Five times in this gospel, the word “tomb” is mentioned. When we think of tombs, we often think of graves, 6 feet deep; final resting places that are forever sealed when the first spade of dirt is tossed in. Once the ground has been covered, the body is rarely removed. In ancient Israel, tombs were small caves, much like our mausoleums.
On the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and her companions come to the tomb of Jesus, never expecting to find it empty but that is what they discovered. Nor did they expect to encounter two men in dazzling white who said, “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, he has been raised.” Recalling all that Jesus had told them, they returned from the tomb to tell the apostles, who understandably did not believe them. Nonetheless, Peter ran to the tomb and saw for himself that something wasn’t right. How often have we had the experience that something isn’t right? We find our hearts heavy when dealing with broken relationships, fractured lives, the loss of loved ones, the disruption of what has been a comfort zone for us. When life isn’t easy to handle, we could get caught up in self-pity or despair. In those valleys of life, which may seem like tombs to us, we could be too distraught to see any way out.
Victor Frankl knew what being entombed was like. He spent three years in a concentration camp. His family died there, leaving him alone. He emerged from the prison physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Being liberated from Auschwitz was like emerging from a tomb to begin life anew.
He had this to say in his classic, Man’s Search For Meaning: “A few days after the liberation, I walked through the country past flowering meadows, for miles and miles, toward the market town near the camp. Larks rose to the sky and I could hear their joyous song. There was no one to be seen for miles around; there was nothing but the wide earth and sky and the lark’s jubilation and the freedom of space. I stopped, looked around, and up to the sky…then I went down on my knees. At that moment there was very little I knew of myself or of the world. I had but one sentence in mind, always the same: ‘I called to the Lord from my narrow prison and he answered me in the freedom of space.’
“How long I knelt there and repeated this sentence memory can no longer recall. But I know that on that day, in that hour, my new life started. Step for step I progressed, until I again became a human being.”
While none of us are apt to experience such horror as Mr. Frankl did, we could at times find ourselves in a tomb or buried in some hole. Perhaps it is a tomb of resentment because of some hurt received from others. Or it may be a tomb of fear about the future and what it may hold. It may be a tomb of despair about some difficult situation and how to handle it. Thinking back over my ministry here, I am mindful of people in our parish who have had their share of losses and yet emerged from their tombs to experience new life.
Today we celebrate more than just the resurrection of Jesus Christ on that first Easter morning. What we also celebrate is the course of his death and new life that goes on in each of us. We know that life for us can be renewed, rejuvenated, and made whole. We too can emerge from our tombs. The message of Easter is that we can leave behind the desert experience of Lent to taste here and now the joy of new life.
The expression of “alleluia!” —that sound of joy, which has no translation in our language, expresses the hope for all Christians that however bleak life may seem, Jesus is there tugging at our hearts to give newness to our lives. He wants to give us the power to rise from our tombs and out of our holes. No tomb can hold us any more—not the tomb of despair, not the tomb of discouragement, not the tomb of doubt, not even the tomb of death itself.
Having witnessed the resurrection, the apostles went forth to boldly proclaim the good news at any cost. Having seen the risen Lord, they did not fear death. Nothing could keep them entombed for they had seen the good news in action. Jesus had triumphed over sin, evil and death and so would they.
They passed on the good news that we too could experience new life in Jesus Christ, not just in this Easter gathering but also each time the Eucharist is celebrated. They passed on the good news that nothing can defeat us any more; not pain, not sorrow, not rejection, not even death, for once we take our last breath, something greater than we can ever imagine awaits us.
By sharing this good news with others, you could make a real difference in helping them to emerge from their tombs. Do not fret about what to say, for I am not suggesting that you become a bible-thumping evangelist. Instead, be mindful of these lines taken from a song by Andrew Lloyd Webber.
“Love, love changes everything…Hands and faces, earth and sky…Love, love changes everything…how you live and how you die…Love, love can make the summer fly or a night seem like a lifetime…yes, love, love changes everything… Love will turn your world around and that world will last forever…Yes, love, love changes everything…Nothing in the world will ever be the same…Yes love, love changes everyone…Live or perish in its flame…Love will never let you be the same…Love will never let you be the same…”