Yard Signs - A Sermon for Easter Day (Mark 16:1-8)

Something big has happened on my quiet little street in Hillcrest. I need to give you some background information, so that you’ll understand just how significant this is. We are a very friendly street. On school mornings, you’ll see kids and dogs and parents with cups of coffee walking up to Pulaski Heights Elementary. Neighbors hang out on one another’s porches. We love to visit about the joys and sorrows of living in 100 year old houses. We text each other whenever there’s an indoor cat on the loose. One resident described our street as Mayberry and honestly, we’re kind of a stereotype. If you take a look at polling data, we even tend to vote the same way. The only divisive yard signs you’re likely to see are not for candidates, but rather competing invitations to Methodist or Episcopal Easter services.

All that has changed, however. Maybe it’s the upcoming presidential election looming over us. Or maybe the deep polarization in this country has finally reached us, and we now find ourselves a street divided. Recently a yard sign went up, staking a clear position on a hot button issue. And very quickly, two yard signs in opposition appeared nearby. The first was an advertisement for a mosquito spraying company. The others denounced spraying for mosquitos.

Now I’m not one to bring politics into the pulpit, so I’m not going to weigh in on such a divisive issue. But I am inclined to talk about the human condition, of which this is a clear example. We are divided from one another in so many ways these days. Division is not new, of course. I suspect humans have been arguing about mosquitos since the Garden of Eden. Are they a healthy part of the ecosystem or did God just want to mess with us after we ate the forbidden fruit? We’ve been arguing over just about everything else since then, too. Maybe it’s just human nature to take opposing sides, given the option. At the very least, we certainly like having two different ways of looking at something.

Easter might be the most striking opportunity we have to see something in two different ways. On this day, we are presented with a biblical account of the resurrection of Jesus, and there are basically two ways to see it. Either there was resurrection from the dead, or there was not. Faith puts up a yard sign with words like miracle, divine intervention, glory. Doubt quickly puts up a countersign, with words like impossibility, other explanations, hoax. A street, a congregation, even a human heart can be divided on the fundamental question of Easter.

Mark, who wrote the version of the Easter story we just heard, is a genius storyteller. He knows that we like to have options, so that we can make our own choice. And so he tells us about the resurrection of Jesus very carefully, giving us options of what to think at every turn. There are two details in particular that show Mark’s masterful strategy.

Take the large stone in front of Jesus’ tomb. The women who arrive first thing in the morning to anoint his body are worried about how they are going to move the thing. Mark tells us that as they look up, they see that it has already been rolled back. Now there are plenty of possible explanations here, involving humans moving that stone for various reasons. But Mark gives us clues in the ancient Greek that this is no ordinary moment. The word used for the women looking up can also be translated as their eyes being opened. It’s the same word Mark uses in the story of Jesus healing a blind man. Jesus opens his eyes, and the man not only can see, but can see Jesus for who he is, the Messiah. Mark the storyteller sets that healing story at a pivotal moment earlier in the Gospel, and it’s meant to help frame the meaning of the rest of the story. At the tomb, the women’s eyes are being opened to a new divine reality they had not previously been able to see.

Before Mark takes us to the next action in the story, there’s one more detail to note about that stone. This one is for the grammar nerds here today. In the Greek, the phrase “the stone had already been rolled back” is in passive voice and the aorist tense. This is grammar normally reserved for divine action. In English, the stone has been moved. But in Greek, we hear that the stone has been rolled away miraculously, with the sense that it was once and for all - a divine intervention so that there will never again be a barrier between humans and God (this interpretation is based on the great work at bibleworm.com).

Mark then turns his skill to that young man in the tomb. Mark does not identify him, leaving us with another choice to make. He could be a human or an angel. My money is on angel, because once again Mark leaves us clues. The man was wearing a white robe, which is standard for biblical angels. And the first thing he says is, “Do not be alarmed.” Angels are usually pretty terrifying in their fiery splendor, so they always have to start with some version of “don’t be afraid” when talking to mortals. And then he tells the women the most extraordinary news. “You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” The young man thus gives the first proclamation of Easter.

Mark has told us this story in two ways. The reader is left with a decision to make about how to see the events. This is either a human story with plausible explanations or a miraculous one. On Easter, it’s as if each of us is offered a choice of two yard signs, one that’s pro-miracle and one that’s not. And if you’re not quite sure yet which one to put up, I invite you consider one more detail. It’s the one that compels me to trust the miracle.

The man-slash-angel in the empty tomb gives us one more clue, or Easter egg if you will, about what’s going on. He instructs the women to go and tell the news of Jesus’s resurrection to the disciples, and to Peter. It’s strange to single out Peter by name, since he’s one of the disciples. And the sense in Greek is more like especially Peter. Peter had just denied knowing Jesus three times during Jesus’ arrest and trial, essentially abandoning Jesus. You can imagine the enormity of his shame and guilt, weighing him down like a heavy stone that’s nearly impossible to roll away. This, too, is the human condition. And so the man makes a point that the women should tell the extraordinary news especially to Peter, that Jesus has been raised. This is where Easter gets personal for Peter and for each of us. The fundamental grace of Easter is that, whatever our sins and failures, whatever our deep seated divisions and conflicts, resurrection has the power to overcome anything that separates us from one another and from God. Especially Peter is the language of grace, which is for us, too.

Mark offers us two different possibilities this morning. There is the plain sense of the account, in which a stone got moved, a guy gave a message, and the women left in fear, saying nothing to anyone. But there is also a miraculous way to see it. Despite the human condition, which is full of things like betrayal, division, even crucifixion, God has rolled away any and all barriers between us and God, once and for all. There will always be grace. There will always be forgiveness. There will always be the possibility of reconciliation. And through the resurrection of Christ, death is never the end of the story.

You’ve got your choice this morning, of course, but the angel is passing out Easter yard signs as we speak. No matter where you stand on mosquitos, or angels, or the weight of your own heart, there is a sign for you with a clear message: “He is risen.”