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When we bring spices to the empty tomb

Pastor Serena Rice
2 minutes ago
6 min read

An Easter Sunday Sermon on Luke 24:1-12

[for an audio recording of this sermon, click here. Photo by Katherine Hanlon on Unsplash.com]

“Peter doubted – still we doubt.

Disciples faltered – still we falter.

Mary wept – still we weep.

The angels soothed ‘Do not fear’ – still we fear.”[1]

These are the opening lines of a meditation called “We Prepare Spices” written by Susan Palo Cherwien, a Christian hymn writer and contemplative.

I ran across it some years ago and marked it with a post it note entitled “Easter,” and then I added an editorial note to explain why I would want to bring such words of distress into the celebratory mood of Easter. I wrote:

“For when we aren’t sure we believe in the power of the resurrection.”

In case that’s not clear to people who do not live inside my brain, this is not a reference to skepticism about the historicity of the resurrection.

I am well aware that the idea of bodily resurrection can be a stumbling block for many followers of Jesus, but whether or not Jesus physically rising from the dead is something we can wrap our minds around, what I mean by the power of the resurrection is something different… and it may be even harder to believe.

Affirming the power of the resurrection is about trusting that this story actually changes things… that we have a real hope that can give us real peace when all the circumstances around us are telling us to fear.

Of course, I do know that’s sort of the point of Easter… it’s the reason we pronounce “’he is risen indeed’ with smiles and celebration”…

I also know that this power is real because it has changed my life and gotten me through times of deep pain and fear…

But I also know that such celebration, such hope…is not automatic.

Like the first followers of Jesus, we can hear the assurance that God is actively engaged in healing the world, and we can even trust this claim…and still we doubt… still we falter… still we weep… still we fear…still we come to the tomb on Easter Sunday with burial spices.

Of course we do! Because, in our own context, we are not yet at the empty tomb.

We are caught in the in-between time: the time between the promise of Christ’s triumphant return and the realization of that promise, where we get glimpses of hope, but we also get constant reminders of death.

In the half-light before the sunrise, we can trust that the dawn will break while still being afraid of the dark.

And, frankly, when our newsfeeds provide us with constant reasons to be afraid, and so much in our world stinks of death, the reasonable thing to do is to prepare spices.

I would even argue that this can be the faithful thing to do… it can be the response to pain and suffering that refuses to passively stand by insisting that it’s God’s job to fix everything.

I would much rather be with the women who bring spices to the tomb than with the disciples who do nothing.

So, when I read in today’s gospel the angel’s questioning of the women asking, “why do you look for the living among the dead?”, I want to interject. I want to explain:

“It’s because they saw him die! Don’t shame them for showing up with burial spices at the tomb where they saw his lifeless body laid. They are being incredibly brave to come at all. They are refusing to give up on love even though they may have lost their hope.

“And, yes, Jesus did say ahead of time that this would all happen, but he also taught in parables a lot of the time, so he wasn’t always easy to understand.

“And besides, it’s one thing to hear a prediction about dying and rising in three days, but it’s another thing to see your teacher and friend get executed in front of your eyes.

“They are traumatized. They are grieving. This was all a lot for them to process. At least they showed up at the tomb to witness the resurrection, even if they came with the spices meant to care for the dead.”

That’s what I want to say to the angels.

To all of you, I want to encourage you that it’s ok if you find yourself at the tomb this Easter morning with burial spices in hand…with tear tracks still wet on your cheeks and a clenching dread in your gut that no shouted “Hallelujah’s” can ease.

Because we too find ourselves in the pre-dawn between Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday.

And – yes – we have heard the promises of Christ’s victory over death and his coming return in glory to judge the living and the dead, but it is harder to believe promises than to believe the evidence of our own eyes.

And right now, the power of death looks very real.

We see it in the bombing of civilians in Ukraine, and the starving of children in Gaza, and the shooting of college students in Florida, and the printing of so many names at the end of our Easter bulletin of people we love and miss.

It is hard to feel like resurrection has power when we cannot see it in the same way that we see the reasons to mourn.

Not to mention, we are not currently seeing Jesus’ judgment of those who abuse power, and target innocents, and traffic in the politics of fear.

Instead, we are seeing the retraction of human rights for our trans siblings, and the denial of due process to legal immigrants, and the harmful labeling of our neurodiverse loved ones.

We have God’s promises that truth and justice will triumph in the end, and we cling to those promises (I daily cling to those promises), but we are still preparing metaphorical burial spices because it’s something we can actually do with the doubt, and the faltering, and the grief, and the fear.

For the women in today’s gospel, it was painful to live through the space between the crucifixion and the resurrection; and for us it is painful to live in the time between the Christ’s departure and his return.

And, I think, there is something empowering about naming that truth, about the permission to be human, and fragile, and afraid, and about affirming efforts to offer care and love in the face of death.

The permission allows us to let down our defenses and remember that it’s not on us to magically summon hope.

The affirmation strengthens our courage to keep acting with love and compassion even when hope seems remote.

So, I want to invite us to hear the question “why do you look for the living among the dead?” not as a rebuke but as compassionate encouragement to look for the signs of life.

I want us to consider that the call to remember what Jesus told us about expecting resurrection is less about chiding us and more about steadying us.

I want us to see the women remembering, and believing, and carrying the message that Jesus was alive even before they saw him, and I want us to see ourselves in their joy and hope.

Because there really is power in the story of the resurrection, even when we don’t see it.

There is a Mark Miller song that sets to music words written by an anonymous Jew in hiding from Nazi persecution. We sometimes since this song on Ash Wednesday but I think it works as an Easter anthem too, especially those Easters when we aren’t sure we believe in the power of the resurrection.

It is called "I Believe”

“I believe in the sun; I believe in the sun.

Even when, even when it’s not shining.

I believe in love; I believe in love.

Even when, even when I don’t feel it.

I believe in God; I believe in God.

Even when, even when God is silent.

Sometimes in seems that God is silent.

Sometimes we come to the tomb with spices.

Sometimes we struggle to believe.

But always, Jesus rises from the tomb. And the power of his resurrection is not dependent on our belief or hope.

It is real.