gospel

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.”

Extravagant Love

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Extravagant Love” Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9

There are many ways to express love. In Japan, where public displays of affection are frowned upon, you might show your love for your husband by preparing an elaborate lunch and carefully packing it into a bento box to be unpacked later in the break room at work. In Fiji, if you are looking to make a special connection with your father-in-law or seek the forgiveness of someone whom you have wronged, then you would present them with the gift of a tabua—the ivory tooth of a sperm whale. In India, your love for someone and your hope that they might have good health and longevity is expressed in fasting on their behalf. In Alaska, the Tlingit people say that you know someone really loves you when they bring you dried fish.

We have our own ways of expressing love. When someone takes the time to learn our best-loved recipes and cook our favorite meal, we know we are loved. When a doting grandma plies her knitting needles or handpieces a quilt for us, we know we are loved. When a devoted dad spends hours teaching us how to play catch, build models, or tackle quadratic equations, we know we are loved. When someone proposes to us on the jumbotron at Yankee stadium in front of all those baseball fans, we know we are loved.

I suspect each of us has warm memories of feeling specially loved. Those loving moments can bring a smile to our worst day or feel like a lighthouse, guiding us through a storm. Love expressed at the right time, in the right way, may be just what we need to persevere and prevail over the hardship and sorrow that touch every life.

Our reading from Mark’s gospel describes a remarkable and timely act of love.

Jesus and his friends came to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. The week began with a parade. On Palm Sunday, Jesus, humble and riding on a donkey like the long-promised Prince of Peace (Zech 9:9), traveled up to the Holy City. The pilgrims that surrounded Jesus celebrated, rejoicing with psalms of praise and waving palm branches as if Jesus were one of the Maccabees, newly returned from vanquishing their enemies. They spread their cloaks upon the road, like Israel’s old-time generals pledging allegiance to the new king.

But that week, Jesus would be plagued by the challenge and critique of powerful enemies. Scribes and Pharisees, chief priests and elders, all did their best to discredit and shame Jesus in front of the crowds that seemed to love him so. Soon the city’s mood would turn murderous. Soon his opponents would plot his death. As the week drew to a close, there would be another parade. Jesus, broken and bloodied, would drag a crossbeam through the streets of Jerusalem to his execution. The fans who had welcomed him with pleas of “Hosanna! Save us!” would utterly reject him, shouting “Crucify him!”

Between the Palm Sunday and Good Friday parades, a beautiful thing happened. As Jesus and his friends dined at the house of Simon the Leper in Bethany, their dinner party was interrupted by an uninvited guest: an unnamed woman. She broke open an alabaster jar and poured anointing oil on Jesus. The spikenard was pressed from plants that grew in the foothills of the Himalayas. It had been transported 4,000 miles overland by caravan to Israel. So valuable was this oil that a laborer would need to work 300 days to cover the expense. In today’s economy, where a day laborer might earn $15 an hour, the oil would cost $36,000. Poured out in a single, wildly generous stream, the oil flowed down upon Jesus’ head and over the collar of his robe. The conversation fell silent as the room filled with the sweet fragrance of unimaginable love and generosity.

In first-century Israel, anointing with oil was a gesture of love. In welcoming a guest, a host would offer water for the washing of hands and feet and a few drops of oil to bless the head. In the history of Israel, anointing with oil was a sign of God’s love and blessing for a chosen ruler. When the Prophet Samuel laid eyes on David, he broke out the anointing oil and poured it out on the boy who would one day be king. And, as Jesus indicated, oil was used to anoint the body of a beloved one, purifying and preparing the dead for the grave.

Mark tells us that the men who broke bread with Jesus were outraged by the woman’s action. Indeed, they scolded and shamed her like a bad child or a simpleton. But I suspect that their anger flared less from any genuine concern for the poor and more from the realization that she had done without a single word what they had not. She acted as host, extending a courtesy that Simon the Leper failed to practice. She took on the historically male role of prophet and proclaimed Jesus the Messiah. And she named the elephant in the room: the week would end in death. In the verses leading up to this story, Jesus’ enemies plotted his arrest and execution. In the verses following this story, Judas would accept a bribe to bring about betrayal. In three days, in the time of crisis, not one of the men reclining around the dinner table would come to Jesus’ defense.

Jesus came to the woman’s defense. He spends four verses praising the appropriateness and the timeliness of what she did. Jesus knew the dark truth that he’d soon be hanging from a cross. As the precious oil flowed down, I imagine that Jesus felt extravagantly loved. Like a Japanese husband opening his carefully packed lunchbox. Like a Tlingit person, feasting on the gift of dried fish. Like a child wrapped in Grammy’s homemade quilt. In the darkness of that night, Jesus might have felt as if the sun were shining on him.  Perhaps it was the last time in his earthly life that Jesus felt truly loved—special, safe, treasured, appreciated, and understood.

We instinctively know that there is nothing better than extravagant love.  We seize it in the moment and wrap it around us like a fiery mantle of glory.  We hold it in our hearts as a remedy for the days when we are bullied at school or our best friend decides they’re not going to talk to us anymore or the boss is expecting the impossible or the nightly news leaves us shaking in our boots. Extravagant love is our lifeline in a world where folks want to set limits and attach strings, like the dinner guests buzzing like a nest of angry hornets about the foolishness and waste of what the woman did for Jesus.

Our world tends to limit love, to mete it out in tablespoons, to reserve it for those who “earn” it or “deserve” it, to lavish it upon the successful and the popular and the beautiful. But the unnamed woman with her alabaster jar of costly nard reminds us that God doesn’t work that way. Jesus didn’t work that way.  Jesus lavished his love upon six-year-olds and sinners.  He poured out his love upon unnamed women and Judas.  He lavished his love upon the blind and lame, the deaf and demented, the paralyzed and possessed.  Jesus poured out his life in extravagant love for you and for me.  Jesus taught us that our highest and only calling in life is to love God and neighbor and self with all that we have and all that we are. 

When we get right down to it, the woman with the alabaster jar knew, Jesus knew, we know that our essential calling is to love extravagantly.  It’s only our brokenness that makes us want to turn away from the invitation to love.  It’s only our sinfulness that prompts us to attach the strings, break out the tape measure, turn a harsh eye of judgment to the world around us, and debate who is really worthy of our generous and loving intent. But we, my friends, are called to love without counting the cost.

The woman with the alabaster jar disappears from the pages of scripture. We never see or hear from her again. Although all four gospels report that a woman anointed Jesus, they don’t agree upon who she was or why she did it or even what part of his body got anointed. Was it the head or was it the feet? But we remember her and the rightness and timeliness of her love. I like to imagine that after she left the home of Simon the Leper, with cheeks flushed by the shame heaped upon her by the men, she shook off the criticism. She held in her heart the words of Jesus. She knew that she had done a beautiful thing. Later, she imagined that as Jesus hung upon the cross, he held onto her love, that it guided him like a lighthouse through the storm, like a lifeline amid the pain and unfathomable sorrow. She continued to love with body, mind, spirit, and every last denarii, despite what the critics had to say.

Let us love extravagantly.

Resources:

Jouette Basler. “Exegetical Perspective on Mark 14:3-9” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Paul S. Berge, “Commentary on Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9” in Preaching This Week: Narrative Lectionary, April 1, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 11:1-10, Mark 14:3-11  – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9” in Preaching This Week: Narrative Lectionary, March 20, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 11:1-11 or Mark 14:3-9 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Thomas Currie. “Theological Perspective on Mark 14:3-9” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Carmen Nanko-Fernandez. “Pastoral Perspective on Mark 14:3-9” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Editorial Team. “Exploring Affection: How Different Cultures Show Love” in Better Help, March 21, 2024.

Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9

11When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples 2and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. 3If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” 4They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, 5some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” 6They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. 7Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. 8Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. 9Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
10Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

11Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

3While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. 4But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? 5For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. 6But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. 7For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. 8She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. 9Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”

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