The waiting on Easter Eve, on Saturday, after the horror of the crucifixion and Jesus’ death, must have been endless for Mary Magdalene and the disciples, all Jesus’ friends, his mother Mary and family, everyone who had journeyed with Jesus, now waiting anxiously in the aftermath of all the violence, noise and in fear of further retribution, remaining still, impatient, grieving and questioning, frightened and hopeless, despairing and wondering. The endless waiting, minute by minute, second by second, watching the sun travel across the sky, unable to eat, to share the sabbath, the Passover. The story of this extraordinary, different, beautiful, loving and challenging man, such as it was, was now apparently done, over, finished and with such a terrible ending. All that was left was to finish the burial properly, to be done by the women, who would anoint the body, make sure all was completed, nothing left undone; and then to grieve, to wonder and regret and remember.
I woke this morning in darkness, the dawn light barely showing, a few birds trying out their song, but very little was moving and it was hard to see anything in this dark, dimly lit sky. When grief is an ever-present companion, time somehow becomes meaningless, events become blurred, words are hard to speak, voices are distant and people are irrelevant. Grief overwhelms and life stops.
And so, ‘while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw the stone had been removed from the tomb.’ John 20:1.
She could not wait any longer. And in the retelling of this 2,000 year old, familiar story, we hear the voices of those who were there on that early morning, those who came to the tomb, who ran, walked, looked, wept, grieved and spoke. Their voices resonate through the millennia, opening our hearts and minds to the impossibility of God’s presence in such a dreadful, dreadful tragedy, in the murder of an innocent man.
Mary Magdalene was the one who was there before the dawn light had fully emerged, but it was clearly light enough for her to see the stone rolled away from the entrance of the tomb. Mary runs to tell Simon Peter and the disciple whom Jesus loved, telling them of her horror, the unspeakable has happened, Jesus’ body has been stolen from the tomb.
For everyone who has lost a loved one and who do not know where they are, it opens up a whole new world of grief. We stand waiting, looking, scanning, listening, checking and re-checking. Perhaps something has been missed. And Mary’s assumption is understandable. Jesus was buried by members of the Sanhedrin, by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus who had bartered with Pilate to have his body brought down from the cross. These two had not stood out strongly against the Sanhedrin, they had come in the night just as they had done after Jesus died.
The two disciples ran to the tomb to check out her story, and on seeing Mary had spoken correctly, they went home, leaving Mary alone, too tired, weary, lonely and heartsick to stay and offer comfort. Not much comfort around this day it seemed.
Mary stooped down and looked inside the tomb, through the small opening which was usual for such tombs, about a metre and a half, high and wide. Weeping, as she absorbed the latest blow, she confirmed what she feared, the body was gone and there was no-one to ask where it had been laid. No wonder she started to think about conspiracy. Then two angels inside the tomb spoke to her as she stooped to look in. Their voices clear in the quiet of the early morning, in the stillness of the garden. They asked her why she was weeping? Then as she steps back out of the tomb, a gardener, coming from nowhere asks her, why are you weeping, who are you looking for?
The power of this story’s truth is profound. And into that still, chaotic, bewildering, life-changing moment, Jesus, God’s gardener, speaks her name and she knows who it is who is speaking. We hear Jesus’ voice, speaking directly, calling Mary by name. She immediately knew his voice; as he answered her tears and the world steadied once again for her and everything came back into focus differently and nothing will ever be the same again. Ever!
We hear Jesus’ voice speaking to Mary, his disciple, the woman who became the very first witness to his resurrection. She became the apostle to the apostles. Jesus speaks Mary’s name, and he speaks our names too, directly, personally, in love. She hears him clearly, through the emotional whirlwind unravelling her and bringing her to her knees. Jesus’ voice is calling all of us, as Mary, apostle to the apostles tells us the good news this day, this morning, in the stillness of the garden, in the new creation God has begun recreating, God’s work of loving invitation, once again to have hope, in the darkest of places and in the most terrible of moments and grief. A message so much needed in the midst of today’s terrible chaos and in the face of growing unkindness and violence. For Mary, the world tips on its axis back into its rightful place; and God has tipped it back upright for all of us if only we too, can hear God calling our names.
Today I wonder if you struggle to believe the resurrection actually happened, whether you still wonder if it’s just an interesting story and if only you could believe. I wonder if you can remember and know what Jesus’ voice sounds like as Christ Jesus calls you, here in God’s beautiful garden on such a lovely day, wiping our tears, calming our fears, allowing us to feel God’s love for us and for all the world, for all God’s creatures and people. Such love and hope mean` we can truly live in the world knowing God has a purpose for each of us, and God is present with us and like Mary we can tell our neighbours and our friends: ‘I have seen the Lord!’
Can you say that too? I have seen the Lord!
The Lord be with you this day and always. Amen.
