Matthew 28:11-20
Don’t worry. We’re here to protect you. We’ll secure you. We’ll keep you from harm. We won’t let anything happen to you. There’s no reason for you to fear. We’ll keep you out of trouble, the Chief Priests and Pharisees promise their soldiers.
What else were they to say? Their plan failed. They had made every precaution. They had appealed to Pilate. They had begged the governor to assign these soldiers to seal the tomb. “The last deception would be worst than the first,” they told Pilate. But it wasn’t true. They didn’t succeed so now the story just sputtered out of their mouths. They threw money at the problem and made empty promises. Don’t worry. We’ll keep you out of trouble.
It doesn’t make them bad guys – though this particular gospel author tries very, very hard to make the Chief Priests and Pharisees into just that. This gospel is determined to make you reject that other perspective. As good news written to a community that has passed down an entire lineage from generation to generation that birthed the hope of Jesus Christ, there is no other story. No matter what, there is no alternative. Obviously, these people that still tell this alternate story just don’t get it – but we know that’s not true. From our own experience, no matter how powerful we believe we are, we know that there’s no way to truly keep you out of trouble.
We can try. We do try so that those words come from our own lips: Don’t worry. We’ll keep you out of trouble. We offer every protection we can. We ensure every security but then there’s always a breach. There’s always something that we didn’t foresee. There’s always some mistake that we never could have imagined. What could we have done differently? How could we have protected her from that? How could we have made sure that never, ever happened? We meant it when we said: Don’t worry. We’ll keep you out of trouble. It’s not that we wanted anyone to die or that we hoped our neighborhood mosque would be vandalized or even that any child would be bullied. It just happened. And now that it has, what else can we say?
What else were they to say? Our plan failed. We’re not bad guys. It’s just not the story that we thought we’d be telling. We thought he had this part figured out – or at least, that’s how I experience this part of the story.
The Chief Priests and the Pharisees take every precaution. They try so hard to protect their faith because this Jesus character from an uncertain genealogy threatens to change the very foundations of their faith. They didn’t want Jesus to have any more power than he already did so they tried their best to squelch this rumor that he might rise again. It might be good news for you and I – but for the Chief Priests and the Pharisees it was the worst thing they could have imagined. But it has. And now, they have to figure out how to pick up the pieces and put everything back where it should be.
That’s when they speak these words: Don’t worry. We’ll keep you out of trouble. It’s not menacing. They are not trying to make trouble. They’re just trying to make everything as it was before Jesus came along. They speak these words with authority. Don’t worry. We’ll keep you out of trouble. They take responsibility and assume leadership like any mother or peacemaker would.
It’s the hardest part of the story for me. Like everyone else in this whole wide world, I want someone else to take on that role. It’s the part of me that still wants to call my mom when something bad happens. It’s that instinct. I want someone to mother me. I want that comfort. I want someone else to assure me of peace with that much certainty. I know that I can be a big girl. I know I have it within me, but I don’t want to. I want my mom to make it all better – just as the disciples wanted Jesus to make it all better.
They went to the top of the mountain to find him there. Jesus had directed them there. This is where the disciples would find him. They were responding to that same instinct. They had it within them. They could have figured this all out on their own. After all, for the past few years, they’d been doing just that. They’d received authority over unclean spirits, learned to cast those evil spirits out and cured diseases and sicknesses – but there was something missing. There was something that the disciples needed to figure out how to move beyond this point. And so, Jesus tells the disciples to go make more disciples. They’d been God’s hands before but they had never spoken for God. That’s what Jesus did. He stood on the mountain and taught. He told them that those that mourn are blessed. He told them that they should love their enemies. He told them how to pray. He was the teacher. They hadn’t been given that authority. They were still trying to understand these words, but here on this mountain, Jesus tells them that it’s their turn. Make disciples, Jesus tells them. It’s your turn to teach these things. It’s your turn to continue this story. Make disciples, Jesus tells you.
With that invitation, Jesus doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t zip up to heaven like some other gospels and artists like to imagine. Unlike the Chief Priests and the Pharisees, he doesn’t say that he’ll keep them out of trouble. Instead, he says, I am with you always to the end of the age. The invitation is still hanging. The words recorded in this gospel account don’t say if the disciples were so brave. It says nothing about how they gathered their wits enough to make more disciples. It doesn’t say if the Chief Priests and the Pharisees were successful in their bribe. The gospel doesn’t say what happened next. Instead, we are left with Jesus’ words: I am with you always to the end of the age.
These are the very last words of this gospel that started with a very long genealogy. This gospel that began with such determined certainty to ensure that authority was given in the right order ends with an open invitation to anyone that chooses to hear it. Anyone can be part of this family tree. You don’t have to prove you’re related to some foreign king. You don’t even have to present your birth certificate. You may worship or you may doubt, but to the end of the age, Jesus is in your words. It’s your turn.
There is no way that you can right that wrong, but you can make disciples. You can teach this way of seeing the world where we dare to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. You begin as Jesus did with blessings on the poor in spirit and the meek. You remind yourself and everyone else that they will inherit the earth. You can’t make all of the hurt go away – but as a mother and a peacemaker, you can change the world by speaking about what really matters. You can make disciples as you try to be one yourself.
Now, I know you don’t have a seminary education. I know you don’t think you have any authority. I know you think that there’s someone else that’s more eloquent and more faithful than you are. For me, I only need to read the brilliant words of the Archbishop Rowan Williams to feel like I have no business making disciples. Just after Easter, my Facebook friends avidly posted this letter that he wrote to a Scottish church primary school. Lulu attends this school where she was asked to write a letter that asked “To God, how were you invented?” Lulu’s parents didn’t feel like they could answer this question so they sent Lulu’s letter on to every religious authority they could think of. The Archbishop was the only one that answered.
Dear Lulu,
Your dad has sent on your letter and asked if I have any answers. It’s a difficult one! But I think God might reply a bit like this –
‘Dear Lulu – Nobody invented me – but lots of people discovered me and were quite surprised. They discovered me when they looked round at the world and thought it was really beautiful or really mysterious and wondered where it came from. They discovered me when they were very very quiet on their own and felt a sort of peace and love they hadn’t expected.
Then they invented ideas about me – some of them sensible and some of them not very sensible. From time to time I sent them some hints – specially in the life of Jesus – to help them get closer to what I’m really like.
But there was nothing and nobody around before me to invent me. Rather like somebody who writes a story in a book, I started making up the story of the world and eventually invented human beings like you who could ask me awkward questions!’
And then he’d send you lots of love and sign off.
I know he doesn’t usually write letters, so I have to do the best I can on his behalf. Lots of love from me too.
+Archbishop Rowan
The words aren’t that complicated. It’s a reply that you or I could have written. We know that much about our own faith – even though we might doubt other things. These aren’t words that would get us into trouble. These are words that make disciples. These are words that remember that Jesus is with us always to the end of the age.