Who'll Move the Stone

And when the sabbath was past, Mary Mag'dalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salo'me, bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. And they were saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?" And looking up, they saw that the stone was rolled back; --it was very large. And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe; and they were amazed. And he said to them, "Do not be amazed; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen, he is not here; see the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him, as he told you."

-- Mark 16:1-7

In today's Gospel, we have three women going to the tomb with anointing oils. They were carrying myrrh, most likely, as that was the common oil of the dead.

These three were about to become the first witnesses to the greatest event in all of human history, but what were they thinking? They were concerned with getting the stone moved.

Because they were carrying oils, they were undoubtedly thinking of death -- a martyred Messiah. We have hind-sight. We want to jump into the picture and holler at them: it isn't the death, silly.

We know, as Archbishop Leadbeater would say, that God's sacrifice that began on Christmas is fulfilled by the empty tomb. He said what those women didn't find is a reminder that we can be victorious -- not over death, but over matter itself.

Most people thought Jesus was dead and gone forever. Pilate though so. Herod thought so. The Pharisees thought so. The apostles thought so.

Most likely the women thought so, too. They weren't concerned about the resurrection. They were concerned about moving the stone. Who will move the stone? God, could you get the stone moved, please?

It is like the woman in the Wal-Mart parking lot. The place was packed, and she was late getting home already. There was a thunderstorm raging. "Lord, you know I've had an awful day today. Could you give me a parking place close to the front door so I don't get soaked?" Just then, she saw back-up lights on a car right up front. "Never mind, Lord. Something just opened up."

"Never mind, Lord. Somebody moved the stone for us."

If everything holds its course, this will be my last sermon done as a deacon. God willing, I will be a priest when I stand here again to do a homily. If that doesn't happen, I'll be happy to stand here again and eat crow. But according to the schedule, my ordination will happen at the end of this month.

It is clear to me that Wynn is very much a work-in-progress, and no ordination will change that. It is also clear to me that I've come a long way since I showed up at your doorstep. You've said, "Hey, good sermon," when I know for a fact it was an awful one. You've said, "Hey, that was an awful sermon," when I thought it was pretty good. When I've made a mess of things at this podium, you've cajoled and instructed.

In short, you've moved the big stone out of the way for me. If nothing else, I want to make one thing crystal clear: I've noticed. I've noticed when you gave me a Mulligan. I've noticed when you ignored a faux-paux. What's more, I want you to know that I noticed.

Rudyard Kipling wrote a lot of words, and he made a lot of money in the process. A reporter once told him that his newspaper had calculated that Kipling actually made $100 for every word he had published. That's still a lot of words in today's money. The reporter reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill and gave it to Rudyard Kipling, saying "give me your best hundred-dollar word." Kipling put the money into his pocked, grinned a little, and said... THANKS.

You have moved the stone. And I don't want this time to get away from us before I could say: I noticed.

Thanks.