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It causes me to tremble

Kenneth L. Gibble

The crucifixion of Jesus and the two thieves AD 1900, Norwich Cathedral, England.

What makes you tremble? What makes you shake or shiver, quake or quiver? When you’re sick with the flu, your body does those things, of course. When you go swimming and you get out of the water and the cool air hits you, your teeth chatter and you shiver.

What else makes you tremble? A first date? A job interview? A tense moment in a ball game? How about going to church? Does the possibility of what might happen to you in worship, on Easter Sunday or any other Sunday, make you tremble?

Most North Americans expect worship on a Sunday morning to be fairly quiet and dignified. It’s what we are used to. Some Christians are used to worship that is noisy and rambunctious, with lots of body movement, hand clapping, even shouting, but most of us don’t tremble outwardly in church.

What about inwardly? Does what is said or sung, spoken or prayed ever make you tremble inside? Are you ever overwhelmed by the power of the gospel, by the amazing grace of God? Does it ever shake you up?

The spiritual asks, not once but twice: “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” Then, without waiting for an answer, the song goes on: “Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.” You can tell that, whether you or I were there when they crucified our Lord, the writer of the song was there, and the sight of Jesus being nailed to the tree, pierced in the side and laid in the tomb caused a terrible, fearful trembling.

Then we come to the last verse of the spiritual: “Were you there when He rose up from the dead?” You’d think that the resurrection would elicit a different reaction – not fear, but gladness. But notice what the song says: “Were you there when He rose up from the dead? Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble.”

Why trembling? Why not a breaking forth into hallelujahs? Remember the Gospel accounts of the first Easter. The reaction of those who learned about the resurrection was not happiness, but confusion, disbelief and fear.

Wouldn’t your reaction and mine have been the same? I can’t speak for you, of course, but I can tell you that I prefer life to be predictable, sensible, manageable. I’m not fond of surprises, even pleasant surprises. I realize this confession makes me sound hopelessly dull and boring, but there it is. I’m the kind of person who prefers that, as the apostle Paul put it, all things should be done “decently and in order.” (2 Corinthians 14:40, KJV).

Decently and in order. That’s how Luke’s account of the first Easter begins. Joseph, described as “a good and upright man”, did a good and upright thing. He took the corpse of Jesus and laid it in a tomb. And the women did what was customary in their time when a loved one died: They prepared spices and ointments and made plans to go to the tomb and anoint the body of the dead man.

All things done decently and in order. Listening to this account, we admire Joseph and the women for their faithfulness and their courage. We nod our heads in approval at their steadfastness, their loyalty. There is much to be said for such people, people you can count on, people who are dependable, people who won’t let you down when the going gets rough, people who will be there for you in times of disappointment and sadness, people who know what needs to be done and will do it.

When these good, loyal women came to the tomb and found it empty, when they heard “two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning” say that their Lord had risen from the dead, it was perfectly natural that the women would be terribly frightened, would fall face down on the ground. A Lord risen from the dead is not predicable, not manageable. This was something totally new. When resurrection happens, you tremble.

So the women got to their feet and ran back to tell the men what they had seen and heard. And the reaction of the men? Luke says, “They did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense.” Why should they believe them? Resurrection is not believable. It doesn’t fit the way we live our sensible, predictable, manageable lives.

We have domesticated Easter, tamed it, stripped it of its power to produce anything that remotely resembles trembling. Easter is just something we do – once every spring.

But resurrection? Resurrection is something only God can do.

Let me ask you again: What makes you tremble? I hope that Easter makes you tremble at least a little bit – because it is the announcement of God’s victory over all the things that conspire against us: discouragement, pain, loneliness, disease, loss, injustice, hatred, even death. Even death. The final word belongs to God. It’s a word of triumph. It’s the bold assertion that nothing can defeat the power of God’s love and grace.

If that isn’t enough to make you and me tremble, tremble with amazement and with joy, then we are a sad and sorry bunch indeed.

Kenneth L. Gibble lives in Chambersburg, Va.

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Last modified May 4, 2000.

© 2000 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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