I heard a story this past week, about a church organist who was fired;
in the middle of an Easter hymn he broke into an interlude of “Staying Alive,”
that old BeeGees song. Apparently,
playing interludes – or flourishes, as they are called – between hymn verses
was a breach of etiquette at this particular church. But furthermore, it was reported on
ChristianFunnyPictures.com, the choice of “Staying Alive” was theologically
problematic, because Jesus did not “stay alive.” He was crucified, died and was buried, before
rising from the dead.
And
that last part is, of course, the one true part of the story. Most of the story is not true; but it’s a
good story, right?
***
Many years ago, my parents moved into a nice rental house in a nice
neighborhood. This was shortly after I
graduated high school. Most of the years
I was growing up, we had lived in town houses, in neighborhoods where they were
all rentals. They were ok; there was
nothing wrong with them. But this place
was different; it was pretty nice. I
don’t know how they found this place, probably from an ad the owner had put in
the newspaper. And we didn’t know why he
was renting out the house, he just was.
But nothing abhors a vacuum like the imagination. My mother was great at developing stories,
and she went to work on this one. She
asked aloud, “I wonder why he and his wife don’t want to live in this house.” There must be a reason. Perhaps this woman is his second wife. Perhaps he lived here years ago with his
first wife. This was the house they
bought together. But then they got a
divorce – it was very sad.
He probably lived in this house after the divorce – she moved away, out
of the area. It was for the best. Then he met another woman, and married
again. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t live
in this house, the house of his first wife.
Even though it’s a really nice house, there were just too many memories
here. Of course, they couldn’t live
here. It was she, the new wife, who
insisted that they find a new house that would be their home.
And when she finished this story, it was a drop-the-mic moment. Boom. Her
work was done. Now we had a good story
to fill in the gaps. And it was such a good story; how could it not be
true?
So, I’m
thinking, this might be part of the reason women have been thought to be
untrustworthy witnesses.
Historically,
we know, the words of women have not been taken seriously. This is true.
In ancient Jewish history, an authoritative list of ten categories of
people who are not competent to testify, women are at the top of the list. Women were not believed to be reliable
witnesses – And it wasn’t just a Jewish thing – it was a human thing.
Throughout
most of human history, women’s stories have been laughed at, scoffed at, and
brushed off. Sometimes for unfair
reasons – the idea that women are too emotional, or too easily confused and led
astray, for example. But, it occurs to
me, it might also be because women are good storytellers. Stories are, in fact, important to
women. It is through stories that women
tell their truth.
Very often, it is not enough to just state a fact. Many truths need to be told as stories, so we
can hear it and see it and feel it. With
a story, it’s like you are there, you know this truth intimately. Joe Friday might want “Just the facts, ma’am”
but women have stories to tell. And the
women had quite a story to tell about that Sunday morning outside Jerusalem. So sit back and let me tell you the story.
Jesus
was gone – his body was gone from the tomb.
It wasn’t something that anybody had been expecting. Just the Friday before, his body had been
taken down from the cross. It was about
mid-afternoon. Joseph of Arimathea, along
with Nicodemus, collected his body.
Nicodemus, you might remember, is the one who had once paid a late-night
visit to Jesus because he wanted so much to understand but couldn’t understand,
at least not then. These two men carried
his body out to a tomb where they would lay it, along with the myrrh and aloe
for the embalming. Some say Nicodemus
carried more than 100 pounds of myrrh and aloe.
Most people would say that you don’t really need that much, 40 pounds
will do the job. But 100 pounds of myrrh
and aloe – well, that is quite a burial, one fit for a king.
And so
they carried the body and the herbs and spices and clothes to the garden where
the tomb was. It was Joseph’s tomb,
actually. He assumed he would be buried
there some day, but on this day he could think of no better use of it than to
lay the body of Jesus in it. By the time
they arrived at the tomb, it was near sunset.
The
Sabbath was coming. Even with all the
events that had transpired this day, it would not be acceptable to violate the
Sabbath laws. They certainly couldn’t be handling a dead body on this holy day,
and they needed to be getting home on time for the evening prayers. So Nicodemus and Joseph left Jesus’ body in
the tomb, covered the entrance to the tomb with a stone, and they left. There was nothing more that could be, or
needed to be, done that day.
Sunday,
after the Sabbath, Mary rose very early so she could go to the tomb. She was awake well before sunrise, in fact,
so urgently did she feel the need to go and finish the work that had been
started on Friday. There were some other
women there in Jerusalem too, women who had, along with Mary, accompanied Jesus
throughout his ministry. A lot of people
think it was just that band of 12 men who followed Jesus, but there were women
too – women who used their own resources to provide for him and the disciples.
These women had been there at the very beginning, and they were there at the
bitter end. Some say that it was a few
of them who went to the garden that morning – the other Mary and perhaps
Joanna. But, it might have been Mary
Magdalene, all alone, who made the trip that morning.
When
she arrived, she was shocked, numb, to find the tomb a dark, gaping hole. The stone had been removed, the grave was
open, and the body was gone.
What
this could mean, Mary didn’t know. She
only knew that the body of her Lord was gone, and that she did not know where
he had been taken and she was frantic.
More than anything else, she wanted to know where they had taken him so
she could go find him. Mary was not
ready to let go of Jesus yet.
And
she ran back to the house where they had all been staying, and she burst
through the door where the men were all gathered, and she said, “They have
taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Now, some say that they didn’t believe her,
that the men just dismiss it as “idle tales.”
You know, the kind of stories women tell. And perhaps some of them
did. But not all of them. Not all.
Peter
and one of the other men followed Mary back to the garden. And they saw what Mary had seen – an empty
tomb. They left, but Mary remained. She still didn’t know what happened to
him. She looked into the tomb and saw
two angels – they had to be angels. Not
everyone agrees about exactly what angels look like, but when you see one, you
know. She said to them, “They have taken
away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”
Where
is he? Mary wanted to know. She asked
whoever she saw, where is he? Because
Mary was not ready to let go of him yet.
Mary would not go.
And
because Mary remained she was the first to see Jesus in the garden, in the
flesh. Mary was the first evangelist, the first bearer of the good news, the
apostle to the apostles.
She
immediately reached out to touch him, because Mary was not ready to let go of
him yet. But he said to her, "Mary, don’t
hold on to me." She had to let him go.
She
had to let him go so that that he could visit other people in other places and
spread the good news widely. She had to
let him go so that he could ascend to the father – his father and her father in
heaven. She had to let him go so that she,
and every one of us, could have him and hold him in our hearts, know him as our
redeemer.
Eventually
Mary went back to the disciples, her face shining brightly, and told them, “I
have seen the Lord.” She told them
everything she had seen and heard. Yes,
the men did confirm what this woman had seen and heard, with their own
experiences of Jesus. But let us not
discount the fact that this woman had been the first to bear witness to the
resurrection. Perhaps it was necessary
that it be this way. Because women are
storytellers, and this is a story that had to be told.
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