Telling the Truth for Women

Jill Briscoe: I want to talk about what it means to have Easter in your heart. Easter in your heart. And if you'll turn to the word of God with me to Mark's Gospel—I could have gone to any of the Gospels to read any of the Easter stories—I wanted one that dealt with women coming to Easter. I wanted one with women coming toward Easter Sunday with heavy hearts. And of course, I found it in all the Gospels, but here there is a little bit of detail that I wanted to use in Mark chapter 16.

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome brought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus' body. Very early, the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb. They asked each other, "Who will roll away the stone from the entrance of the tomb?" But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "You're looking for Jesus the Nazarene who was crucified. He's risen! He's not here. See the place where they laid him? But go, tell his disciples and Peter, he's going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you." Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.

Now if you read all of the Gospels, you will see almost contradictory statements. They said nothing to anyone because they were afraid, and yet we read about Mary Magdalene rushing into the disciples and telling the disciples what she had seen and who she had met. Then in another of the Gospels, it looks as though some of the women went and told the disciples. So it isn't that we have contradictions in the word of God, it's just that if you have four people telling the same story, they see different things and hear different things and record different things. That's why there are sometimes apparent contradictions in the things that you read if you read it all.

What I wanted you to notice was that these women had been in a living nightmare. They had been living in a living nightmare. They had just witnessed a crucifixion. Think about it. Not only must that have been the most incredible experience—I cannot imagine—but it was the crucifixion of someone they loved to distraction. It was the crucifixion of someone in whom all their hopes and dreams resided, and they had been, no doubt, traumatized by this.

I have two friends who have witnessed an execution. Anne Graham Lotz ministered to a woman who was being put to death in Texas because the lady asked her if Anne, who had led her to Christ on death row, would be with her. It took Anne probably two or three years to recover. I was with her shortly afterwards. She had lost weight. She couldn't sleep. I can't imagine.

Then I have another friend who lives in Milwaukee, who was instrumental in a very prominent situation again, a woman that was put to death in Texas. Linda is a chaplain working at that facility, working with the women on death row. She and Karla Faye, their life was just woven together. Karla Faye asked the same thing: "Linda, would you be with me when the day comes?" Linda, dreading that question and knowing it was coming, said yes. I don't know how many years it's taken Linda and whether she'll ever get over that particular experience. And that, in a sense, was a lot more humane than this.

So we have ordinary women, women from Galilee, women that probably had never learned to read and write, unless they were educated women as many of these were, actually. Mary Magdalene certainly and the other women that had followed Jesus, helping to support him out of their means, would be wealthy women and perhaps were educated. But women were not educated in those days, and they had not probably in all of their lives ever faced such trauma. They were out of context. They were up in the big city from the country, and they'd been through this incredible mob violence, and they had been there at the cross. John was there. Peter turned up eventually. The rest of the men were not there. But the women were watching from afar.

So they came to Easter Sunday having lived in that living nightmare with heavy hearts. Now, the Chinese combine two characters for the word crisis. One means danger and the other opportunity. These two possibilities are inherent in every crisis. A crisis is a crossroads, and the outcome is determined by which path is taken. When a person is described as critical in medical terms, it means he can either move towards life or move towards death. Just so the crisis of life presents not only danger but also opportunity. Isn't that interesting?

We come into a crisis. All of us have experienced crisis in our lives. When a crisis comes, remember you've got a crossroads. You can either use it and walk towards opportunities, or you can recognize the danger and freak out, basically, and run away and hide. There was danger involved in this scene for these women. There was danger in making the burial ointment and daring to put their noses outside into those streets and actually go to the place that was guarded by the temple guard, and possibly by the Romans. They didn't know. They had no idea that Pilate had said to the temple guard, "You've got a guard, go and make that tomb as safe as you can. Make sure nobody gets in it and nobody gets out of it. Just go and do your thing."

They didn't know that. They had no idea what they would find. The only thing that they expected was a stone, a great big humongous stone, far too big for them to move. If they had known about the guard, I wonder if they would have gone. But they didn't. Danger. Very dangerous for women in that particular situation, in that particular society, to do what they were going to do. And fear rises in danger, which can be torture. And yet a dangerous crisis can mean an opportunity to overcome the fear and do the right thing. It's an opportunity to find the risen life of Christ in this nightmare, in this living nightmare that they were living in.

So women should not have been where they were, doing what they were going to do. That was a restricted area. It was a religious restricted area. They were women in a men's world in a way that you and I do not know what that means. We do not know what that means. They were women in a world gone mad. And please God, we should never know what that means. I have certainly been among women in those situations in this last year in danger that just beggars the mind. And here they were walking towards the danger with no faith, just sheer obedience probably driving them.

But the biggest restriction for these women in a men's world, if you wish, was the stone. "Who will roll away the stone?" That's what the scriptures tell us they were—all they could think about was this great big stone. This impossibility. And some of you have come here today and there's a great big stone as you walk towards Easter, this point in your life. It's impossible. There's nothing you can do about it. So what are you doing anyway? There is this humongous difficulty, this incredible thing. Maybe it's a relationship and you're going to have to face it at a family gathering, and it's just huge and you've tried to do things about it before and what's the point? It's just too big. And even as the group, "Who is going to move away the stone?" There's five, six, seven women—we're not quite sure how many of those women were going to try and move away the stone. But it was too big for one of them certainly. It was too big for the group.

Have you ever been in a situation like that and you're moving time-wise towards an impossibility? "Who will move away the stone? Who will move away the stone?" What a difficulty. Huge, immovable object. An obstacle. You're overwhelmed. Have you ever been overwhelmed? I have heard that word from some young women in my life in this last month. They are totally overwhelmed. Can't do it. It's too much. It's too big. Too heavy. Too heavy for me. And instead of moving towards it in faith, they're moving towards it in fear and in sorrow instead of joy, and in darkness instead of light.

I want to ask you: what is your stone at this point in your life? Now, you might say, "Well, Jill, you know, you might say these women had big things, and maybe a crucifixion is bigger than my problem. Yes, okay, I'll give you that. But really, you don't understand the complexity of the stones in my life and the problems in my life."

Let's think of two of these women briefly for a minute. Mary Magdalene. She was delivered from seven demons. I mean real demons—there are such things—I mean demon demons, of the nastiest kind. She was mad. She was absolutely crazy, driven crazy by these demons, spirits. You think you have problems? Try that. Try being possessed by seven demons. She had a lot of things to prove once she came to faith and Christ cast them out. She had to prove she wasn't mad anymore. And what she did was take off after this nobody preacher, leave her home and her responsibilities and traipse around the countryside, which women never did. Rabbis had disciples, but always men, never women. And start spending her money, which she had much, on him, supporting him out of her own means. Well, then everybody really thought she was mad. Now she was sane, and she was mad.

So here she is facing, no doubt, ostracism, problems with her family. Here was Mary Magdalene. I don't believe this woman was a sinner woman in the sense of the sinner woman that came to Jesus. We get them mixed up. Nowhere in the scriptures do we see that she was sexually perverse, this woman. She was certainly inhabited by demons which might have driven her that way, but if you look into the history of Mary Magdalene, that is not one of her characteristics. She had many problems, but that wasn't one of them. But she had to prove herself, and she was not going about it the right way. And she would have known what it was to have her whole family on her back. "Why are you going to that church, that Galilean church? Didn't bring you up to do that. You should be sitting in the synagogue back home," etc., etc.

So there are plenty of women in this Easter story no strangers to difficulties, and Mary, of course, was one of them. But I tell you there's another one, Joanna, wife of Chuza. He was Herod's steward. So she lived in the palace with Herod, the puppet king, and he was the one that beheaded John the Baptist. And she became a follower, probably first a secret believer in this Jewish preacher, in Jesus of Nazareth.

And I wonder if Joanna was in the kitchen when they asked for a very big plate at the party—one big enough for a man's head. Probably. What did Herod think when he heard his steward, his right-hand man, his steward's wife had taken off after the Baptist's cousin, traipsing around the country as a groupie? And what did Chuza think? Was he a believer too or wasn't he? Jesus had been taken in front of Herod to be tried. Chuza would have been there. Was he wondering where his wife was? He knew she was in Jerusalem coming up for the feast turned disaster. Where was she now? Were his eyes going this way and that trying to find her? They were working at crucifying Jesus. Can you imagine what Chuza watching this was thinking? If they were going to do this to Jesus, what were they going to do to his followers? Where was his wife?

So these women were no strangers to dangers and difficulties and obstacles to their faith. But crisis is made up of danger and opportunity. Opportunity for what? To see what God alone can do with the most impossible, ridiculous situations. And Easter is all about taking the ridiculous and turning it into the miraculous. That's what Easter is about. And you know, it's possible to experience an Easter in your heart and watch God's resurrection power at work. It didn't mean all their dangers and difficulties would vanish.

When the women found out about the resurrection, they still had to pay taxes to Caesar. Herod was still doing his thing in Galilee where they lived. Paul or Saul, the persecutor, was on the horizon, and Jesus had still been crucified. So it doesn't mean that the whole of their life was changed back to what they wished it had been. And often for us, that is the case.

But what had happened was the stone was rolled away. And what I think we do is we walk towards the difficulties in our life saying, "Who will remove this? How will I cope with this? What's going to happen?" And when we get there, the stone's rolled away. Just think of all the energy that had been wasted. Just think of all the tears that need not have been shed. Just think of the emotional trauma that they'd been through for three whole days. Just think of all the work making all those ointments and spices that were never going to be used. There was no body to use them on.

Just think. 90% of the things we worry about never happen. "Who will move away the stone? Who will move away the stone?" We freak out and we get there, and there's an angel sitting on top of it, and it's been moved. We needn't have bothered.

So the danger and the difficulties were facing them and also the despair. They were overwhelmed and they'd been overcome. The crisis. But the crisis is the crucible of faith, if we will allow it so to be. They had been in the crucible. Job said, "When I am tried, I shall come forth as gold." And I believe that crisis can become a crucible so your faith can come through as gold. They had been in the crucible of watching. Watching. They hadn't slept. You can't. Somebody you love has just been crucified. Has just died. Even though they were watching from a distance.

I remember watching my mother die from a distance. I was here and she was in England. That's a distance. And I couldn't go. I couldn't see her physically. And I had to watch her die from thousands of miles away. And there is a certain crucible feeling about that. Watching somebody you love die. I think about God who was watching his son from a distance on the cross. For sin, yours and mine came in between, and God removed himself at a distance. And what that must have been like, because he could have done something about it and chose, because he loved us as much as he loved Christ, not to. God was at a distance watching his son.

I remember when one of our children was going through something really hard. And I remember coming into this sanctuary on Good Friday for the service, sitting down, totally unable to concentrate. Absolutely living in a nightmare. And I remember writing my thoughts to God.

"Easter comes around so quickly as Christmas, Lord, or so it seems, as I slipped into the back pew. Yes, he said. I'm glad so many people come to Good Friday services. I'm glad I can be here. Silence. I'm trying to concentrate, Lord, to focus on what it's all about. Well, it's hard for you when you're so worried about your son, he said simply. Yes. And I tried and tried to keep my mind on the service, but in the end of the day, there I was worrying myself into such a state. And the last hymn was announced, and I gave a guilty start. Lord, forgive me, I cried in the deep chamber of my soul. I feel terrible. I couldn't concentrate. In fact, I may as well not have been here. Have you ever done that? You see, my son is in trouble. He's dying inside. Then I heard sweet understanding saying to my soul: When my son was dying, I couldn't think of anything else either. So I understand. And my son was dying on the inside and the outside. It's hard watching."

Then I sat quietly until all the people left the sanctuary. And I thought about the day his son came home through the front door, all bloodied and beaten up. And I wept. I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry, Father, for my part. Forgive me. Done, I heard him say. See you on resurrection morning.

Hard to concentrate sometimes. Watching when you're helpless is a crucible of faith. And they had been in a crucible of watching, they had also been in a crucible of weeping. That was their custom. And thank God for a culture where weeping is allowed, nay expected. That is not my culture. You keep a stiff upper lip, you don't cry, and men particularly don't cry—that's weakness. That's my English-ism, or at least my heritage.

I remember Mother Briscoe going through her last ghastly days of cancer treatment here with us in America, Stuart's mom. And I remember her coming back, going to get her from her last treatment down at a hospital somewhere here in the city. And I remember the nurse who had cared for Mother all these months. She said to me, "I have never ever met a woman like this. I have never met such a brave woman. I have never met such a courageous woman. And I have never met a woman who's been through what she has who has never cried." I said, "Well, she's English." And mother, who was there, said, "What's the use of crying? That doesn't help." I will always remember that. Dear mother, what she taught me.

But I tell you, thank God for a culture that allows weeping. That allows weeping. A crucible of weeping. They had wept till they could weep no more. Men and women alike. Men and women alike. And God watches us watch, and he watches us weep, and he sees us standing at the distance because we are helpless to do anything about a situation.

And then there is a crucible of waiting. Oh, that's the worst. Can you imagine what it was like for these women? They had to wait from Friday to Sunday to do anything. And one of the things when you are in crisis and when you are in trauma is everything in us, especially for women, wants action. We want to do something. I mean, that's the first thing. If I only could just do something. That's why I'm so glad I'm English because I can always make a cup of tea. That's doing something. That's doing something.

Crucible of waiting. Crucifixion can take days. Soldiers were amazed at the short time it took for Jesus Christ to die. And I can assure you it felt like days to the women. Waiting is akin to suffering. Ben Patterson says: "When you're waiting on the way to soon, waiting is akin to suffering." Action helps.

I remember when my mom died and I eventually, actually, in the grace of God, was there when she did, which was a sort of human accident and absolutely incredible, because she wasn't expected to die when I happened to be there. And here was my mom and my family turned to me—I'm the religious one—and said, "Now if you want a funeral, do it." And so I said, "That's why I'm here, and of course, we will have a funeral."

And so I began to do the things you have to do. And it was such a relief just to do things. And I remember the first day going to get the flowers. Those of you that have been through this. And my mom had an English rose garden second to none. That was her hobby, that was her life. And so I wanted roses. And I remember going down to—finding this huge relief—I could do something. What's the point? She's dead and gone. But somehow to buy flowers was such a relief. It was something I could do for her, and I could choose.

And you know, it was snowing—it was the middle of winter. And I knew because we don't put the flowers in the church, we put them on the way into the church, outside along the walkway, and they're laid there and you walk between the flowers. And I knew that they would last five minutes in the snow. And yet there was such a blessed time. And I remember I took an hour choosing the colors and making the things and all the things that I wanted to do.

And that's what I think the women were doing. They were making the spices. I mean, all it was going to do is anoint the body. All it was going—they were buying the flowers. But there was relief in it. There's at least this something I can do. There's something I can do. And the thing is, I would encourage you is: find something you can do even if it's useless, even if it's like buying flowers that are going to die in the snow. Or even it's like making spices to anoint the body or, you know, choose the gravestone or whatever it is. Find something to do in the crisis. Even if it seems so little. I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something I can do.

So you have to say, "God, what is the something I can do?" And God appreciates this. I mean, he knew it was useless. There wasn't a body to anoint. But he saw the relief that the women had had in the little thing that they were doing. They were buying the flowers. There are four reactions to crisis. Realism: "There's nothing I can do that will make a difference, so I'll do nothing." Fatalism: "May as well accept it and live with it," and you do nothing. Stoicism: "I'll grit my teeth and get on with life and pretend this isn't happening." And optimism: godly, spiritual optimism. Spiritual intelligence that tells you what I believe as a Christian is true. It's true! It's true! That he arose! Have you ever seen a dead body? What power does it take to raise a dead body? Stand and look at the next one. There is only one power in the universe like that. And if I cannot have a spirit of optimism when I'm—all I'm looking at is death—the death of a relationship, the death of whatever, a job or hopes or dreams or money, I don't care what it is that you're looking at. What is that stone? If you will walk in faith and trust towards it, and in fear and trepidation, and even in doubt and disbelief.

I mean, these women believed nothing that they should have been believing. But walk towards it anyway. Go to the tomb and you'll find resurrection life all over the place. Light arising that you never dreamed possible even in your heavy heart. And these women, the lessons that they learned. They should have believed the word of God. Do you know what the angel said? "Why are you looking for the living among the dead? What are you doing here?" I can just see him sitting on the top of the stone. "Well, nice you came, but what are you going to do with those ointments in your hands? Tough. No body, huh?"

"Why are you looking for the living among the dead? The Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men. Remember," says the angel, "how he told you when he was still with you in Galilee?" Then they remembered his words. These women had been following Jesus. These women had been with Jesus when he said, "Third day I'm going to rise again. Third day I'm going to rise again. Third day I'm going to rise again." Mary was sitting there. They heard it. All these women. Susanna, Joanna, and all the others that are unnamed heard it. But in crisis and the crucible, you forget.

And if you are there, what you need to do is hang your heart over the word of God and remember what you remember and know what you know and affirm out loud what you believe. That there is no situation too terrible that the light of God and the life of God cannot be all over it. God wants to get his hands all over our lives, and he wants to get his hands all over our situation. And he wants to say, "Walk on, and you will find light arising in your heart." Yes, you will. So remember the word of God. May you experience the glory of God in your heart.

And then lastly, experience the power of God. Just watch God work. The crisis leads to the crucible of faith where trustfully our faith will come forth as gold. And the crisis and the crucible teach you about the Christ. When they looked out and saw the stone that was very large, it had been rolled away. And I want to tell you something: the angel didn't come along with Jesus lying there as a mummy, all bound up, still dead, and move it away and shout into the tomb, "Jesus! I've moved the stone away, you can come out now."

The angel came a long time after Christ was risen. He was long gone. And the angel moved the stone away to let us in, not to let him out. It was done. He didn't even need the stone rolled away. God raised him from the dead. And you know what the Bible says? The power—that power that raised Christ from the dead lives in us. The believer. The Jesus lover. The one who says, "I'm a Christian. Yes, I'm a poor Christian. I'm a poverty-stricken Christian. I'm a doubting Christian. I don't have any faith." You! The power that raised Christ from the dead didn't need an angel to move the stone away. Long gone. That power lives in you. And that's what can turn fear into faith. And that's what can send you out. Can send you out to run and tell the disciples what it's all about.

"Go and tell my disciples," says Jesus, the risen Christ. And after Pentecost, go and tell the world. And they began to minister out of their pain and sorrow. You know what it says in the Bible? They were full of fear and joy. So they weren't all joy yet. They were learning, but they ran, full of fear and joy. That strange mix. Full of wonder. Talk about double shock. First of all, you've just had the funeral, and then you meet the corpse all alive and well. Think about it. But they went out of their pain and sorrow and confusion and crisis and crucible, and they began to minister out of their pain. And God gave them a song to sing, and God gave them words to speak. God gives songs in the night.

I love this—it's anonymous: Many a rapturous minstrel, among the songs of light,

Will say of his sweetest music: I learned it in the night.

And many a rolling anthem that fills the Father's throne,

Sobbed out its first rehearsal in the shade of a darkened room.

And out of our pain and out of our problems can come a proclamation: "He is risen! He is risen indeed!" So I don't know what you're facing. I don't know what the stone is. I have big stones in my life at the moment that I'm walking towards. I don't want to go away again, which I have to do for six weeks. I don't want to do that. I don't want to go to Europe. I don't want to go to South Africa. I don't want to go to Singapore. For all sorts of reasons. There are big stones in my life. But I know better than to treat it with fatalism, or sheer realism without faith. And I know better than not to walk towards my challenges and other challenges too, without spiritual optimism. I am a believer. And what I need to do is say, "God, I need to see your light arising in my darkness, in my heart. I need to have an Easter in my heart, and I need to believe that when I get to this impossibility, trusting you—that's the key—trusting you, the stone will have been rolled away." Somehow resurrection life will be all over this situation. Somehow the word of God will address my problem if I hang my heart over it. Somehow the glory of God will be seen here or there or some other place.

I remember even in the death chamber—and I did get home to see my mother walk into heaven. And I was sitting by her side when it happened early in the morning. And this is what I wrote that day. Someone I loved deeply had just walked through the front door. I talked to the Lord about it. He told me to read the story of the raising of Lazarus. And so sitting by my mother's side, I read it. And I read this: "Take off the grave clothes. Let her go."

God didn't wait for me to come to the front door. He met me in the pew in church looking at that box with Peggy's remains inside. "Father," I whispered, "I was there when my Peggy went through the front door."

"I know. I saw you there sitting by her side, holding her hand."

"Well, Lord, suddenly the room was all light and airy, as if your breath blew into that stuffy death chamber."

"Angels' wings," he said without any explanation. And then I knew it anyway. You know, you know, when it happens.

"Were you there?" I asked. I knew the answer before he spoke.

"I opened the door," he said simply.

"I knew it was you," I blurted out breathlessly. "I was reading about Lazarus and just as I got to the bit where you said, 'Lazarus, come forth,' I looked up because—"

"Because you heard me, didn't you, Jill?"

"Yes, Lord," I whispered.

"Did you hear me tell the angels: 'Loose her, let her go'?" he asked me. Well, I couldn't answer. Too many scalding tears were running down my face. He put them in his bottle to carry them away. Precious tears. Precious Peggy. Precious Jill, I heard him say.

"I lost a mother once," he said quietly. "It was me who had to go through the front door first. Not the usual way it happens."

"I know," I said.

"It was hard watching her watching me," he said. "I couldn't put my arms around her; they were pinned quite securely in place."

"So you could open the front door for her one day?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"You'll see Peggy soon, you know, when it's time. I'll bring her with me. I'll bring her to the front door to meet you."

I couldn't speak again. But then I didn't have to; he understood. Then a measure of peace came and the stone was rolled away. And there was light and there was glory and there was power. There was risen life in that death chamber. He will roll the stone away. Trust him.

Pray with me. Lord God, as the women watched you, you watched them. And you are watching now. Many of us are celebrating and not suffering, but around the corner of our tomorrows, there will be a day when we are asking that question: who will roll away this stone? And what you want us to do, Lord, is not to hurry towards the situation with dread in our hearts, in fear and doubt. You want us not to have spices to bury the dead, but trust and faith in our hands. Gifts. Expectation. Faith as we come towards Easter and specifically Easter Sunday in this our life at this point in this place.

And Lord, I pray for every woman here who came in in desperation and despair, who perhaps is living in danger of some sort, and certainly looking at the difficulties that are far too big for their puny faith to move. We are such beggars, Lord, we have to ask you even for faith to believe. And so in our helplessness we sit here, and we invite you, risen Christ, to visit our life right now. And we ask you, dear Lord, to show us the stone is gone. Doesn't mean our situation has changed—it didn't for the women; just got more dangerous and difficult. But the difference was your life and your power and your word and the joy that wouldn't quit for no other reason than we believe. We believe.

And we think about our families and we think about our world and we think about our city and we think about America and we think about all the people whose soul has run away to hide because they cannot face tomorrow. And I ask that we may not let you down, that we may run, perhaps with fear as well as joy, and tell them he is risen indeed. May you not find us wanting in this our work. For Christ's sake, amen.

You wore my thorns.

You wore my thorns that I may know your grace,

Pierced by my sin that I may see your face,

Loved and forgiven from shame and deep disgrace.

You wore my thorns. You wore my thorns.

You wore my robe. You let them mock and sneer.

You took the beating you knew I could not bear.

In this silent moment, I turn and see you there.

You wore my robe. You wore my robe.

You felt my nails and watched the hammer fall.

Legions of angels you refused to call.

Watched they who loved you, holy and appalled.

You felt my nails. You felt my nails.

You bore my cross. You bore your Father's frown.

Tears on his face, his judgment took you down.

Now it's my turn to wear the thorny crown.

For you bore my cross. You bore my cross.

You died my death. You gave your life for me.

Laid in my tomb of sin, you set me free.

You loved a girl who hurt you terribly.

You died my death. You died my death.

So teach me to love what once I so despised.

Live for your smile, the love light in your eyes.

Ignite a flame of love that never dies.

For you wore my thorns. You wore my thorns.