Easter Sunday

EASTER SUNDAY, April 17, 2022
“A Garden Encounter” (John 20:1-18)
The manse in Coldwater was strategically located between the church and the
cemetery. Sitting on my back deck, I had a bird’s eye view of the comings and goings in
the graveyard. The committal services with familiar words of scripture read to bring
comfort to family and friends whose grief was new and raw. Lone figures, often carrying
bouquets, to lay by the stone, sometimes standing there for a few minutes as if in silent
communion with their loved one. Groups gathering to tend the family plot – pulling
weeds, cleaning inscriptions, planting flowers. Over my years of observing, I came to
appreciate how visits to a cemetery can not only help us accept that someone has died
and is gone from our lives, but also give us the opportunity to express our undying love
for them in some concrete way.
I suspect it was not so different in the first century, certainly not for Mary Magdalene. Because of the sabbath which begins at sundown on Friday and doesn’t end until
sundown on Saturday, Mary from the town of Magdala on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, hasn’t had an opportunity to visit Jesus’ tomb. Now, at last, it’s Sunday. The sun
has yet to rise above the horizon, bur Mary Magdalene, this woman whom Jesus healed
and restored to fullness of life, this woman who became a member of his unconventional travelling band of disciples, is already on the move.
Perhaps, it has been one of those nights for Mary. You know – those nights when
sleep is hard to come by as our minds race from thought to thought without resolving
anything – contemplatives call that monkey brain. Those nights when images we would
like to forget keep flashing through our brains; when tears well up inside us, and our
2
hearts ache. Those nights when the hours crawl by so very slowly, and we long for
morning – for something, anything to distract us, to fill our emptiness.
Mary Magdalene is walking through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of Jerusalem. Neither the deep shadows nor the danger in venturing outside the city walls, of going alone into an area many people would avoid even in broad daylight is enough to
stop this disciple of Jesus. She is making her way to the tomb where she watched silently, from a distance as the body of Jesus was laid to rest. She has been faithful in accompanying Jesus ever since he turned her life around. She stayed by him, right near
the foot of the cross, through the nightmare of his execution. She is not about to abandon him now.
Imagine her shock when she finds that the stone which should be sealing the entrance to the cave has been rolled back. Her horror when she looks inside and discovers the tomb is empty; the body, gone. Now, Mary Magdalene is a woman in touch with
the ways of the world. She knows that the crucified are usually left hanging on the cross
to rot in the sun and be scavenged by birds – a warning to those who would make trouble for the Roman Empire; a final insult to the condemned. She quite naturally jumps to
the conclusion that someone, unhappy with Pilate’s acceding to the request of Joseph
of Arimathea to give Jesus a decent burial, has stolen the corpse. This is the last straw.
Mary Magdalene has already lost so much – her leader, teacher, friend, the one who
helped her find purpose and meaning for her life. Now, she cannot even make this tomb
into a shrine – a place where she can come to still feel close to Jesus, and show her ongoing devotion.
3
Peter, and the other disciple – the one whom Jesus loved – may run to the tomb;
inspect its emptiness, then turn around and leave, but Mary Magdalene cannot tear herself away. Bereft, she continues to stand there, tears sliding down her cheeks. She is
weeping as Jesus wept outside the tomb of his friend Lazarus, as you and I have wept
at a time of loss or when our lives have taken some sudden unexpected, unwanted, unwelcome turn. Over the years, we may have been told that tears are useless: they cannot and do not change anything. We didn’t need the 1985 pop song “Tears Are Not
Enough” to remind us that more is needed than weeping in the face of crises like the
then famine in Ethiopia or the present ones in Ethiopia, Nigeria, Yemen and South Sudan. But tears do offer emotional release. Scientifically, it has been shown that when we
cry, stress hormones are expelled. The parasympathetic nervous system is activated
and the body restored to a state of balance. It can be hard to watch someone we love
cry – we may want to rush in with a hug and a “there, there”; we may long to do something to fix things and make them feel better. We may ourselves feel embarrassed when
in church, tears start to roll down our cheeks because a hymn has reminded us of a
loss, a prayer or story has touched our hearts. But tears can be wonderfully healing.
Mary Magdalene is weeping. Through her tears, in the half light of morning, Mary
Magdalene sees a figure. Given the place, she assumes it must be the gardener. Instead of walking by, pretending not to notice – the usual response of commuters when
someone starts sobbing on a bus or in a subway car. Instead of dismissing her as some
sort of hysterical woman, not worth his time or attention. This person stays and asks her
a question: “woman, why are you weeping?” This question opens the door for conversa-
4
tion, and invites her to put into words what she wants, what she needs. And Mary Magdalene does just that: “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid
him, and I will take him away.” However unrealistic it is to think she can single-handedly
retrieve Jesus’ body, that is exactly what she would like to do.
The response she gets to her quite reasonable request is not what she expects.
It is one word, “Mary”. Her name spoken with warmth, compassion and love; spoken by
the one who describes himself as the good shepherd who knows each and every one of
his sheep. With that word, her universe explodes. She thought she knew what she was
looking for – a limp, lifeless corpse, last seen anointed with spices and shrouded in linen
cloths. But somehow, life has triumphed over death; good, over evil; love, over hate. In
awe and wonder, Mary breathes a single word: “Rabboni” Our English word “teacher”
doesn’t do justice to the Hebrew. With “Rabboni” on her lips, Mary Magdalene is naming
him as the formative figure in her life, as the most loved and respected of people.
Instinctively, Mary Magdalene reaches out to Jesus, to hold onto him. Much as a
mother, reunited with a lost child, wraps her arms around him. Much as at the Toronto
airport, long parted family members hug as if they will never, ever let go. But wonderful
as is this moment of encounter, beautiful as is this garden in the soft, scented warmth of
springtime, Mary Magdalene is not to stay here, clinging to this experience. Anymore
than we are to spend our lives in sanctuaries like this one beautifully decorated for
Easter, singing “alleluias”. Mary Magdalene has a job to do. She is to be a witness to
the risen Christ. She is to become the first apostle, that is, “sent one”. She will, in fact,
become the Apostle to the Apostles as she shares the good news with the other disciples.
5
Her tears of grief are turned into joy; her despair, into hope. Without hesitation,
she announces to the rest of Jesus’ followers: “I have seen the Lord.” The exact shape
of her future is unclear: all Mary Magdalene knows for certain is that it will not be a return to the familiar pattern of the past. Her life has been forever changed. But Mary is
not afraid. Not after her Garden encounter.
Today, we come not to pay homage to some dead religious hero, not to remember a good person who once lived, once taught in a place far from here, in a time long
ago. We are gathered in the presence of the risen Christ. Like Mary Magdalene, may
we be transformed into heralds of good news. Goodness is stronger than evil. Love is
stronger than hate. Life is stronger than death. Thanks be to God. Amen