While It Was Still Dark

A Sermon inspired by John 20:1-18 for Easter Sunday 2020

While it was still dark. It’s always stood out to me that Mary Magdalene makes her way to the tomb under the cover of darkness. Yesterday morning right before dawn, I spent time outside in the crisp, cool spring air. I could still see the moon in the sky. I could hear the birds begin to sing in the trees around me. I could see in the distance the fog on the lake in my neighborhood. The earth, silent and still. Waiting for morning to come.

Yet for Mary, even if she had waited for the sun to rise, her sadness, her grief, her distress over the death of her close friend Jesus would have made the day like night for her. Her life had been continuous night, unending darkness since Jesus died two days ago. Indeed, even creation had joined in her weeping and wailing, covering itself in darkness, the sun refusing to shine, as Jesus hung on the cross, dying. For Mary Magdalene, for the other women, for Jesus’ closest friends, for his disciples, for those who had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel, the Messiah…that sun may have risen on that Sunday, but for them, the darkness had not ended.

One of the moments I cherish each Easter is watching the sunrise as I prepare to make my way to an early morning worship celebration of the resurrection. I’ve celebrated that Easter sunrise in many places. In the garden of home church, near a tree I planted with my Confirmation class as a sign of our faith in Jesus and our choice to spend our lives serving God. I’ve celebrated the Easter sunrise in a prison, gathered with women whose hope and joy are truly found in the Lord because, for some of them, faith in Jesus’ power over sin and death is the only thing have to hold on to. Last year, I celebrated the Easter sunrise with our community, with Christians from all over Adamsville and beyond, different denominations gathered together to proclaim the truth we all hold in common…He is risen! Hallelujah! Amen!

The Easter sunrise doesn’t feel like a celebration for me this year, though. I won’t see our sanctuary full with family and friends gathered together with bright smiles. I won’t hear your voices ringing out in song about Jesus’ victory. I won’t get to lay my hands on you, hold on to you, hug you as we celebrate the peace Christ brings into our lives this day. Even with the sun fully rising in the sky, there will still be this feeling of darkness covering the earth.

Yet, because this Easter will be different for all of us, because it will be unlike any other Easter we have ever experienced, we are getting a firsthand glimpse into what Mary Magdalene and the other disciples were feeling on that very first Easter morning. Jesus’ followers are scattered, grieving, living in fear. The disciples, well at least ten of the twelve, are locked away behind closed doors, afraid, petrified really, that the Roman authorities will be knocking down the door of their hiding hole at any moment now, deciding that Jesus’ death was just the beginning, and that to squash the insurrection they believe he was leading, they need to take out the next major threat—his followers.  And Mary is walking, alone, in the dark, towards death.

Even though John’s Gospel has told us twice that Jesus’ body has been prepared for burial, once when Mary of Bethany, Lazarus’s sister, anointed Jesus’ feet with expensive perfume, and again when Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus buried his body in seventy-five pounds of myrrh, aloe, and spices, wrapping him in linen cloths…still, Mary makes her way, alone, to the tomb to care for Jesus’ body, to anoint him again…because maybe she doesn’t what else to do. And it is still dark.

Perhaps, more than ever, we know how Mary is feeling in the garden that day. When death has become not only your intimate friend, but a visitor to your whole world, what else can you do? When your friend, your rabbi, your teacher, your hope has died, where else do you go, but to the place where his body has been laid, to the tomb, to the graveside, to check on the work that death has done?

For over a month in our own nation, and for more than three months across the world, we have been in the business of checking on the work that death has done. The death toll from this virus rises daily. We all know of someone, by now, someone who we can name who has passed away because of COVID-19 complications.

We may not know them personally. Maybe they are a family member of an acquaintance or a friend of a friend. For me, I have two friends who have had a family member or close friend pass away. A third friend has an uncle in ICU right now. This past week, we mourned as a nation the death of legendary folk singer/songwriter John Prine.

And, of course, deaths unrelated to this pandemic continue to come. Jack Coffman, a beloved, life-long member of Adamsville FUMC, and G.W. Turnbow from Mt. Vinson, a friend and supporter from afar, have both gone on to glory.

And the ways that we would normally process these losses, how we would gather to celebrate their lives, worship God, and comfort the families and one another have been significantly altered, doubling our collective grief.

Usually, I can run with joy towards the Easter sunrise, because I know there is more joy waiting on the other side. Yet when Mary runs away from the empty tomb the first time, she is not running towards the sunrise with joy.

Jesus’ body is gone! Grave robbers have taken him, or worse, soldiers have stolen his lifeless body to desecrate even further. How much more pain and grief and humiliation can Mary take?!

Peter and the beloved Disciple come and confirm what Mary has seen. Jesus’ body is indeed gone. They leave, having believed what Mary told them this time. But Mary…Mary, she stays. Full of grief and terror, she stays. She stays to be a witness to this tragedy like she stayed near the cross. Weeping and fully present to this moment, she stays.

And though, when the angels show up and Jesus comes to find her, they ask her why she is weeping, they don’t tell her to dry her tears. They don’t rebuke her grief. They join her and stay with her in her grief until she is able to recognize her risen Savior.

So, on this Easter Sunday, dear ones, you have full permission to feel both sadness and joy, anger and happiness, fear and relief. The Jesus who wept at the tomb of Lazarus doesn’t begrudge Mary her own tears and emotions as she now weeps by his grave. You don’t have to pretend that everything is okay, just because it is Easter. You don’t have to put on a brave face. You don’t have to grin and bear it. You can weep.

Weep for the empty sanctuary. 

Weep for the graduating seniors missing out on their last days and memories and celebrations. 

Weep for the loved ones lonely in nursing homes that we can’t visit. Weep for the healthcare teams and essential workers risking their lives. Weep for those who have died and for their families. 

Weep because you are angry. 

Weep because you are exhausted. 

Weep because you are bored. 

You can weep.

And the good news, the gospel promise, is that in your weeping Jesus will meet you and call out your name. Like he did for Mary, Jesus will come find you in your little corner of the world, and, beloved, HE WILL CALL OUT YOUR NAME!

With her name, in one word, Jesus not only surprises Mary with the powerful work of God defeating death…he makes it personal for her! For Mary, for you, for me…Jesus went to hell and back. God battled Death and won! Jesus paid it all for our sins, but his love was too strong for the grave to hold him down. And so, even in our weeping, we sing because CHRIST IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN, INDEED! ALLELUIA!

In our rejoicing, we like Mary want to hug Jesus around the neck, to hang onto our Savior, our Hope, our Joy, our reason to sing through the tears. I imagine Jesus gently taking Mary’s hands, detangling her arms from around his frame, looking in her eyes as he says, “Mary, you can’t hold on to me. You have a job to do. You have a story to tell. You have hope to share. I am risen. I was dead, but now I am alive. Mary, go tell the world.”

And now, Mary runs from the tomb with joy that cannot be contained, with hope bursting at the seams, with purpose as a disciple restored. The empty tomb that caused her weeping now brings to her eyes what my mama calls happy tears.

Mary becomes the first preacher to preach the good news of the resurrection. Her sermon to her fellow disciples, “I have seen the Lord!”

And that is our good news to share, too, today. We have seen the stone rolled away. We have seen the tomb is empty. We have heard Jesus call our name. Just as Mary could not, neither can we remain in the garden, clinging to Jesus. We have a job to do. A story to tell. Yes, it will be difficult. Our world, filled to the brim with darkness and death in this moment, may not be ready to hear, to believe that there can be, that there will be life after death. The disciples didn’t believe Mary at first either. But, still, she went, and she was faithful to share the message the risen Jesus gave her.

So, share the good news, friends! 

Christ is RISEN FROM THE DEAD! 

Preach the gospel with your lives, because through the resurrection we know that the worst things that can happen to us—disappointment, disease, death—they will never be the last thing!

Christ’s victory is our story, now!

His love is our song!

Tell someone!

And, the world may not understand, they may not have the ears to hear the message we bring…but, take heart, friends, the sun is about to rise.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.