Who’s Going To Roll The Stone Away?

An Orthodox Icon of the Resurrection

This sermon was preached at St. John's Church, Decatur, AL at the Easter Vigil after the lessons below, but before the lights had been turned on signifying God's triumphant moment of Resurrection. 

Genesis 1:1-2:4a,  The Story of Creation

Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18, 8:6-18,  The Flood

Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 9:8-13, Israel's Deliverance at the Red Sea

Isaiah 55:1-11 Salvation Freely Offered to All

It’s dark in here isn’t it? So dark. Recently a parishioner (Jesse Sawyer) and I were talking about this service, and he told me about being at Easter Vigils in the past. “Slowly,” he said, “we can see the stained glass windows coming to life.” We are not quite to morning yet—to daybreak. That will happen soon enough. For now though, we are in the dark. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

“When God began to create the heavens and the earth—the earth was without shape or form, it was dark…” If I stop and think about what that moment of creation—the Big Bang—God speaking existence into being—if I stop and think about that moment, my head hurts. No one was there, save for God, to see what un-created Creation looked like. So, when I tell my brain to come back with an image of how dark it was I get an error message. “That file cannot be found,” it says. Before God said anything though, I think it was pretty dark.

If we were to blow out all our candles, then it might be as dark, as the nights when Noah and his lot endured the flood. As the windows of the skies opened and that slightly newer sun set, it had to get pretty dark. Of course, not as dark as it must have been when the Lord closed the door behind them—a strange detail from that bit in Genesis. The Lord was the one shutting Noah and his family inside. And, it must have been dark inside all those days and nights.

Slightly brighter must have been the night voyage across the bottom of the Red Sea. The cloud by day was dark coverage—enough even to enshroud the People of Israel as they escaped Pharaoh. And, at night that cloud—God’s cloud—lit up a path on dry ground. Still, it had to be dark walking between the walls of waves on either side.

Darkness got no mention in what we heard from Isaiah, but it certainly lurked in the background. Not darkness, like poor vision from lack of light, but something much more disturbing. The prophet extends God’s invitation—a good thing. However, the prophet extends that invitation because God’s People had been without. They had been hungry. They had been thirsty. They had been yearning for God. They had been held captive by enemies, by themselves, and by brokenness. They too were in the dark, like the rest of these stories. And, like us.

It really is so dark in here. And, outside before the service too. It was so dark outside this service a couple years ago that Foster even missed the steps—right out there. He was trying to walk into the chapel, instead he nearly walked into the columbarium. Actually, somehow I think Foster had it right.

When Evan and I were getting ready for this vigil, he said that walking into our dark church this morning is so startling. With only the light of the Paschal Candle it is like walking into a tomb. I agree. And, I think that is what this is all about—us walking into the grave as we are buried with Christ Jesus. Of course, the thought of being stuck in a tomb makes my skin crawl.

The closest experience I have had to being buried alive is going caving. Those trips beneath the earth have been riveting. Especially, when everyone in the group turns out their headlamps and stops speaking for a moment or two. It’s disorienting down there—like in here.

A worry can get ahold of me. And, I think, “What if I get trapped here? What if some rocks decide to fall at this precise moment? What if the Lord closes the door like he did with Noah?” Worse still is the thought of getting trapped not in a cave, but in a place of deeper darkness. A place without the light. Like where God’s people were when Isaiah called to them. A place with hunger, thirst, and yearning, but seemingly without God.

It is in that place—not a cave—but a tomb—that we wait.

We await a moment that is so passionately longed for by all of us. A time when the darkness not outside of us, but inside of us will be no more. A moment when all traces of sadness evaporate. An era when evil ceases to exist. A day when death is vanquished. An age when we are bathed in radiant light. That is what we await, sitting here in the fast fading shadows.

But, for a moment more it is dark—in this church—in this tomb. And, with the women who are approaching in the distance we wonder, “Who’s going to roll the stone away?”  

When the Sermon concluded (still in the dark) the congregation renewed their baptismal vows, proclaimed Christ's Resurrection, and eventually heard the following Gospel lesson:

Mark 16:1-8