Evangelism

Roll Back the Stone

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Roll Back the Stone” Matthew 28:1-10

We all carry stones.

Almaza a-Sultan shoulders the stone of injustice in her life in a Gaza refugee camp. Although her family has no connection to Hamas, their home was destroyed by bombs early in the Israel-Hamas War. Life in the camp is tough. Almaza and her daughters cut their long hair because there were no cleaning products or shampoos, and lice are rampant in the filthy living conditions. The few hygiene products available on the market are exorbitantly priced, far beyond the means of homeless refugees. Sometimes Almaza’s husband goes to bombed homes to scavenge. When he returns with a leftover piece of soap, they rejoice because they can shower properly and feel as if they are born again.

Sharon carries the stone of failure and dashed dreams. She filed for divorce after eight years of marriage. She loves her husband. She remembers those hopeful early days they shared, but then his addictions and poor choices made life terribly hard: jobs lost, savings blown, erratic—sometimes frightening—behavior, promises broken, repeated attempts at rehab failed. One day, Sharon knew that for the sake of her children and her own well-being, they had to leave. She feels guilty and ashamed. She weeps for the sweet possibility that came to such a bitter end.

Ronnie is burdened by the stone of grief. Ronnie and his wife Jenny were high school sweethearts who raised a family and forged a happy life. A few years ago, Jenny was diagnosed with bone cancer. She underwent surgery which took her lower leg. Then, she went through chemo with its debilitating side effects. When the cancer came back after a brief remission, Jenny was admitted to a clinical trial for a new immunotherapy. It sounded promising, yet didn’t work. They decided to stop treatment, and within weeks, Jenny died. Ronnie is glad that his wife is free from pain and suffering. He believes in God and heaven. He just doesn’t know how to live without Jenny.

Matthew’s gospel tells us of the two Marys walking to the tomb in the pre-dawn darkness. Like Almaza a-Sultan, the Marys knew the stone of injustice. They had seen the Lord of love arrested in the deep of the night and marched off to a secret hearing at the home of Caiaphas. There he was beaten, convicted on false charges, and sentenced to death. The Marys saw Jesus handed over to the Romans, who charged the peaceful Jesus a second time, on charges of insurrection. Then the Romans did what empires do best: silenced opposition with brutality and death. The Marys saw the injustice of a good and innocent man crucified between two common thieves.

Like Sharon, the Marys knew the stone of failure and dashed dreams. They loved Jesus, had provided for him from their own purses. They had been filled with starry-eyed hope for a new world order where God ruled, the poor could be filled, those who weep would be comforted, the meek would inherit the earth, and love would prevail. But as they walked to the tomb on that terrible morning, their hopes had failed and the promise of possibility had been drowned out by mocking priests, gambling soldiers, and the crowd’s cries of, “Crucify! Crucify!” When the Lord breathed his last, only the women were there to weep at the foot of the cross. The Kingdom that Jesus promised seemed utterly defeated by the twin powers of Temple and empire.

On Easter morning, we all carry stones. We carry the stone of injustice, of a broken world torn apart by violence, greed, hate, and lust for power. We carry the stone of dashed dreams, of relationships begun in hope only to die at the hands of poor communication and indifference, hardened hearts and the inability to forgive. We bear the stone of failure—businesses closed, degrees never earned, opportunities missed, jobs lost. We carry the stone of grief: the loss of ability, the slow creep of age, the death of beloved ones who leave behind an unbearable hole in our hearts. We all carry stones. What is the stone that you bear this morning?

Every gospel writer remembers the story of the resurrection a little differently. In Mark’s original ending, the women flee the tomb in terror and silence. In Luke, the women come bearing spices to tend Jesus’ body. John remembers Mary Magdalene weeping alone in the garden. Matthew pays special attention to the stone. Indeed, in Matthew’s gospel, after the crucifixion, we are allowed to listen in on a meeting between Pilate, the chief priests, and Pharisees (MT 27:64-66). Afraid that Jesus’ body will disappear and the disciples will claim a resurrection miracle, Pilate takes special steps. The grooved track in front of the tomb is fitted with an enormous capstone to block the entrance. Next, an imperial seal is placed to secure the entrance and warn of the consequences of defying the emperor. Finally, two Roman guards are stationed to prevent any mischief. In Matthew’s gospel, the women do not carry spices or oil. In Matthew’s gospel, the women simply come to see the tomb, to weep and say goodbye, numbed by sorrow, disappointment, and the weight of the stones they bear.

On that first Easter morning, despite their burdens, the two Marys went to the tomb. There, as the dawn stretched above the horizon, roosters crowed to greet the dawn, the sleeping city began to awaken, and the women learned that God was at work to confound the death-dealing powers of this world. It would be God, who would have the last word. Like a flash of lightning, the barrier between heaven and earth was broken, the earth shook, the grave’s seal was broken, the stone rolled back and fell away, and God’s messenger took a victorious seat on that symbol of imperial power. Pilate’s intimidating guards were rendered powerless.

In the mystery of an empty tomb, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary learned that God had overcome the earthly powers of empire and Temple. In the mystery of an empty tomb, the women understood the limitless power of God’s love, which could face head-on the crushing stones of injustice and shame, dashed dreams, failure, and death and work from it all a miracle of life. The women’s stones were real and big, but God’s love was every bit as real and even bigger.

As the two Marys fled back into the sleeping city on a holy mission to share their good news, they encountered Jesus, who greeted them with words they needed to hear. “Do not be afraid.” Then the women did what the moment called for: they worshipped Jesus, falling at his feet with tears of joy and cries of “Alleluia!” Mary Magdalene and the other Mary realized that although life brought injustice and dashed dreams, failure, and death, they could bear all that would make their hearts tremble. They could rise and go forth with courage because they would not be alone. Jesus would be with them to roll back the stones that they could not.

The women were commissioned a second time by Jesus—to go and tell what they had seen. I like to imagine the two Marys holding hands and running through the streets of the waking city. They must have felt oddly light and hopeful, brimming over with the simple knowledge that although life brings heavy stones, love prevails. God had fought the battle and won the victory.  With news that good, they could face their stones and live with joy.

On this Easter morning, we come bearing stones—the stones of injustice and dashed dreams, failure, grief, and death. Yet, at the empty tomb, we remember that love prevails. The empire and the Temple, the cross and even death itself do not have the last word. God does. God can take the worst that this world has to offer and work from it a miracle of life. The stone rolls back and we see possibility. The stone rolls back and we find hope. The stone rolls back and we know that we are cherished beyond limits by God, who loves us enough to bear our stones, die for us, and rise for us.

So perhaps on this Easter morning, we can be a little like the Marys. We can go forth into the world with hope and joy. We can draw near to those who labor beneath the stones of all that holds us captive. We can bear the news of a holy love that is more than a match for this world’s pain, the love that is stronger than death. For the people of Gaza, like Almaza a-Sultan, we can remember them, seeking their safety and justice in a world that has already moved on to the latest catastrophe of war. For friends like Sharon, who struggles with the dashed dreams of a failed relationship, we can offer our compassion, encouragement, and hopes for a better tomorrow. For folks like Ronnie, who live with the heartbreak of grief, we can listen and simply walk with them through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. We can share the promise that on the far side of death waits the promise of eternal life.

It’s Easter morning, my friends. Christ is alive. Let us go forth to roll back the stone.

Resources

Almaza a-Sultan’s story of her life in Gaza is from Voices from Gaza, Feb. 25, 2026. Accessed online at btselem.org.

Martha Moore Keish. “Theological Perspective on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. WJK Press, 2013.

Ephraim Agosto. “Exegetical Perspective on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. WJK Press, 2013.

Barbara Brown Taylor. “Homiletical Perspective on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching on the Gospels, Matthew, vol. 2. WJK Press, 2013.

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching This Week, April 5, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-281-10-14

Judith Jones. “Commentary on Matthew 28:1-10” in Preaching This Week, April 5, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-281-10-9

Matthew 28:1-10

28 After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2 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. 3 His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. 4 For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5 But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6 He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7 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.” 8 So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples. 9 Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. 10 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.”

A Heart for the Welsh

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “A Heart for the Welsh” Matt. 28:16-20

It wasn’t the welcome that he expected. Gybi and his friends had left behind their native Cornwall and sailed across the Bristol Channel to the southwest of Wales.  They landed near a broad and pleasant meadow, lush with grass and flowers. It looked like a promising place to begin. The monks pitched their tent and began to pray, trusting that God would provide the vision for their mission.

When the local king Edelig heard that Christian monks were camped in his field, he was enraged. “To arms!” he cried, gathering his guard and riding out to slaughter the hapless monks and end their nonsense.  But as the king galloped into the meadow, his horse faltered, falling to the ground and dying. Then, the world went black.  King Edelig and his men were struck blind. Like newborn puppies, they wriggled and groped in the meadow’s long grass.

Realizing that he had picked a fight with the wrong God, King Edelig pleaded for mercy, promising Gybi anything he might ask, if only his sight would be restored. The wily Gybi saw a bargain to be made. If King Edelig would love the Lord Jesus and share just enough land to start a few small churches, Gybi and his friends would pray for healing. The deal was struck, and fervent prayers were offered. First the king and then all his men regained their sight. For good measure, Gybi raised the king’s horse from death to life. The king, who had begun the day with a heart set on murder, ended the day with a heart turned to Jesus.

Faithful people have been going forth in pursuit of the Great Commission ever since Jesus told his disciples to “go therefore into the world to make disciples of all nations.” From the summit of Mt. Tabor, where the disciples stood, 2,000 feet above the Galilean hills, they could see from snow-capped Mt. Hermon to the oases of the Trans-Jordan wilderness, from the blue-green waters of the Mediterranean to the desert sands of the Arabian Peninsula.  With the world stretched out at their feet, the disciples surveyed their mission field—and it was vast. 

These new marching orders from the risen Lord expanded their purpose.  Earlier, when Jesus had commissioned the disciples, he sent them to local villages with good news and healing for the “lost sheep” of Israel (MT 10).  The disciples were sent to those who knew God but feared that they were beyond the reach of God’s love. Sin or sickness, poverty or persecution had made them outsiders, unloved by their pious neighbors and unwelcome in the Temple.  The disciples had risen to the challenge of finding the lost, but now they had a whole world to evangelize.  It’s hard to believe, but by the fourth century, the gospel spread from eleven worried disciples on the summit of Mt. Tabor to the heart of the empire and the halls of power, becoming an official religion of Rome in the year 313. 

As Caesar’s armies marched forth to subdue the world, the gospel went with them. When Gybi was born to the king of Cornwall on the frontier of Britannia in the year 483, he was not the first of his family to be Christian. Destined to one day rule Cornwall, Gybi set out as a young man on pilgrimage to Judea and Jerusalem, where he longed to worship at Christ’s tomb—the holy sepulcher.  When he reached the Holy Land, Gybi was shocked by what he found. Instead of a community of humble disciples sharing the gospel with all nations, the Byzantine church was like an occupying army, great with wealth, hubris, and contempt for the local people. Dismayed by what he witnessed, Gybi sought out the Jewish Christians who persisted in the traditions passed from Jesus to his followers. Gybi met descendants of Jesus’s brothers, James and Jude. In Gybi, they saw humility and a heart for the Lord, and they anointed him with a Great Commission, to take the true gospel wherever the Spirit might send him.

Admonished by an angel of the Lord to return home, Gybi departed for Cornwall, where he renounced the throne and instead planted churches and honed gifts for healing.  One day, the Lord spoke to Gybi a second time, instructing him to sail north with twelve friends to the quarrelsome people of Wales. That’s where this sermon began, with the less than warm welcome of King Edelig.  Gybi and his friends built a small chapel near a deep spring of fresh water. All it took was the rumor of Gybi’s miraculous healing of the King and his men for the people to come. Tradition tells us that Gybi’s miracles rivaled those of the first disciples. He restored sight to the blind, cleansed the leprous, healed the paralytic, loosened the tongues of the dumb, and cast out evil spirits, all by virtue of the HS. To this day, the Welsh seek the water of Gybi’s Well, which is said to heal eye disease, lameness, warts, scrofula, and rheumatism.

With the warlike King Edelig pacified, gifts of healing abounding, and a burgeoning church growing across the southwest of Wales, it seemed that Gybi had fulfilled his great commission, but one day, the angel of the Lord spoke a third time, instructing Gybi to go to the wild and mountainous Kingdom of Gwynedd.  Gybi with his twelve friends sailed north across Cardigan Bay and along St. George’s Channel to the windswept, wave battered shores of Anglesey. There, too, a less than warm welcome waited. No sooner had Gybi pitched his tent than a wild goat bounded in and knelt at his feet in search of sanctuary. In hot pursuit were the hounds of King Maelgwn, soon followed by the King. “Give me that goat!” The king demanded.

The blessed Gybi sensed there was another deal to be made. “I’ll release my goat,” Gybi said, “If you will grant to me all the land that she runs through while your dogs are in pursuit.” The king, eager to be rid of the troublesome goat, agreed.  Off she bounded, with the dogs at her heels, yet no matter how bold their pursuit, the hounds could not gain ground. From one end of the kingdom to the other she scampered until finally returning to Gybi and again taking refuge behind the holy man. 

Seeing that this was no ordinary goat, nor an ordinary man, the king fell to his knees. He pledged to Gybi the old Roman Fort at Holyhead, abandoned 130 years earlier when the Romans turned their back on Britain.  There Gybi established a church and monastic settlement in the old Celtic tradition where families gathered, the hungry were fed, the sick were cared for, and the Lord was worshipped with heart and hand.

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” The Rev. Dr. David Lose, past President of the Lutheran School of Theology in Philadelphia, says that Jesus’ “Great Commission,” is terrifying for most folks in the pews.  We aren’t evangelists. We can’t preach like Peter. We can’t pray like Paul. When it comes to public speaking, most of us would rather not. But I suspect that the charge that the risen Lord gave to his disciples isn’t always fulfilled in sensational ways. Sometimes, the most powerful purveyors of God’s love are people like Gybi, people like us. They choose humility over pomp and glory. They have a heart for caring and healing. When times get tough, they pray fervently and trust that God has a plan, even when they do not.

The blessed Gybi died in the year 555 at the age of eighty-four, surrounded by the followers and friends who called Holyhead their home.  They say that as he breathed his last, the angels of the Lord came and took Gybi’s spirit to heaven. The church and monastery that Gybi founded remained the center for Christianity in northern Wales for more than 1,000 years until plundered by the forces of Henry VIII in the 16th century. Today St. Gybi’s Church, still nestled within the walls of the old Roman fort at Holyhead, is a vital working church with regular worship services in English and Welsh, as well as weddings, funerals, baptisms, blessings, and outreach to the community.

Resources:

David Nash Ford. “St. Cybi Felyn, Abbot of Caer-Gybi” in Early British Kingdoms. Accessed online.

Celtic Literature Collective. Vita Sancti Kebii (The Life of St. Cybi).

The Friends of St. Gybi. The Story of St. Cybi. Accessed online.

–. “The Age of Saints.” Accessed online at thehistoryofwales.typepad.com.

Matthew 28:16-20

16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him, but they doubted. 18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit 20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Llywelyn2000, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

St Cybi window. St Beuno’s Church, Penmorfa, Gwynedd, Wales

Reaching Out in New Ways

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He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making all things new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

—Revelation 21:5

We’re not the same.  My church, like just about everything else, has been changed by the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s more than taking a break from congregational singing, missing friends who are still minding their social distance, and the presence of a camera in worship. You might even say that many churches have been hauled, sometimes kicking and screaming, into the twenty-first century.  We have mastered new technology, found new ways to communicate, and grown adept at the use of social media. While much of what is familiar and comfortable persists, it’s a brave new world out there for churches.  God is doing a new thing.

Recognizing that small churches need to change or will decline, the PC(USA) Synod of the Northeast has sponsored an innovative grant: Hybrid Outreach for Small Churches.  Congregations in seven Presbyteries have been selected to work with a consultant for a year, who will coach them on reaching out in new ways.  This church is blessed to be one of the seven churches chosen to participate.

Our consultant John Fong is a swirl of creativity, bold ideas, and encouragement.  He also loves to laugh. John believes in evangelism for a new age that invites others to come along on our faith journey through simple acts of kindness and friendship.

If you are wondering what that might look like, consider our Palm Sunday Resurrection Gardens craft—church families and friends made table-top gardens that represent the events of Holy Week.  Half of the people who made gardens at church or at home were members, and half were not, drawn into the life of the church through personal invitations and the power of Facebook. In fact, our Facebook post about the project went viral, reaching more than 2,000 people. Now, that’s some serious outreach.

I’m joined in our hybrid outreach work by Elder Chenelle Palyswiat and some of the church’s communication mavens—Peter Wilson, Anita Estling, and Duane Gould.  We’ve got more projects in the pipeline, like a “Grow-a-Row” initiative to invite local gardeners to join us in growing veggies for the Food Pantry.  We’re also planning a “Cookie Bomb.”  Yes, it is just as exciting and delicious as it sounds. Just wait and see.

As we emerge from the chaos of pandemic, God is doing a new thing in and through us.  It sounds like the work of the risen Lord, who promises to make all things new. May the Lord be doing new — and blessed — things for you and your faith community, too.

“Begin the Day”

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox

“Begin each morning with a talk to God,

And ask for your divine inheritance

Of usefulness, contentment, and success.

Resign all fear, all doubt, and all despair.

The stars doubt not, and they are undismayed,

Though whirled through space for countless centuries,

And told not why or wherefore: and the sea

With everlasting ebb and flow obeys,

And leaves the purpose with the unseen Cause.

The star sheds radiance on a million worlds,

The sea is prodigal with waves, and yet

No lustre from the star is lost, and not

One drop is missing from the ocean tides.

Oh! brother to the star and sea, know all

God’s opulence is held in trust for those

Who wait serenely and who work in faith.”