Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday
April 12, 2020
John 20:1-18

In the name of the Living and Loving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Nothing was the same that morning, that 3rd day after Jesus was crucified. As we heard in our Gospel reading this morning, Mary Magdalene moved around in the early morning darkness, probably fearing for her own life. She had remained at the foot of the cross, as Jesus was crucified, and sadly she knew all too well the force of the Roman empire.

She was crying and running, bewildered and desperately searching for Jesus. Because without explanation, the stone which had blocked the entrance to the tomb had been moved, and Jesus’ body was gone.

She simply HAD to tell the others.

In so many ways, Mary was grieving.

Mary was lost.

Mary was afraid.

Now I don’t know about you, but I am connecting with Mary on this Easter morning, and not just because we have our name in common. I find myself, like Mary, in a place where I’m grieving. Where I’m Lost. Where I’m Afraid. Of course, today it’s not the Roman empire that grips me with fear. It’s the invisible force and power of the coronavirus.  

I never noticed this before in John’s Gospel, but this week I realized that in the midst of all of that grief and fear, there was a whole lot of running going on as well. Mary ran to tell Peter and the other disciple (scholars believe it was John) about the stone being rolled away. Then Mary passed the baton off to them, and Peter and John sprinted the second leg of that Easter morning relay, back to the empty tomb to also look for Jesus.

I suppose I connect with this part of the Gospel as well, because just a few days ago, as the our death toll continued to rise, and a wave of fear was washing over me, I went out for a run, just like Mary.  

I suppose it’s entirely possible, that just like the disciples I was also searching for Jesus.

It wasn’t too long though, into my run, that I started to cry.  And not just a tear or two . . . I sobbed. Now, maybe you’ve never broken down in tears while out for a run, but I can tell you, it’s impossible to do both. There’s just not enough oxygen. So I stopped, still crying, and pulled out my phone, to text my husband. I wrote very simply, “I just can’t do this.” By “this,” I meant that I can’t breathe. I can’t lead. I can’t face these days. I can’t . . . I can’t.

Just a few seconds later, though, Bunker texted me back, and said,

“But you ARE doing it.”

Which was a Gospel moment that mirrored that moment two thousand years ago when Mary was standing there, desperate at the tomb, and Jesus said, “Mary. Why are you weeping?”

For me, the stone had been rolled away.

It was a resurrection moment that enabled me to take a deep breath, move forward, putting one foot in front of the other, not just on my running path, but through that day and the next, and the day after that. One step, one moment at a time.   

On that first Easter, the disciples hid behind locked doors – or in the vocabulary we’re using this year – they “self-isolated” in the days following Jesus’ resurrection. But (this is important), their Easter joy was not simply a flash of “divine dazzlement” (as Flemming Rutledge puts it). It was something that they had to live into day by day, one step at a time –
by sharing their memories of their time with Jesus,
by acknowledging their grief,
by refining and reconnecting with the purpose of their lives,
by diving into the power of perfect Love.

None of it involved platitudes, or clichés, or what we call today, “toxic positivity.” To be sure, Christ’s resurrection came out of darkness. It came out of fear. Bluntly, it came out of death. But those are the places where God meets us and calls us – maybe even texts us - out.    

This year, more than ever, it’s important to acknowledge the fact that we are given the GIFT of an entire Easter SEASON. That’s right, the church celebrates Easter for 50 days – even ten days longer than our Lenten journey (which seemed to last forever, didn’t it?!).

So, during this Easter season, look for and connect with those places where hope is stronger than fear. And hear Christ saying, “You ARE doing it! – You are living into the Resurrection.”

Boldly proclaim that death is not the end, but the beginning of new life. And again, hear: “You are doing it!”

Acknowledge those places where you are surprised by joy. “You are doing it!”

Because Jesus Christ IS risen today. Alleluia, Alleluia!
Amen.