To Tell the Truth

Matthew 28:1-10

After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. 

For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.”

So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

Sermon

Jesus said “the truth will set you free.” If you take a 10,000 foot view of Jesus’ life, it’s easy to see that he knew this freedom from personal experience. He was the opposite of a compulsive liar; he was a compulsive truth-teller, even when it got him into trouble.

Jesus told the truth about religious authorities, like the ways in which they were hypocritical, or money-grubbers.

He told the truth about violence, reminding us that those who live by the sword—or the weapons we know today—will also perish by the sword. 

He told us that God listens to those who suffer. 

He told us the poor are blessed. 

He told us that God doesn’t listen to bullies.

And perhaps most profoundly, Jesus told the truth about women, reminding the men around him that women were usually the faithful ones. When men around him missed the truth that was right in front of their eyes, Jesus showed us that women were the disciples that were truly following him.

So it shouldn’t surprise us that women are the ones in whom Jesus entrusts the truth of his resurrection. Because over and over, they have a track record of not only perceiving what is true, but also responding to the truth.

We also see in three of the Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—that the resurrection begins with testifying to the truth. In each of those Gospels, the truth of Jesus’ victory is loudly proclaimed by angelic figures, who exuberantly cry out to these faithful women. 

Truth is the preface of the resurrection; and truth is so powerful that it shakes the very foundations of the earth. It paralyzes the Roman guards who keep the tomb closed. Truth afflicts those who are violent, while setting these righteous women free to testify. Truth is where new life begins.

And yet, far too often, we want new life without the truth coming out.

This is a pretty regular impulse in family systems.

Oftentimes in a family, when the truth comes out about harm, the family system as a whole will do anything to resolve it quickly. It might be the truth about blistering conflict, addiction, or abuse. When the truth trickles out, family systems will try to quickly sweep it under the rug, put it in the closet, or pretend it away.

And as a result, the family’s hope for resolution—the family’s hope for new life—never comes to fruition. The little resurrection it hoped for starts to evaporate. Children cut off contact with parents; spouses turn into roommates; or abuse simply continues on as an open secret.

What we see in family systems is that our fear of the truth and letting it out in the open is what keeps us from the resurrected life that Christ gives to us.

“Truth is the preface of the resurrection; and truth is so powerful that it shakes the very foundations of the earth… Truth is where new life begins.”

So what happens when we, like these two Marys, decide to proclaim the truth loudly and boldly? When we do what the angel says and become truth-tellers?

One of the best illustrations might come from a playwright named V. V—who used to go by the name Eve Ensler—authored a book called The Apology.

As a child, V experienced profoundly traumatic abuse by her father. V experienced the deepest levels of betrayal by him, and has spent their life reckoning with those resulting traumas.

After V’s father died, V asked a question: what is the apology they need in order to be lifted out of deathly trauma? And so, this book was born, written as a fictional letter from V’s deceased father.

What makes this book striking is its structure. It is not a long-winded set of affirmations of V. There aren’t a lot of “sorries” offered explicitly. Instead, almost all of it is truth-telling. Page after page, in this fictional letter, V’s father provides a full accounting of what he did. And V’s father articulates why his actions caused this trauma.

And it was this truth-telling—this loud proclamation of what has happened—that gave V a foretaste of resurrection.

Like the angelic figures who descend upon the empty tomb, V’s truth was earth-shaking and unsettling. Like the fear inspired in the guards, V’s truth brought with it anxieties and reckonings. And like the resurrection account itself, V’s truth began with her experience as a woman.

So when we follow this angel’s instructions, and when we let the truth shine brightly in this world, we find ourselves on a collision course with Jesus.

And when we risk proclaiming the truth—whatever it may be—we also risk an encounter with joy.

“What we see in family systems is that our fear of the truth coming out is what keeps us from the resurrected life that Christ gives to us.”

After all, that’s what these two witnesses of the resurrection encountered. Matthew writes this:  “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples.”

They suddenly found a new vocation: to be truth-tellers. This vocation of telling the truth seems to have elicited fear in them, but we can’t forget the great joy alongside it all.

The disciples’ world was going to be shaken. Their lives were going to be turned upside down, and their ministries were going to be irrevocably changed. The truth has a habit of doing that. But joy can still show up in brokenness, in messiness, in uncertainty, and in pain.

When the truth is proclaimed loudly and boldly, it makes no guarantee that our lives will get any easier or any more comfortable. It doesn’t even guarantee that Jesus is going to magically fix everything and bring new life into the here and now.

Even still, Jesus—and joy—does show up.

“When we risk proclaiming the truth—whatever it may be—we also risk an encounter with joy.”

When the truth is proclaimed loudly and boldly, like we see at this empty tomb, it causes an earthquake that brings us closer to Jesus. It brings him into closer proximity to our fear, and doubt, and pain, and brings us into closer proximity to his love, and grace, and freedom.

When family secrets spill out, the resurrected Jesus shows up, ready to walk with us into an uncertain future.

When we share the truth of a cancer diagnosis, the resurrected Jesus shows up, often through casseroles, ready to lend a hand.

When the truth of our addiction, or mistakes, or anger comes out, the resurrected Jesus shows up, showing us the way forward.

Whatever the situation—and however the risen Christ is showing up in our life—it starts with truth. So risk the truth. Risk proclaiming it loudly and boldly, because in proclaiming it, we will also risk an encounter with our risen, and joyful, Lord. Amen.