Sunday, April 9, 2023

Resurrection Sunday (Easter), April 9 – Bystanders at the Resurrection

Mary was standing outside the tomb crying, and as she wept, she stooped and looked in.  She saw two white-robed angels, one sitting at the head and the other at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus had been lying. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” the angels asked her. (John 20: 11 -13, New Living Translation)

            The last time we saw Mary Magdalene, she was with the women who had set up watch outside Jesus’ tomb (Matthew 27:61). Eventually, probably, weariness overcame her and she went home, intending, as we see, to come back early in the morning. Or maybe, the guards at the tomb chased her away.

However, it was still dark when she approached the tomb. Luke tells us that the women were coming to the tomb with more spices for the body.  How they were going to move the huge stone that blocked the tomb was beyond them. Perhaps, Mary was the first to arrive.

It was dark. The stone had been rolled away. The body was missing. The logical conclusion that she came to was that someone had stolen Jesus’ body.

Let’s just stop right there for a moment.

We all are in the dark as to what exactly happened overnight before Easter morning. We have returned to the tomb, expecting one thing, and are stunned by what we see or don’t see. We haven’t any idea how to roll away stones and boulders which block our path and sight, and, yet, we discover that they are gone, just the same. We try to arrive at logical, rational, feasible conclusions to explain the first impressions of our experience.  

It's hard. It is enough to make one cry.

Why are we crying? We weep as if it couldn’t get any worse, but it has. Even angels can’t dissuade us from the evidence that someone has stolen or removed the body of Jesus and hid it elsewhere.

Why are we crying? Because the ignominy of death is deepened by his absence from the tomb, where he was supposed to be, where he was meant to be, where he was dead to rights to be.

Why are we crying? “They took my Master,” she said, “and I don’t know where they put him.”

There is always a thorny problem when we don’t know or understand where Jesus is.

But like Mary, we need to stop staring at an empty tomb and see who stands behind us. We need to stop allowing death to set the agenda and hear the voice which speaks our name.  We need to trust the promises he made and recognize the One who made them in the first place.

“I saw the Master!” (John 20:18, TMB)

No more crying!

Instead, there he is, the reality of the Resurrection standing before us. Perhaps, it takes a moment or two for the truth to sink in.  Our focus was on the tomb, but now it needs to be upon the Risen One.

It seems appropriate that this revelation take place in a garden. All of Creation began with an ideal Garden which humanity tossed away in sin.  Scriptures also end with a Garden, restored, complete, where “never again will anything be cursed.”  (Revelation 22:3, TMB) The Risen Lord stands in the middle of those two gardens and reveals new Hope, new Joy, new Possibilities, new Life.

“I saw the Master!”  

He is the beginning of that journey to all that God intends for us. “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.” (Revelation 22:13, NLT)

“I saw the Master!”

These words are the words of faith, discipleship and assurance. These are the words of the Way, the Truth and the Life. These are the words of those of us who dare believe in something so incredibly outrageous and preposterous as Resurrection. Something so radical. Something so provocative. Something so contrary to the laws of nature. Something that is thrilling beyond all measure.

“I saw the Master!” 

            Use your words this Resurrections Sunday. Who do you see?

            I come to the garden alone
            While the dew is still on the roses
            And the voice I hear, falling on my ear
            The Son of God discloses

            And He walks with me, and He talks with me
            And He tells me I am His own
            And the joy we share as we tarry there
            None other has ever known

 Dale

 

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