While it was still dark…
If you’ve ever been the victim of sleepless nights due to grief, you can probably relate to Mary Magdalene’s decision to get up while it was still quite dark and go to the tomb. It probably wasn’t the first time she had thought about it. But it was the first time she could go. Light probably wouldn’t have helped her that much anyway. And so the darkness outside matched the darkness of grief she bore on the inside.
John’s gospel tells the story in the present tense, and that is a vital reminder even to us right now. Mary Magdalene arrives there at the tomb, and the stone is rolled back, the body gone, and Mary assumes that someone has taken the body. The idea simply multiplies her grief. And so her first reaction is to run and get some of the other disciples.
She finds Peter and the unnamed disciple whom Jesus loved, tells them about the empty tomb, and then a footrace breaks out to go and see for themselves. We learn here that Peter may be good at jumping to conclusions, but he is not the jackrabbit of the disciples. The two men, however, see the tomb lying open, and poke around a bit. The shroud and head cloth are there, neatly rolled up, in orderly fashion. Surely grave robbers would not have bothered leaving the cloths behind, or being so neat about the gruesome work. So the two men go home, with one who is noted as believing that Jesus is risen even if he doesn’t understand how.
Only Mary is still rooted to the spot, and so desperate for any clue of where Jesus’s body has been taken that she looks inside—and then she sees the angels, sitting there, addressing her comfortingly, and not unkindly: Why are you weeping?
But it’s then that Jesus comes up behind her. Of course she doesn’t recognize him. It’s still dark, and she saw him die that terrible death, unable to look away as her beloved Savior drew his last breath and then hung there so still. But in this way Mary is just like us.
How often is Jesus standing near us, and we can’t see him? Maybe he isn’t what we expect. Maybe he looks different than us. Especially in our sorrows, in our tribulations, when we wonder if we are not being punished punished for something or wonder what we could have done differently as we watch and wait and weep ourselves in this time of pandemic and fear. Maybe we wonder if God has abandoned us, and while we enter into the darkness of our fears of abandonment and loss we just can’t see that Jesus is right there and has been there for who knows how long?
Undoubtedly Jesus was different. So she assumes he is one of the few people likely to be in a garden before dawn. It is here that thousands of artists over the years have painted this scene, Jesus holding a hoe or some other such gardening tool, sometimes a big floppy hat pulled low across his forehead. And so she turns at the voice behind her.
While it was still dark…
When he says her name, comprehension dawns. The beautiful way he says her name, so familiar, lovingly, tenderly, is a balm for her soul. And of course, she longs to touch him, to see if the flesh is warm and real, to prove she is not having a dream or hallucination. Just as John has Jesus reminding us that his sheep know the sound of his voice, and that he knows them and calls them by name, so here Mary knows the beloved sound of her Shepherd’s voice. And just as Lazarus couldn’t come out of the tomb until he was called by name, so Mary can’t abandon her grief and begin to come back to life and move forward in her work as an apostle until she hears her name called.
But Jesus stops her. The phrase “Do not hold on to me,”—or “Do not cling to me” in another version—has a special resonance right now, doesn’t it? We’ve moved beyond not only avoiding physical contact with people, but we’re sterilizing our packages left on the front door, and getting take-out brought to our cars by people wearing masks. We’re sometimes unable to see or touch so many of the ones we love too, right now.
But just like us, Mary can’t hold on to Jesus and keep him all for herself. Jesus still has disciples to see. Perhaps it is Jesus’s way of reminding all of us that our “personal relationship with Jesus” must be grounded in sharing Jesus and what he means with the entire world, not just keeping our love for him to ourselves. She has to let him go, so that she may step into her role as a witness and evangelist, powered by the love of Jesus in a new way. And of all the disciples, it is Mary Magdalene who comes to understand this even standing right there in the dark. Mary is the one whose love and devotion to Jesus is so pure and steadfast that she is a model without equal for all of us. She never runs away. She never falters.
The inspirational Episcopal priest Becca Stevens shared this meditation on this passage: The story of the Resurrection begins with the words,
“While it was still dark...” The shadows of the cross were long as the sun was just rising on Jerusalem that Sabbath as Mary heads out with grief guiding her to the body. And that single act of faithfulness is enough to carry her with a peace that passes understanding to the source of love. The peace that passes understanding leads her through despair, leads her to brush aside fear, and to hold onto love. The shadows of the Crucifixion became the grounding of a deep peace that changed the world. And that story is powerful enough to unravel all the upheaval, violence, and fear that keep us from experiencing peace."
Jesus calls our names too, softly and tenderly, if only we still ourselves enough to listen. Jesus calls our names especially while it is still dark. While some people point to tragic events as proof of God’s indifference or lack of existence, we are reminded in this story that it is in the dark vale of grief that Jesus comes up gently behind us, asking us why we are crying not because Jesus doesn’t understand suffering but to encourage us to remember that Jesus is always with us in our suffering, and is our comforting, beloved friend who understands all our trials.
That’s what Easter means. Even while it is still dark. As our reading from Jeremiah promises exactly for times such as these, the love of God for God’s people is an everlasting, sanctifying, reclaiming love. A love that never gives up even if the days seem the darkest.
Easter doesn’t really happen when the sun is blazing in the sky and all the lights in the garden are shining brightly.
Easter doesn’t happen in beautiful nave or sanctuary—and a good thing too, because all disciples of good sense are staying home where they belong.
While it is still dark, while we are afraid and isolated, Jesus calls us to embrace resurrection and tell out the good news. We need that light and hope now, more than ever. While it is still dark, Jesus calls us to turn toward his reconciling, abundant love, and take heart. In turning toward reconciliation and resurrection, we called to shake off who we have been, and turn instead to embrace and embody who we are called to be. It’s not enough for us to see the glory of resurrection and what promises it holds for ourselves. We are called to witness to that resurrection and how it continues to work in a world that desperately needs to see it and be transformed, too.
And embracing that call is where the light dawns. Jesus calls our names, each of us beloved, so that we will see the light dawn even while it is dark. Jesus calls us to go tell out the truth of the Risen Jesus, risen even in this year of pandemic, risen and calling us to not return to our lives as they were before the shadow of these times hung over all of us. With open hearts, especially in times such as this, let us embrace each other, and change the world, in the name of Jesus.
Amen.
Preached at the 8:00 am Celebration of Resurrection Day online at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.
Readings:
Jeremiah 31:1-6
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Acts 10:34-43
John 20:1-18
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