Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.
In the name of the Risen Christ. Amen.
A few weeks ago, I woke up with a song in my head that seemed to have come out of nowhere. As I often do when this happens, I pulled out my phone to look up the song and listen to it. As I did, I suddenly remembered that I had sung that very song a few years ago, standing right here in the sanctuary of St. Luke’s during the Wednesday morning gathering of the Freedom Choir, which at the time was called the Annapolis Morning Song Circle.
I looked in my audio files, and there it was: my recording of that day when we sang it together. After listening to the song at least three times in a row, and then sending the file to a multitude of family and friends, I got in touch with our musicians and asked if the choir could record this song as our anthem for today: the Day of Resurrection. Easter Day.
The song is called “The Storm is Passing Over” by Charles Albert Tindley, and the words go like this:
Have courage, my soul and let us journey on.
For the night is dark, and I am far from home.
Thanks be to God, the morning light appears.
The storm is passing over.
The storm is passing over.
The storm is passing over.
Halleluia!
This song would be appropriate for any Easter celebration, but it feels especially appropriate this year, when we are just beginning to sense that the global storm of the COVID-19 pandemic is at long last passing over us, and that the morning light may in fact soon appear.
That image of the storm passing over also resonates with the particular way that the Gospel of Mark tells the story of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. As you may know, the passage that we heard this morning—Chapter 16, verses 1 through 8—is considered by almost all biblical scholars to be the original ending of the Gospel of Mark. There are two other endings that were added at later times, making up the rest of Chapter 16, and in these endings, the disciples encounter the risen Christ. But in the original ending, Mark leaves us hanging. The three women who go to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus, to prepare him properly for burial, are told the news of his resurrection, but they do not actually see him. We are left to wonder with them what has really happened, and whether this good news can be believed.
That in-between place at the end of Mark’s gospel, where we hear of the resurrection but have not yet experienced it, sounds very much like the place where we find ourselves now in relation to the pandemic. We can see the morning light beginning to break over the darkness of this time. We are both hopeful and uncertain as to whether we can trust in the good news we are hearing. The storm is passing over, but it is not quite over yet.
There are many good reasons for us to hope right now. Of course, we know that things will never entirely “go back to normal,” but some of the activities that we have been missing so badly this past year are slowly and steadily becoming possible again. Yesterday, almost all of the members of both our Altar Guild and our Flower Ministry were able to gather here in person to prepare the sanctuary for this celebration. The day before that, after we finished leading the Good Friday service, Father Norm and I actually hugged each other! We are both fully vaccinated, and we still wear masks and remain distanced during our worship services, because these protocols are an important part of how we continue to care for everyone in our community. But when worship was over, and the camera was off, I got to have a hug from Norm+! Halleluiah, indeed.
There are reasons for hope, and there is much to celebrate. Resurrection is taking place. In the same way that Jesus Christ was not immediately recognized by his followers when they first saw him after he had been raised, so the church, the resurrected Body of Christ, will never look exactly as it did before we went through this time of trial, this valley of the shadow of death. As the church, and as individuals, we will bear the scars of our passion, our suffering. Like the wounds of Christ, these scars themselves may one day become a source of healing for ourselves and for others.
But we are not quite there yet. We are anticipating meeting the risen Christ, but we don’t yet know when and how Christ will appear. We have met the angel who bears good news, but we have not yet reached the time of seeing that good news embodied, in the flesh. We are anticipating the end of the pandemic: the end of social distancing, the end of mandatory mask wearing, the ability to gather safely indoors in groups again. We are anticipating seeing these things, but we don’t know exactly when and how they will come to pass.
And so, like the women at the tomb, and like the other disciples when they first heard the news, we find ourselves going about in a strange state of “terror and amazement.” We can and should rejoice at the positive progress that is being made against this disease, while at the same time remaining vigilant about the continued risks to ourselves, to those we love, and to the most vulnerable among us.
Have courage, my soul and let us journey on.
For the night is dark, and I am far from home.
Thanks be to God, the morning light appears.
The storm is passing over.
The storm is passing over.
The storm is passing over.
Halleluia!
Amen.
Sermon preached on Easter Day, April 4, 2021 at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Eastport, a neighborhood of Annapolis, Maryland.
Copyright 2021 Diana E. Carroll
Diana Elizabeth Carroll 