Despite what some people—

and especially some politicians—

may try to tell us…

history is never simply a collection of facts.

Rather, history is a story.

It’s an attempt by an historian to connect and organise all those facts into a narrative…

which tries to make sense of what happened;

which tries to understand what it meant for the people who lived through it…

and what it might mean for us, today.

And no two historians—

even writing about the same event—

will produce identical stories.

Because each of them will focus on different details—

considering some to be more important or relevant than others…

even ignoring some altogether… 

if they don’t think that they add to the overall story that the other details tell.

Of course…

no self-respecting historian today would deign to create “facts” that didn’t exist…

or rely upon evidence that couldn’t be cited.

 

It was, of course, quite different in the ancient world.

Historians, back then, didn’t cite sources…

and they didn’t reference their work.

They frequently engaged in practices that, today, would be condemned as plagiarising.

Their focus, in writing, was to construct a plausible narrative;

but…

more than that…

one that was persuasive.

In antiquity, history was meant to persuade people of a certain point of view—

history was considered to be a form of rhetoric.

 

And that was certainly true of those who wrote the four Gospels.

Historically speaking…

we know that Jesus was crucified by Pontius Pilate.

Beyond that, however… 

all of the Gospel writers exercised considerable “creativity” in telling that story.

For example, many of the details of the crucifixion narratives—

including the cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me”—

were “inspired” by Psalm twenty-two.

As the renowned New Testament scholar, John Dominic Crossan, puts it…

“The details of Jesus’ death were not fact remembered and history recorded. 

They were prayer recollected and psalm historicized”.

In writing their stories…

each of the Gospel writers certainly drew on sources, legends, and traditions;

but they also relied upon their own creative imaginations—

in a way that no modern historian would ever do.

Indeed, each of the authors was editing…

re-arranging…

modifying… 

and embellishing their sources…

adding details…

creating scenes…

or even writing speeches out of thin air…

based on what they thought might have happened… 

given what they believed the overall story meant.

Each of the Gospel writers was trying to tell his own story…

and each of those stories is quite different and distinctive—

at times, contradictory.

There are different characters.

And they experience different things…

at different times…

and in different ways.

And that’s certainly true of the stories of Easter morning.

So, when we read one of those stories…

it’s worth considering what is unique to the one in that particular Gospel.

It’s a way that we can hear what that author was trying to tell us…

what he considered to be significant about this event.

 

Well…

perhaps the most distinctive addition to Matthew’s Easter story is the guard of soldiers…

who were placed outside Jesus’ tomb at the request of the religious authorities.

They were meant to keep the tomb secure;

to make sure that Jesus didn’t, somehow, “get out”;

to make sure that his body stayed where it had been put;

to make sure that the whole sordid saga was dead and buried.

The soldiers were there to reinforce—

once and for all—

that the religious and political authorities were in control;

that their agenda…

their beliefs…

their version of events…

held sway.

The soldiers were there to reinforce the message that they had the power.

 

But, in this particular story, there was a violent earthquake…

symbolically suggesting that their world—

their certainty;

the very foundations of their lives—

was being shaken apart.

Which, in fact, it was.

Because the resurrection of Christ—

symbolised by the earthquake—

showed that none of them was in control:

not the political authorities;

and not the religious authorities.

The resurrection shows that their power was not absolute;

that what they believed wasn’t certain;

that what they tried to protect or reinforce or maintain wasn’t inevitable.

The resurrection shows that God is more powerful than any human structure;

any human authority;

any human agenda.

The resurrection shows that God is not constrained by our beliefs and expectations… 

or by our illusions.

 

In the end…

if the story of Christ’s passion and death is our story…

then so too is the story of his resurrection.

If Jesus died to show us that God continues to love us—

and that God forgives us—

no matter what we say or do…

no matter how much we stomp our feet or shake our fists…

like a petulant two-year-old;

if, in the crucifixion, God takes us at our worst…

allows us to throw anything and everything we can at God…

even allows us to think that we have won;

then the resurrection shows that we don’t have the last word;

that we can’t get rid of God that easily.

Because— 

like the authorities who placed a guard, and sealed the tomb—

so often, we want a God we can put in a box:

confined and constrained.

We want a God who can be controlled;

a God who is manageable, predictable;

a God who’s on our side…

who does what we want…

and when we want it;

a God who blesses our decisions and plans…

confirms our beliefs…

reinforces our values…

upholds our principles…

preserves our way of life…

maintains the status quo.

In short, we want a God who is safe.

 

But the resurrection shatters all that—

like an earthquake.

The God of the resurrection is one who cannot be controlled… 

or confined… 

or constrained.

The God of the resurrection is one who isn’t manageable…

or predictable…

or at our beck-and-call.

The God of the resurrection is one who bursts out—

out of the images and metaphors we use to constrain God; 

out of the boxes to which we confine God;

out of the safe compartmentalisation of our lives.

The God of the resurrection is one who challenges us:

to expect the unexpected;

to see things from a new perspective;

to reorganise our priorities.

The God of the resurrection is one who challenges our deeply cherished beliefs;

who shows that the things we take for granted can’t be taken for granted—

in our society…

in the church…

in our own lives.

In short, the God of the resurrection is a God who isn’t safe.

 

And yet…

the God of the resurrection is also a God who calls us forward—

into an uncertain and unseeable future—

promising that we’ll find Christ there…

going ahead of us…

leading us on.