Then the women remembered Jesus’ words, and returning from the tomb they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to the apostles an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened. (Luke 24: 8-12)
As a pastor, I am often called into the complexities inherent within any family during times of crisis and deep change:
- The past present in the now,
- The unacknowledged pain and resentment buried within the family system,
- The addictions, secrets, and mental health issues,
- The hopes and dreams still alive, and
- The love ready to be given despite broken communication and relationships.
My role in caring for people’s spirits is to hold all that is shared, whether verbally or behaviorally, as sacred, even the pain.
My work is to also hold that God is active and acting in the midst of it all. Because of this holy work, I am heartened by a different translation of Psalm 118, verse 24, one we more commonly hear as:
“This is the day the LORD has made. Let us rejoice and be glad,”
The translation I embrace however is:
“This is the day the LORD has acted. Let us rejoice and be glad in the LORD.”
God is always acting! In the midst of busy hospital rooms full of beeping machines, staff flowing in and out, and worry. In the quiet hospice rooms as loved ones sit vigil listening for breath. In the middle of a family’s living room, over the phone or on a video call, in a stuffy prison visitation room. Even in the office hallway of the church I serve—God is always acting in the middle of human chaos gently and insistently steering us toward truths–truths of the past as well as truths of what can or will be next.
In the spiritual care of others, I do not hold truth in the form of diagnosis or treatment plans. My presence is to acknowledge the crap as well as the courage and energy it takes to transition from the known into the unknown. I and anyone providing spiritual care—rabbis, imans, priests, pastors, chaplains, deacons, and lay people—are called to acknowledge what is. Truth that a loved one is dying. Truth that we all will die. Truth that a marriage is asking to end. Truth that a pregnancy is not viable. Truth that an addiction has taken hold within a person impacting a family. Truth that there is pain wreaking havoc within a person that yes can be healed.
And like the women who bring truth to the disciples that Jesus is no longer dead but alive, we who provide spiritual care are not always believed. The truth we hold for all involved is not always welcomed.
We still live in a time in which our sharing of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Good News that God cannot and will not die, and that justice for all people is still possible on earth if we listen and follow the ways of Jesus is received by many with disbelief, disdain, and contempt. This Good News seems unwelcome in the midst of this devastating race for human power over all else, even life—human and all of creation.
So then, aren’t we all like the women who run from the empty tomb to share the Good News? Our words named as idle. Easily diminished, cast aside, maligned as untruths, gossip, lies. Leaving us to wonder where hope lives? Where is the hope that so many of us find in the un-dying-ness of God! In God who will forever live with us. In God who wants all of humanity to thrive!
I suggest that our hope today is in the one person who couldn’t quite go back to what he was doing after hearing the Good News from the women. The one person who could not fully dismiss their words. The writer of Luke tells us this:
But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.
Perhaps the majority of those who believe that this new way in which we now live in this country, this malicious and contemptuous way of treating others, this way in which human rights and constitutional rights are just for a few and not for the many, will not hear us proclaiming the Good News this day or any day. But we hope and pray and keep watch for the Peters. Those people for whom something we say stirs them into exploratory action. Action leading to truth, God’s truth, and from God’s truth into an experience of amazement. Amazement at their own disbelief! Amazement in their willingness to be swayed by the evils of this world. Yet also amazement in the glory of God’s truth and grace. God always offering new life. God always with us.
The Good News delivered by us, despite the reaction. Delivered by those of us who are willing to still speak the Good News in our words. Wear the Good News on our faces. And bring the Good News into the midst of those who have surrendered to this new reality. To those who have quit believing in truth in order to hide behind lies.
We share the Good News of God, the Good News of Jesus the Christ now in this country with the courage of the women- Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, and the other women knowing our truth will be diminished and unbelieved but we share because there is always a Peter in the room—someone for whom our words send them toward discovery and truth! Amen.
Let us pray:
We thank you this day O God for being good. For being goodness and mercy. For being love. And for being all these things and more which never, ever die but always live and breathe and ask for us to live and breathe with them and you. Amen.
A version of this piece was first preached at St. Johns Lutheran Church (Rock Island, Illinois) on Easter Sunday, 2025.
Attribution: Micheletb, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons. West rose windows of Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres baie 051
Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez 