April 5, 2026, Easter
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Matthew 28:1-10

We’ve spent our week together thinking about crowds. Last week, on Palm Sunday, I talked about the different kinds of Palm Sunday crowds, those who were there to see Jesus, those who hoped that the Messiah would arrive (and some of those hoped that the Messiah would turn out to be Jesus), the religious authorities, those who were there for the highest of the Jewish Holy Days, the Roman authorities looking to keep the peace, and others who might be there for darker reasons, looking to take advantage of travelers or making trouble in other ways. Last Sunday, I talked about the Good Friday crowds, and on Maundy Thursday, we focused on a smaller crowd, the disciples gathered with Jesus to celebrate the Passover meal that celebrates liberation from oppressors.

We don’t see those crowds in today’s reading, but we do see a type of crowd who has always been there. In today’s reading, we see the group of women, many of whom have been kept at a distance, and finally, they have a chance to take center stage. But it’s not so much that they arrive—no, the women have always been there. Even at the lowest point, as Jesus hangs on a cross and wonders why God has abandoned him, the women are there, without the disciples, watching from a distance.

The disciples have fled, and the other crowds have dispersed. But the women remain, there to do the tasks that must be done. The women return to the tomb, and unlike other Gospels, we’re not told why. Maybe they come as part of the grieving ritual. Maybe, as in other Gospels, they bring spices.

We know it’s been three days, and they return to the tomb. They come alone, with no male protection, no male companions, no disciples to take charge. They know where to seek for Jesus because they were there when Joseph of Arimathea laid him in the tomb. They are back three days later.

The women are there for the earthquake. In the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, geological events like earthquakes are used to signify the arrival of the Divine. The women, the ones who have been kept in the crowds that are more distant from Jesus, the women are there for the arrival of the angel. The forces of empire, the ones who have put Jesus to death, they shake in fear and become like dead men. The guards faint—the Roman guards, the fiercest fighting force, frozen in time, like a deer in headlights, holding their breath, hearts racing, immobile limbs, paralyzed with fear. The women stay alert.

We have an angel in the Gospel of Matthew, which is unusual. The Gospel of Luke is the Gospel most associated with angel messengers. In the Gospel of Matthew God more often speaks in dreams and premonitions. But at the end of Matthew, the women who have stayed faithful and not fled in the face of the unjust killing by Roman and Jewish leaders of the empire, they are the ones with a Divine message to deliver: Jesus will meet the disciples back home in Galilee, full circle, just as Jesus has already told them he would.

And even better, the women are the first to see the risen Christ. Jesus has a message for them, and for the disciples, and for all the men and women who have been following and presumably fallen away. Leave Jerusalem, the capital city, a seat of earthly power and claims of Divine power, Jerusalem, the place of death and destruction. Walk away from the tombs and all the ways that death hold us.

The guards have fainted, and the disciples are faint-hearted. In our Easter text, it is the smaller crowd, the ones who have been most faithful, who get to experience resurrection up close and become the first evangelists to tell of the risen Lord. It is this smaller crowd who has been most faithful, the women named Mary and all the other women who are the first to understand the mission of Jesus and to get to work. Their stories are there in the Gospels, there in the background, if we go back to read with fresh eyes.

Each Spring, we hear this story, one where God intervenes in human history, with an earthquake at the death of Jesus, and an earthquake before the stone is rolled away. For most Christian theologians, this story is the one that marks the passage from the former present age, one of evil, sin, and death, to the New Creation, the one that is ready to welcome the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the one with believers ready to go out and conquer the forces of Rome and all the empires to come, as we become those who bring the good news of God’s Kingdom on earth. Jesus has been raised from the dead, but something different is happening now. Resurrection is not a return to old life, but something bold and new.

And yet. And yet. Here we are, two thousand years later, far removed from those events, still trying to understand what we have witnessed. We might feel ourselves as part of some crowd, lingering in the background, trying to understand. We are still here, in the in between space, the now and the not yet. The Kingdom of God is here, Jesus proclaims, but not fully complete yet. For some of us, as we hear the stories each year, as we move through lectionary cycles, we may feel the borders blurring. Maybe we’re still in an Ash Wednesday space, feeling more bleakly than ever the truth of the message that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. Maybe we understand the cry of Jesus up there on the cross, as we wonder if God has forsaken us. Maybe we find our thoughts returning to Lazarus, dead for four days and then yanked back only to have his life threatened again, or Jesus in that tomb for three days, only to have the Roman guards paid off to lie about his resurrection, waiting for what comes next. Jesus meets us on the road to tell us that we have waited long enough, waited during these past 40 days of Lent, waited for who knows how many years or decades. Jesus shows up resurrected, saying with his body and maybe with words: It is time. Buckle up. This journey is about to move to a new level.

Maybe it’s hard from where we’re sitting, to believe that God can overcome the forces of death. The forces of empire and death sure look like they are winning, depending on when we can bear to uncover our eyes and ears to take a look and a listen. The Powers that Jesus vanquished sure seem to be in control, in league with chaos. And yes, some self-proclaimed religious authorities also seem to be working with the powers of chaos.

Today’s second reading, the letter to the Colossians, tells us to seek things that are from above. I realize that Paul, the letter writer, meant heavenly things or Christlike things, but as I’ve been thinking about an Easter sermon, I’ve also been keeping an eye on the Artemis mission, the one with a diverse crew of astronauts headed to the moon, a much bigger event than most space events of the last few decades. I found myself thrilled to be alive in such an age. I have a pastor friend who has become enthralled by the live feed from the ship, which is about the size of 2 minivans; I’m not at her level of engagement, but I understand the relief that comes from lifting our eyes to the heavens. Of course, we don’t need to leave earth. If we look around our families and communities, we’ll see evidence of resurrection. We’ll see small, loyal groups continuing to do the work begun by the first group of followers of Jesus, those who were named and those who mostly stayed in the background.

Paul wrote to the Colossians from a Roman prison, so he might have had reason to despair. His letter shows no sign of that. He continues to witness to what God has done, what God continues to do. We, too, can witness like Paul.

The angel rolls back the stone and says, “Do not be afraid.” Jesus, too, says, “Do not be afraid.” The Holy Week stories remind us that the God who made the Heavens and the Earth, the God who can shake the planet to its foundation, this God is still in charge.

The small, loyal group of women was not afraid as the strength of empire fainted away. We may feel that they had some special quality that we do not, but those feelings are wrong. Those who are in the background are up to the task to proclaim the good news that death does not have the final word. If you doubt it, remember the words of the African-American spiritual, drawn from the prophet Jeremiah, “If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can still tell the love of Jesus, who came to save us all.”

A balm in Gilead, good news for the ages.

Christ is risen—he is risen indeed—and all God’s people say: Alleluiah!

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