble. As we celebrate this day . . . this gift . . . I hope we acknowledge the amazement and terror in which we receive this gift. After all, it is the Easter story. Amen.
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