The Entire Thought

Understanding Easter

Theological mysteries aren't meant to be mysterious. When we talk about the Paschal Mystery — conveniently encapsulated in the
acclamation, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again" —we shouldn’t feel we are staring into a cosmic void. In ancient Greek
mystery religions, mysterion referred to secret realities only privileged insiders might grasp. But Christianity makes a free gift of the gospel to all the world in its evangelizing mission. This mystery is just aching to be revealed.
That doesn’t mean we’re all on the same page when it comes to religious understanding, however. In nine short verses, John’s Easter account reminds us that even those closest to Jesus could be absolutely clueless about the significance of the empty tomb. That it was
significant they had no doubt. But such a finding could be read in so many ways — and apparently was— that even standing there on the
morning of the third day could be a mind-boggling experience.
What did Mary Magdalene understand that morning in the dark, as she stood nearby and saw the great stone had been removed? Grave robbers; most likely the temple cohorts. When she says, “they" have taken the Lord, she leaves us in little doubt as to which group she suspects. Meanwhile, folks on the Sanhedrin side of the equation, if Matthew’s account is to be credited, are saying the same thing, only blaming the Twelve for the grave heist. The politics around the death of Jesus had been so acute that it eclipsed any theological reflection. Her report sets Peter and the other disciple running.
The gospel then provides us with a little insider politics of its own. Peter and that other guy race to the tomb, but the nameless other
outpaces him — the gospel writer is always looking for a way to point out that Petrin leadership is a little slow. The winner of the footrace sees the interior of the tomb, what’s there and not there. But he doesn’t go inside; he knows better than to supersede Peter. When the First Fisherman
arrives, he does enter, does a thorough inspection of the scene, but comes up with no answers. Then the other disciple steps in, sees the same evidence, and believes. Believes what, we ask? That the tomb is indeed empty?
Because the next thing we are told is that they, both of them, did not yet understand that Jesus had to rise from the dead. Whatever it is that they might believe, they are not believing that. The consolation for us Christians living 20 centuries later is that being there would have put us at no advantage in the realm of faith. We still, like Mary and Peter and the nameless disciple, have to put our heads into that hollow space and draw our own conclusions.
The scripture scholar Pheme Perkins writes: “The ultimate goal of Christian life is not merely surviving death but transformation into the image of God, which is the risen Christ.” For people who struggle with the meaning of the Easter event, this message might help. Paul often
reminded his audience that the Resurrection was not a one-time episode—the idea is not to acknowledge the resurrected Lord and to cheer, “Good for him!” If we die with Christ, we also rise with him. The victory of Easter is our victory, too.
But the goal of resurrection is not merely cheating death of its sting. Resuscitated bodies and reanimated identities, even immortal ones, would be a poverty compared to the true objective, which is to be one with God in Christ. The glorified body of the Risen One is not just Jesus back again once more. He’s unrecognizable to his dearest friends. He’s transformed into the fullness of divine life. “The life of the world to come," then, is not more of the same, or even the best of the same. That image of heaven we’ve clung to since childhood — living on a cloud, with all the cake you can eat and no calories—has got to be relinquished. Transformation into the image of God, whose very nature is love, will be quite a change for people like ourselves whose hearts are quite limited and whose ability to love is often disappointing.
When it comes to the Paschal Mystery, we can claim Peter’s words from Acts as our own. Through our celebration of the Eucharist, we, too, become witnesses who eat and drink with Christ after he rose from the dead. Our liturgy is not a mental act of remembrance, sacramental theology insists. It is a divine activity through which we are there, present to and participating in the death and resurrection of Christ. Liturgy “collapses past, present, and future into a single moment pregnant with meaning," as liturgical scholar Joyce Zimmerman writes in an essay on Christian mystery. The mystery aching to be revealed is in full flower when we approach the Table of the Lord.
This mystery, as Paul says in one of the two possible second readings for the day, is that as Christians, we have already been raised up with Christ. We have already died to the way that leads to mortality and chosen the hidden life with Christ in God. Or, if you prefer the other reading for this day, Paul invites us to celebrate this feast of the Paschal Lamb with sincerity and truth. In both Colossians and Corinthians, we celebrate the divine mystery that is always and everywhere an open secret designed to be proclaimed, celebrated and shared far and wide.
Today we’re not gathered to enter into an empty tomb. That’s “so 2,000 years ago.” We come together to enter into a mystery that is, by contrast, full of life. The emptiness of the tomb on Easter Sunday morning might be hollow enough to echo back our fears, suspicions, and doubts. But the glorified life of the Risen Christ that we celebrate this morning, and every Sunday of the year, enables us “to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.” With Mary, with Peter, and every other disciple named and unnamed, we lift our voices in thanks and praise.

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