It's the final of Strictly Come Dancing (or any other of the many competitive shows on television): the participants are standing there with the cameras lingering on them, waiting for the marks to be awarded and to find out who has won the competition. They've put their all into it, and now they await the verdict. As the judges announce their decision, one party is suddenly over the moon with exaltation, whooping and cheering: and the others have the hard task of putting on a brave face as they realise that they've not made it. For those who take part, it's all or nothing: joy or dejection.
Today we celebrate the joy of Easter. But we mustn't mistake Christian joy for that kind of 'competition' joy, the exuberance of being judged the winner, the exaltation of getting past the finishing tape first, being the best in the field – it's not that we've made it through Lent and now we rejoice that we've finished.
The joy of Easter is far deeper than all of that: it's not the end, but the beginning of the end.
There's a strand of Christianity that says that everything should be fine now for Christians, it's all sorted. Jesus has died and risen, and therefore we should be happy and perfect and life should be fine, and if it's not then somehow it's our fault for not being spiritual enough. But that's simply not true.
Think for a moment of your own circumstances... Where in your life do you face the prospect of going through something you'd rather not, that is or will be hard – but knowing that you must. Treatment for illness? The process of ageing and dying? The pain of bereavement? Facing exams or interviews? Difficulties in relationships? Depression? Going to the gym?In the Garden of Gethsemane on the night before he's killed, Jesus is sorrowful unto death, overcome by what faces him. He wants company, so he has his three closest disciples near him. But he knows too that he has to do this on his own, and that his friends will run away and leave him.
He prays prostrate, asking his Father to take away if possible this cup of suffering - but your will not my will, he says; after weeping his heart out he finds the disciples asleep through it all. And then Judas the betrayer comes into the Garden, and the final act begins.
On Easter morning there is the joy of Jesus who has been victorious over suffering and death: but it's a joy which is born, not in spite of suffering, but out of it and in the midst of it.
Here today in our Easter Eucharist: we like the first disciples drink from the cup of which Jesus drank: the cup which he described as the new covenant in my blood, the cup of suffering which Jesus had to drink before the joy of resurrection. Good Friday sorrow and Easter joy are mingled together – as they are not only for us, but also for the characters in our gospel reading.
Think for a moment about Peter at the empty tomb. What did Peter really feel? He's in the midst of feelings of loss and guilt at denying Jesus – the last time Peter saw Jesus was when he'd sworn blind that he'd never known him, in order to save his own skin. If Jesus is resurrected – it means that Peter will have to face him, his master, not only with joy, but also with guilt and remorse. Hard work lies ahead: and Peter's joy is tempered with fear of what Jesus will say to him.
Think not only of Peter, but also of Mary Magdalene. She has lost her saviour at the cross – and then lost him again, with the body of Jesus gone. It was devastating for her.
As she stands weeping she looks into the tomb, and there are two angels. Maybe because she wept she could see them, while Peter and the other disciple blundered past the angels as they ran into the tomb with their curiosity and their fear.
Woman, why are you weeping? Because they've taken my Lord away, she says – and turns and there's another man there.
Woman why are you weeping? For whom are you looking? And as she replies to the question, he simply smiles and says her name, and the penny drops and she recognises him.
But note: the weeping comes first. Recognising the joy of the risen Christ comes out of the sorrows we've carried: joy is the fruit of weeping. If you don't think that you need saving or God's help, then the resurrection will mean nothing to you: there can be no joy without first facing pain.
And even then, Easter doesn't stop at joy. Life with its ambiguities and struggles continues: Mary has to go and tell the others the unbelievable news that Jesus is risen, Peter has to be reconciled to his Lord, and the Church has to be formed and grow to share God's good news with others.
Remember that these gospel accounts weren't written on the same day that the events happened: they're the fruit of years of praying, struggling, reflecting, weeping and rejoicing as the first joy-filled disciples took that joy into their ordinary lives and the life of the world.
Resurrection isn't the end of the story – it's the joyful hopeful heart of the story. It's the third dimension of life.
What's the difference between a cream cracker and a loaf of bread? Yeast: so Easter joy is the yeast which transforms our lives. The bottom line of sorrow and struggle is still there: but with the joy of Easter we live in three dimensions not two – filled with the joy and hope of the resurrection which sustains us through the sorrows of the world, until that day when this world's troubles are left behind, and Easter joy will be all there is.
The joy of Easter is not the end, but the beginning of the end: the beginning of the transformation of our sorrows and sins, the transformation of ourselves and of the world. It's in the midst of sorrow and frustration with the world and with ourselves that we can really mean what we say: Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed...
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