The Easter of COVID-19

I wanted to write an Easter Sunday devotion. A short message filled with the hope and optimism that so fits the Resurrection of Jesus Christ where death has been conquered and relational separation from God is over. Where those things are no longer an issue. But this is not that devotional.

As I hear the stories from around my planet, nation, state, and county I do not hear the resounding hope of Easter. I hear of healthcare systems overloaded, protective equipment shortages, dead bodies in the street in South America, neighbors hoarding essential items from the more vulnerable members in society. I hear deaths counting greater than some wars. I hear a world in pain and trembling in fear. The hope of Easter, of death being rendered void, seems too distant a hope. But nonetheless, the day set aside to remember the Resurrection has come and gone.

 When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body.  Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb  and they asked each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?”But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away.  As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him.  But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.’” Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.

-Mark 16:1-8

As with most Biblical narratives, there is so much to latch on to. We could latch on to the hope of a resurrected savior, the wild claim that the finality of death is perhaps not so final, or that women were the first individuals to be entrusted to the Good News. But those wonderful avenues are not where I am headed – not this time anyways. I wanted to latch on to the final phrase above: “They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.”

I find it amazing that in this part of the story, the women were so afraid that they remained silent. Why, I wonder did Mark include this little detail in his Gospel? It is sharp, abrupt, and rather messy.

If the Resurrection is such amazing, joyous news – why does Mark original Gospel (it is thought v 9-20 were added some years later) end on a note of fear and bewilderment?

For Christians in America today who have been raised on the “if…then…” presumption that “if you believe in Jesus, things will go well for you,” Marks closing note is quite disturbing. Because life here on earth is still going to be messy, despite faith in the Resurrection. The life we know now is full of loose ends, events and experiences that we don’t understand and find hard to handle, where there is suffering and pain – and where we can be deeply injured, even by other Christians. Despite death being overcome and the grave being vacant, there is still death – there is still COVID-19.

Despite that ragged view of the Gospel, there is something subtle and amazing we can take. That fear and bewilderment about loose ends, pain and suffering, is considered holy. Those moments and feelings are recorded in the fullness of Scripture. From the pain and yearning of the Pslams to the persecutions in Acts we find that Scripture – written works set aside as proclaiming truth – contain the utter moments of loss and desperation despite the Resurrection. Those feelings are holy enough to be considered apart of the writings that declare who God is and how people interact with Him. The very question that is messier than a pig in mud is perhaps the holiest of all – “why, despite God’s acting in the world, does pain exist?”

I have no simple answers, no trite sayings to answer that question. Nor will I ever. Jürgen Moltmann, one of my favorite authors, grapples with the questions of pain and loss as he reflects on his own experiences of World War II concentration camps. As we witness pain and loss in our own way, we can lean on Moltmann’s experiences living through hell on earth.

[I heard the man call again, ‘Where is God now?’ And I heard a voice in myself answer: ‘Where is he? He is here. He is hanging there on the gallows…’]
Any other answer would be blasphemy. There cannot be any other Christian answer to the question of this torment. To speak here of a God who could not suffer would make God a demon. To speak here of an absolute God would make God an annihilating nothingness. To speak here of an indifferent God would condemn men to indifference.  

-Jurgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, p 273-274 

As we navigate this world that is filled with grief, fear, loss, pain, and death – it is a fair and holy question to ask “where is God?” I stand on the shoulders of giants when I say: God is here. God is with us, suffering with us and suffering for us. The pain we feel in this time is the same pain God feels. The loss and fear, the same as Gods. There is no immediate catharsis in this except to say: we are not alone and to lay bare our suffering before God is a holy action. It is OK to mourn, be angry, and wrestle with God. While we as humans and created beings suffer together in this global pandemic, the One who’s plan is to remedy all this in His own good time suffers with us and honors our groaning, anger, and fear.

Perhaps, that is my joy for this Easter season. Just as the first women as the tomb, it is OK to be afraid and bewildered. It is acceptable, even holy, to rage and grieve. The joy is not only that Christ crucified has risen triumphantly but rather that the global losses we all feel are wrapped up in the hands of the Creator who listens intently and suffers with us as we collectively yearn for hope beyond hope.