Why Do You Look For The Living Among The Dead?

 

A Coptic Icon of the Resurrection

Genesis 1:1-2:4a [The Story of Creation]
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 [Israel's deliverance at the Red Sea]
Isaiah 55:1-11 [Salvation offered freely to all]
Proverbs 8:1-8, 19-21; 9:4b-6 [Learn wisdom and live]
 Ezekiel 37:1-14 [The valley of dry bones]

Romans 6:3-11
Psalm 114
Luke 24:1-12
 

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2022

Note: This sermon was preached before the Great Alleluia of Easter after the Vigil lessons were read. 

All-loving God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

It’s dark in here, isn’t it? So dark! It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.” Before God said anything, Genesis tells us, it was dark—darkness covered the face of the deep. So, it is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

During the Exodus God’s cloud by day was dark coverage—enough even to enshroud the People of Israel as they escaped Pharaoh. At night that cloud became a pillar of fire lighting up a path on dry ground through the Red Sea. Still, it had to be dark walking between the walls of waves on either side. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

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 extended God’s invitation—a good thing. However, the prophet offered welcome 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, by a spiritual darkness. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

Like Isaiah, our Fourth Lesson shed light upon the darkness of ignorance that comes from a lack of knowing God’s Wisdom. This Wisdom cried out, she yearned to be heard—to be sought after more than gold and silver. For with her comes justice and flourishing relationship with God, with neighbor, and with self. Without her, life is lacking—it’s like living without the light. It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

Wisdom though is not vital for living—enlightening yes, essential no—but we must have breath! Without it, we perish—we become like the beginning of Ezekiel’s lesson from this night. What a dark and dry time it was in that valley of the bones without God’s breath! It is dark, but certainly it has been darker.

These lessons speak to us about darkness. Funny, right? It’s amusing because so often we associate the Christian Faith with the brightness of the noonday sun. It’s like my favorite Easter dad-joke: Tomorrow’s forecast is a 100% chance of Son rise—S-O-N rise. The popular perception of Christianity is that it is about this noontime walk with God—some say Church and our Christian Faith is about all our shiny bits, the put-together parts of us, our Easter-Sunday-morning-best selves, and yet, so much of these stories and so much of our growth happens in the dark.

Yes, it has been said, we are Easter people, but you specifically are an Easter Vigil person. You and me, we are people who sit in the dark. Whatever brought you to church on this most holy night, you are here sitting in the dark. And, it makes me wonder, if you are willing to not only sit in this darkness, but also to be in moments of spiritual darkness. Challenging moments within yourself—tough times with your family, friends, neighbors, strangers, and even God.

Often it is in dark moments, these moments before the in-breaking light, that we experience the greatest gifts that come from our relationship with God. This is not always easy to see, but our walk with God is strengthened in deep darkness. There we find courage, compassion, community, curiosity, creativity—gifts we would not realize if we always stayed in the perceived safety of the light.

It really is so dark in here, which reminds me of an Easter service several years ago when I was serving at St. John’s in Decatur. There we had a morning Easter Vigil and in the predawn half-glow on that new day, the Organist, a man named Foster Bailey, missed the stairs that led into the side of the church. Instead, he nearly walked into the columbarium. It was funny because he was so disoriented at that time of day, but I think Foster had it right.

Walking into our dark church on this night is so startling. With only the light of the Paschal Candle it feels as though we are walking into a tomb precisely because that is what we are doing—we are walking into the grave of Christ Jesus. Now, 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 were riveting. Especially, when everyone in the group would turn out their headlamps and stop speaking for a moment or two. It was disorienting down there—like in here.

On those trips, a worry would wash over me, “What if I get trapped here? What if some rocks fall at this precise moment? What if stones collapse over me, like the Red Sea washing over Pharoah’s army?” Worse still is the thought of getting trapped not in a cave, but in a place of deeper darkness—a place without the true light, like where God’s people were when the Prophets issued God’s call. That is a place where many of us have been, maybe some of us feel like that’s where we are now. A place with hunger, thirst and yearning, but without wisdom, breath, and life. This place of darkness is where we wait.

We await a moment so passionately longed for by us and by all. A time when the darkness not outside of us, but inside of us will be no more. A second when any semblance of separation is smashed. An era when evil ceases to exist. A day when death is vanquished. An age bathed in radiant light. That is what we await, sitting in the shadows.

And, how remarkable it is during this service, coming into this completely dark place with only the light of Christ leading us! Slowly that light spreads, but even just that one true light is enough to keep the darkness away, enough that the darkness cannot overcome it, enough that the darkness comprehendeth it not.

But, for a moment more it is dark—in this church—in this tomb. And, if we were to blow out all our candles, and maybe you need to if you are holding a puddle of wax at this point, then it might be almost as dark as it ever has been. As dark as it was on Maundy Thursday when the disciples betrayed, denied, and abandoned Jesus. As dark as it was on Good Friday when at noon Jesus hung on the cross and the light of the sun failed to shine. As dark as it was when Joseph and Nicodemus laid Jesus down and the tomb was sealed.

It is dark, but certainly it has been darker. And, in this dark silence, if we listen closely, we will hear the footsteps of the women approaching. And, messengers of the true light await, wondering, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”