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‘B’ // Easter Sunday // 4-12-09 // Celebration of Worship, Northside Presbyterian
Scriptures Isaiah 25:6-9 Mark 16:1-8
“Who Will Roll Away the Stone?”
For many an Easter weekend, three of our number make a pilgrimage east down the Ohio Turnpike to the village that gave birth to one of them.
That one is Kelly Maxwell. She, Rose, and Jackson often join family and friends in Norwalk, OH to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior on the appointed day.
Kelly gives me permission to share with you the following vignette from one of their Easter journeys to Norwalk. While celebrating Easter worship at the Presbyterian church in Norwalk, they listened to an interim pastor expounding on today’s Easter narrative from Mark. When he – and you will understand why it almost had to be a he – got to the part of the three women asking each other, “Who will roll away the stone from the entrance to the tomb?” the interim lingered, then noted: “Of course, those women could not possibly roll that stone away by themselves.”
That unfortunate pastor’s sexism aside: Perhaps these three women could not possibly roll that stone away.
As strong as they obviously were. Strong enough to brave adverse political winds to ensure a proper, dignified Jewish burial for the most notorious dissident of the day. Stronger then any of their male disciple counterparts, last seen – well, just when was it they were last seen?
Strong enough to offer the balm of compassion in response to the agony of Jesus’ Passion. Strong enough to know that anointment of his dead body was the next right thing to do in their discipleship journey.
And yet, there was that not-so-simple matter of a stone. They could only wonder aloud to each other about it. It would certainly bring to a halt their discipleship journey. It would stop it – and stop it cold.
That stone would stop the anointing from even taking place. The anointing: A pinch of this. A dash of that. Seasoning the body before the stench set in.
That stone would lead them to ask a question of leftover faith – left over from the faith Jesus had told them, just days before, could actually move mountains.
Their question of the hour: “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”
Who?
Could it possibly be three well-meaning women?
Could it possibly be three dozen-odd well-meaning Northsiders? (And we are truly and wonderfully odd.)
Could it possibly be those faithful three, and we faithful three dozen, who so desire to anoint what is dead and past – for, after all, our stuff really shouldn’t stink?
Who will roll away the stone? Them? Us?
Try as he might, there was nothing my friend Ross felt he could do to anoint an event from his past he would just as soon forget.
And yet – as he would discover – he couldn’t let it lie there, either.
Ross knew that he had to practice a spiritual program – one inspired by Christian discipleship and known to the world as Alcoholics Anonymous – to remain sober. And an essential element of that spiritual program required Ross to make direct amends to all persons he had harmed wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
For years, a direct amend Ross felt he could not make was to the owner of a construction company. A company which Ross, in an alcohol-induced arson-for-hire, had burned down way back in 1963. For as Ross’ sponsor – his AA spiritual director – understood, there was no statute of limitations on arson. And a jailed Ross would do a lot less good to his family and to the world entire than a freed Ross.
Until the day came – a full quarter of a century after the arson – when in walked to the fellowship of AA a very troubled young man. A fellow who had slipped more out of sobriety than in it for quite some time.
At Ross’ urging, the man shared his “drunkalogue” with him. His drunkalogue, i.e. his drinking and doping history, AA’s narrative version of what William James called “ego deflation at depth”, necessary for spiritual transformation of any kind. In the course of his drunkalogue, the young man mentioned that he was from a particular town in Michigan.
Ross knew the town. It was his hometown. The town where the construction company was located.
I’ll let Ross take it from here:
In fact, (the young man) used to live on the same street (of) the construction company. I said to him, “I really feel funny when that street is mentioned, because I started a fire there in 1963.” (The young man) paused and then said, “That was my father’s company and I have always said I would kill the bum if I ever met him.”
I was so embarrassed I could hardly speak. We finished talking and then left. I went to speak with my sponsor and he to speak with his … I prayed about what to do.
It became more and more evident that I needed to speak with the owner of the construction company now. Not only did I have an amends to make, but his son was carrying a secret (now) that was also my responsibility.
Sunday morning came and I called this new (AA) member and asked for his father's phone number. I also asked about his father's health condition and everything seemed to be fine. When I hung up the phone, I fell to my knees, crying, and said, “God … I can't handle it.” But I soon quit crying and felt that I could call. As I dialed the number I was praying. Then a voice said hello.
"Sir," I said, "my name is Ross and I just met your son and have found out how to reach you to make an amends to you.
"Sir, in 1963 you had a fire at your construction company and I was the one who started it. I never, until now, had a way of approaching you."
The man grew silent. Finally, he replied, "To call after all these years takes the courage my son will need to stay sober. If you’re the type of man (he’s) going to be running around with, maybe there’s hope for (him).”
We hung up and I called the son and thanked him for helping me with this final amends. And – you know what? – because his father forgave me, he finally came to grips with his own acts out of his own addiction that he thought no one could ever forgive. And he’s remained sober ever since.1
Who would roll away the stone from Ross’ past?
Ross could not. And until his past raised its mask of death to his face and cried out, “Anoint me!” – and Ross obeyed – God would not.
But Ross discovered just what the three women at the tomb discovered: As St. Augustine once so magnificently phrased it, “We without God cannot, and God without us will not.”
And yet, Easter is more than our “Yes, we can” meeting God’s “Yes, I will.” There are two more components, lest we cheapen the grace: “Yes, I will tell,” and “Yes, I will follow.”
For if a stone is rolled from the tomb of our lives, and we do not see it happen, the resurrection might still occur. But it may not make a sound.
It may not make a sound, for we may not trust it to resound in us. For interestingly, the three women disciples – honest and open and willing enough, like Ross, to live a spiritually courageous life – suiting up and showing up to anoint a past they wondered how to even access – these three women, at the end of the Easter story today, flee in fear from the power of the grace that had made itself known to them.
They flee – and, we are told, “they said nothing to anyone.”
And what of us – pray tell? Are we willing? And do we tell?
Are you willing, and do you tell?
Are you willing to anoint your past? To give it its due by being willing to bless even and especially your most mortal and death-dealing moments?
Are you willing to remain open to the moments of awful and awesome accountability in your life? To reach out to another, as well as to God, to discern the most graceful way to face those moments? And then, to take the anointing action necessary? And, in the process discover that somehow, in some way, some … One has rolled away the stone from the entrance of that tomb you had dreaded facing? A tomb, you also discover, that all along had closed you in?
Are you willing to anoint your past? And then – and here’s where the three women missed out on the fullness of Easter – are you willing to be anointed, in turn? In other words …
Are you ready for resurrection? Are you ready to be set free? Not to be free on your own terms – but to be set free? To pay the price of letting go – yes, even of the willingness and courage you’ve brought to the tomb?
For when – and only when – we are willing to let go of a past we may still insist upon anointing, can there be Good News to tell. Going ahead of us, as our Easter narrative tells us about the resurrected Jesus. Going always ahead of us. Lest we think the Good News is our own. Lest we think it’s something for us to own.
So be ready and willing to anoint your past – that it may, in turn, anoint you. Be ready to face the stone ahead, that it may then roll away.
And when it does: Let the Good News be the Good News for you. Let it be of God.
Are you afraid of what you might find? Are you afraid, because it’s not what you’ve expected?
Find not; be found. Expect not; be expectant.
The stone has been rolled away. Jesus goes before us.
Let us follow, that we may be anointed!
1Ross H., “The Last Burning Embers”, AA Grapevine, August 1993 (Vol. 50, No. 3). Additional details added by Ross in a phone conversation with the preacher, 4/11/09. | 
