Cecil B. DeMille testified that he would like to have all his films start with an earthquake and then build toward a climax. This ambitious producer who fashioned so many electrifying movies should have commissioned a theatrical script for the filming of Saint Matthew’s gospel. This gospel is the first book in our New Testament canon. Since it begins with an exhaustive genealogy before the birth narrative, DeMille might well have chosen the crucifixion for his opening scene. In Matthew’s account, Jesus’ voice crescendos from the cross before he breaths his last breath. In that moment, the defining moment of human history, the curtain of the temple was torn. God, whose mysterious being had been symbolized by the sacred space within the Holy of Holies, was now fully revealed in the personhood of this crucified One. The earth shook. Rocks were split. Tombs were opened. Matthew even reports that "many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised?"1/

Yet, the dramatic impact of a film version of Matthew’s story would merely heighten after this opening scene. Matthew reported that the disciples were terrified by the crucifixion, hiding out somewhere in Jerusalem and hoping that the whole episode of their involvement with Jesus would be forgotten by government and ecclesiastical officials. Pilate, making sure that they would not dare steal Jesus’ dead body, had sealed the tomb of Joseph from Arimathea. So, scene two of a movie version of Matthew would begin with a cautiously calm mood. The sound of morning birds, announcing the first rays of dawn at the horizon of the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, would be heard. Three distraught women, who know that a Roman guard has been posted, walk in darkness toward the borrowed tomb. Their anguish was inconsolable. The one person of integrity whom they had known had brought meaning to their lives. But now this man of peace had been tortured, humiliated, and executed in the place of a violent Zealot. Even Cecil B. DeMille would have been challenged by the sheer surprise of Matthew’s text for scene two; for the evangelist reports, "And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it."2/

The contemporary spiritual writer Dorothy Sayers observes that the proclamation of Christ’s resurrection is the essential doctrine for the whole elaborate structure of the Christian faith. Then she adds, "Now we may call it devastating; we may call it revelation, or we may call it rubbish; but if we call it dull, then words have no meaning at all."3/

Why have you come to worship this Sunday morning? Some of you were not here last Sunday. Most of you were not present here on Maundy Thursday or Good Friday’s tenebrae. Not all of you well be present a week from today, even though every Sunday is a little Easter -- a celebration of the resurrection.

All human motivation is a mixed bag. We rarely do what we do because of one singular, pristine reason. We have come because the music is spectacular on Easter, the flowers are more pronounced, the clothing is new, and the mood is happier than ever. We also come because it is the tradition in our household to attend worship on Easter morning. Expectation has brought some of us to the portals of this sanctuary. Moreover, we come because we are excited about seeing old friends here. These are all positive reason to be present in worship.

A certain Virginia pastor received the promise from one of his perennial no-show members that he would indeed be present for Easter. "If I am alive, I’ll be there," he declared with sincerity before the ears of his pastor. When the Easter crowd exited on that day, this member had obviously violated his promise. That afternoon the pastor took an Easter lily from the altar, went to the man’s home, and rang the bell. When the surprised parishioner came to the door; his pastor entered the foyer, peered around the room, handed the man the lily and asked, "Where’s the body?"

But we have come to worship as a matter of eager, natural inclination this morning. Why? When we brush aside all our superficial explanations, we know that we are really here because we must deal with this issue of death. Not just our death, but the death of all that is meaningful to us. We want to deal with the death of each passing day, the fact that our children are no longer children. The death of a generation of our heros. The death of our most revered role models. The death of innocence. Many of us have a hard time being our age in this age. Moreover, we are conscious of our own mortality as we catch the scent of Easter flowers at Providence Church this morning.

Henri Nouwen was a rare and profound spiritual giant in this era of secularity and mundane trivia. Even though Henri was engaged in an intense spiritual quest, he was aware that his family back in Denmark was saturated in a pervasively secular environment. Henri taught pastoral care at Yale University. Then he entered a monastery at the Trappist monastery of Genesee in upstate New York. Later he was a priest among peasants of Nicaragua. He lectured at Harvard for a while. But his final calling was to care for a mentally retarded adult in Canada. As Henri grew older, he focused upon his sister’s nineteen year old son. The youngster was well educated and sophisticated for his age. But uncle Henri realized that his nephew knew practically nothing about his family’s faith heritage. So, he attempted to introduce Marc to Jesus through a series of sensitive and revealing letters. The little book that has been published from these letters is a masterpiece in Christology.

In one letter, Henri Nouwen introduced his nephew to a resurrection account -- the story of the risen Lord on Easter afternoon, appearing to Cleopas and a friend in route to the village of Emmaus. Henri seemed to be telling young Marc: "I too am going to die and soon will depart from you and the family. But because of the risen Lord, I shall forever be near you." Henri explained to Marc that Cleopas and his friend did not recognize the stranger on the road as the risen Christ walked beside them. But in the breaking of the bread at the table in Emmaus, his identity became apparent. Henri explained to Marc, "What matters here is that the moment Cleopas and his friend recognized Jesus in the breaking of bread, his bodily presence was no longer required as a condition for their new hope. You might say that the bond between them and the stranger had become so intimate that everything about him vanished . . . . They no longer needed a bodily manifestation in order to hope."4/

When I entered this sanctuary today, I felt the powerful presence of the risen Christ. I also sensed the compassionate presence of the communion of saints: spiritual beings like Henri Nouwen. Loving and affirming saints like my mother and father, my father-in-law, and those intimate in my conscious awareness. I am convinced that this is the real reason you and I have come to this sacred space on Easter morning. We want to make sense of this finite thing called physical existence.

Alexander the Great ordered his servant each morning to arouse him from sleep with the words, "Remember this day, Alexander, your are mortal." Likewise, we want to make the most of the dash mark on our tombstone that will link the date of our birth and the date of our death.

Easter came with an earthquake, just as any confrontation with ultimate reality. The earthquake of human tragedy sends us seeking for resurrection good news. This Easter morning there are more than 570,000 refugees from Kosovo. This is Europe’s greatest humanitarian disaster since World War II. The bombings have only escalated the carnage. NATO has tried and failed with Plan A; they apparently do not have a Plan B.

Yet, on Easter morning we come together in order to affirm the Lord of life. The Pope was justified in calling for a cessation of the bombing during this holy season until other solutions can be discovered. Only the risen Christ can make possible that which appears so utterly impossible: peace and reconciliation.

On Easter we gather in order to proclaim the message of Christ’s resurrection from the dead. The first to articulate this glorious message were three women. When they discovered the empty tomb, the angel instructed them to go quickly and tell the liberating news to the other disciples. This commissioning of the women should settle the issue of the ordination of women. The eleven male apostles later met the risen Lord in Galilee. But all the followers of Jesus who witnessed his risen presence were commissioned to be evangelists in a world of death and decay.

I want to challenge each of you this Easter. If you are an occasional worshiper here, or if you enter this sanctuary every time the lights are turned on; I want you to become an Easter evangelist. Not the garden variety that wilts after being plucked or criticized. Not the sort of phoney evangelist we see on television: the kind that markets Jesus like hair spray. What the world needs now are authentic Easter people. In your circle of friends surely there is a person who has not climbed out of his or her tomb of despair. A spouse died years ago; but grief continues inconsolably. Embrace that friend with understanding. Allow them to talk about death even though such conversation is considered to be a cultural taboo. Then let them know that no situation is hopeless, not even death. For Christ is risen. He has prepared a place for all whom he loves.

We live in a world of fear. We are devoid of trust. Become an evangelist, demonstrating the unconditional love of Christ to someone who trusts no one. Demonstrate to them that the love of Christ casts out all fear.

Become an Easter evangelist for one of our youth. The temptation for many youth today is to become cynical about everything. All things appear to be boring. These youth, consequently, lose their passion for existence. Embody for them an exuberance for life. Affirm life through your grasp of eternal life in the risen Christ! Be an Easter evangelist for the sake of one of our youth. Invite them to participate in some adventurous ministry through Providence Church -- to touch the life of a homeless person or to travel on a building team. When youth witness a passion for life in our lives, they are drawn to the risen Christ through us.

We are Easter evangelist because we are undergirded by resurrection hope. We become something like a certain Mrs. Bunting, a saintly lady from a coastal town in Northern Ireland. She reported to her pastor, Maurice Boyd, "Mr. Boyd, I am not afraid to die because I have a claim in heaven." She then explained that when she was very young she had given birth to a little child who had died. She explained, "But I have never stopped loving her. My love has followed her into the great beyond and stayed with her all through the years. I am not afraid to die because I have a claim in heaven. A little bit of myself is already there."5/

I pray that each of us, upon departure from Easter worship today, will confess to having a claim in heaven. The risen Christ is there on our behalf. He has gathered with him a host of saints. He knows each of them and us by name. Christ is risen, indeed! And because of that fact, a bit of ourselves dwells there with him.

Now that’s a message worth telling. Therefore, we can hardly wait to get out of this sacred space in order to share our message with all our friends who live in a tomb.