_Easter Sunday_
There is something wonderfully poetic in the simple history given
by the different Evangelists of the resurrection of our Lord. It
is like a calm, serene, dewy morning, after a night of thunder and
tempest. One of the most beautiful features in the narrative is the
presence of those godlike forms of our angel brethren. How can it be
possible that critics with human hearts have torn and mangled this
sacred picture for the purpose of effacing these celestial forms--so
beautiful, so glorious! Is it superstition to believe that there are
higher forms of life, intellect, and energy than those of earth;
that there are races of superior beings between us and the throne of
God, as there are gradations below us of less and lessening power
down to the half-vegetable zoöphytes? These angels, with their
power, their purity, their unfading youth, their tender sympathy for
man, are a radiant celestial possibility which every heart must long
to claim as not only probable but certain.
The history of our Lord from first to last is fragrant with the
sympathy and musical with the presence of these shining ones. They
announced his coming to the Blessed among Women. They filled the air
with songs and rejoicings at the hour of his birth. They ministered
to him during his temptations in the wilderness. When repentant
sinners thronged about him and Scribes and Pharisees sneered, it was
to the sympathy of these invisible ones that he turned, as those
whose hearts thrilled with joy over the repenting sinner. In the
last mysterious agony at Gethsemane it was an angel that appeared
and strengthened him. And now with what godlike energy do they
hasten upon their mission to attend their king's awaking!
"And, behold, there was a great earthquake, for the angel of the
Lord descended from heaven, and rolled back the stone from the
door of the sepulchre, and sat upon it. His countenance was like
lightning, and his raiment was white as snow, and for fear of
him the keepers did shake and became as dead men."
In another Evangelist we have a scene that preceded this. These
devoted women, in whose hearts love outlived both faith and hope,
rose while it was yet dark, and set out with their spices and
perfumes to go and pay their last tribute of affection and reverence
to the dead.
They were under fear of persecution and death; they knew the grave
was sealed and watched by those who had slain their Lord, but still
they determined to go. There was the inconsiderate hardihood of love
in their undertaking, and the artless helplessness of their inquiry,
"Who will roll away the stone from the door?" shows the desperation
of their enterprise. Yet they could not but believe that by prayers
or tears or offered payment--in some way--that stone should be
rolled away.
Arrived on the spot, they saw that the sepulchre was open and empty,
and Mary Magdalene, with the impulsive haste and earnestness which
marks her character, ran back to the house of John, where were the
mother of Jesus, and Peter, and astonished them with the tidings.
"They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not
where they have laid him."
Nothing is said of the Mother in this scene. Probably she was
utterly worn out and exhausted by the dreadful scenes of the day
before, and incapable of further exertion. But Peter and John
started immediately for the sepulchre. Meanwhile, the two other
women went into the sepulchre and stood there perplexed, till
suddenly they saw a vision of celestial forms, radiant in immortal
youth and clothed in white. One said:--
"Be not afraid. I know ye seek Jesus of Nazareth that was
crucified. Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not
here. He is risen as he said. Behold where they laid him.
Remember how he spake unto you of this when he was in Galilee,
saying, The Son of man must be delivered into the hands of
sinful men and be crucified, and the third day rise again."
And they remembered his words.
Furthermore, the friendly spirit bids them to go and tell the
disciples and Peter that their Master is risen from the dead, and
is going before them into Galilee--there shall they see him. And
charged with this message the women had fled from the sepulchre just
as Peter and John came up.
The delicacies of character are strikingly shown in the brief
record. John outruns Peter, stoops down and looks into the
sepulchre; but that species of reticence which always appears in
him controls him here--he hesitates to enter the sacred place. Now,
however, comes Peter, impetuous, ardent, determined, and passes
right into the tomb.
There is a touch of homelike minuteness in the description of the
grave as they found it--no discovery of haste, no sign of confusion,
but all in order: the linen grave-clothes lying in one place; the
napkin that was about his head not lying with them, but folded
together in a place by itself; indicating the perfect calmness and
composure with which their Lord had risen--transported with no
rapture or surprise, but, in this supreme moment, maintaining the
same tranquillity which had ever characterized him.
It is said they saw and believed, though as yet they did not fully
understand the saying that he must rise from the dead; and they left
the place and ran with the news to the disciples.
But Mary still lingers weeping by the empty tomb--type of too many
of us, who forget that our beloved ones have arisen. Through her
tears she sees the pitying angels, who ask her as they might often
ask us, "Why weepest thou?" She tells her sorrowful story--they have
taken away her Lord and she knows not where they have laid him; and
yet at this moment Jesus is standing by her, and one word from his
voice changes all.
It is not general truth or general belief that our souls need in
their anguish; it is one word from Christ to us, it is his voice
calling us by name, that makes the darkness light.
We mark throughout this story the sympathetic touches of interest
in the angels. They had heard and remembered what Christ said in
Galilee, though his people had forgotten it. They had had sympathy
for the repentant weeping of Peter, and sent a special message of
comfort to him. These elder brethren of the household seem in all
things most thoughtful and careful of human feelings; they breathe
around us the spirit of that world where an unloving word or harsh
judgment is an impossible conception.
The earlier Christian tradition speaks of our Lord's first visit to
his mother. It may be that in that space of time while Peter and
John were running to the sepulchre Jesus himself chose to draw near
to his mother. To her he gave one of his last dying words, and we
cannot but believe that one of his earliest risen messages of hope
and blessing was for her. But over an interview so peculiar and so
blessed the sacred narrative has deemed it wise to leave the veil of
silence.
The time after our Lord's resurrection is one full of mysteries.
But few things are told us of that life which he lived on earth. He
no longer walked the ways of men as before--no longer lived with
his disciples, but only appeared to them from time to time, as
he saw that they needed comfort, counsel, or rebuke. We have the
beautiful story of the walk to Emmaus. We have accounts of meetings
of the disciples with closed doors, for fear of the Jews, when Jesus
suddenly appeared in the midst of them, saying, "Peace be unto you!"
and showing to them his hands and his side; and it is added, "Then
were the disciples glad when they saw the Lord."
We have an account of how he suddenly appeared to them by the Lake
of Genesareth, when they had been vainly toiling all night--how he
stood on the shore in the dim gray of morning and said, "Children,
have ye any meat?" They answered him "No;" and he said, "Cast the
net on the right hand and ye shall find." And then John whispers to
Peter, "It is the Lord!" and Peter, impetuous to the last, casts
himself into the water and swims to the shore. They find a fire
prepared, a meal ready for them, and Jesus to bless the bread,--and
very sweet and lovely was the interview.
How many such visits and interviews there were--when and with
whom--we have no means of knowing, though St. John indicates that
there were many other things which Jesus said and did worthy of
record besides those of which we are told. We learn from St. Paul
that he appeared to more than five hundred of his followers at
once--a meeting not described by any of the Evangelists.
It is believed by many Christians that Christ is yet coming to reign
visibly upon this earth. That Christ should reign in any one spot or
city of this earth, as earthly kings reign, with a court and human
forms of administration, is suggestive of grave difficulties. The
embarrassments in the way of our Centennial Exhibition this year,
the fatigue and disturbance and danger to health and life of such
crowds coming and going, might suggest what would be the effect
on human society if in any one earthly place the universal object
of all human desire were located. But it may be possible that the
barrier between the spiritual world and ours will be so far removed
that the presence of our Lord and his saints may at times be with
us, even as Christ was with the disciples in this interval. It may
become a lawful subject of desire and prayer and expectation. It may
be in that day that in assemblies of his people Jesus will suddenly
stand, saying, "Peace be unto you!" Such appearances could take
place in all countries and lands, according to human needs, without
deranging human society.
But whether visibly or by the manifestation of his Spirit, let us
hasten and look forward to that final second coming of our Master,
when the kingdoms of this world shall be the kingdoms of our Lord
and his Christ.