|
None other than my good friend
David Crumm reported on the front page of Friday’s Free
Press: “Christians Reach Beyond Easter Uproar to Find
Hope.” He writes: “Easter, Christianity’s cornerstone, is at
hand and nearly 200 million Americans say they plan to go to
church. But the central meaning of the holiday is more hotly
debated than at any other time in American history.”
David refers to The Da
Vinci Code (and by the way, he will be with us the night
of our Da Vinci Code theater party), the buzz about
the Gospel of Judas, theologians like Marcus Borg and their
speculations on the validity of the resurrection, and then
he quotes a Mr. Galliard, Clinton Township, who says: “Such
speculation about Easter is so confusing to people that
there is real danger that it could steal or destroy people’s
faith.” (Detroit Free Press, April 14, 2006)
Frankly, I doubt it. Easter
faith has withstood two thousand years of speculation and
conflict, and still remains the bulwark of Christian life.
From the first days until now, and even between the Gospel
writers and witnesses themselves, there has always
been criticism and confusion, speculation and debate. But at
least two facts are consistent:
1.
The tomb was empty.
2. Mary Magdalene was there.
We don’t know much about Mary.
She was from Magdela, one of the small villages around the
sea of Galilee. Luke says she was one of the band of
faithful women who traveled with the disciples, providing
for them out of their own means: Mary, Joanna, Susanna. They
were the unsung women of faith and courage whose lives had
been radically changed by the love of Christ. They worked
along with the disciples, and Luke says they actually funded
the mission of Jesus and the twelve out of their own
resources. (Luke 8:2-3)
Luke, the physician, also
records that Jesus had healed her, casting out seven demons.
We don’t know just what that meant, but whatever the mix of
physical aliments, emotional struggles and spiritual
depression, Jesus had set her free and given her a new lease
on life, to the point that one Bible commentary says, “No
one ever loved Jesus as much as Mary.”
You don’t have to read into the
accounts a romantic affair or secret marriage to appreciate
her eloquent words from Jesus Christ Superstar:
I don’t know how to love him
I’ve been changed, yes, really changed
In these last few days, when I’ve seen myself
I seem like someone else.
What a witness to the
transforming power of God’s love and grace, and the impact
Jesus can have on a person’s life. Little wonder she
followed Jesus, fed the disciples, cared for their needs and
funded their mission, all the while listening to his
teaching, serving his life, growing closer and closer to the
Christ. Little wonder she followed…all the way to the
cross.
Frankly, the women have a better
record here than the men. All the disciples except John
skedaddled when the going got rough. But Jesus’ mother, Mary
Magdalene and the other women were there. They saw the
brutality. They bore witness to the tragedy. They saw him
die. They watched in sorrow as the men lowered his broken
body from the bloody cross. And they stood by silently as
his lifeless form was hastily laid in a borrowed tomb.
It was late Friday afternoon,
sunset approaching, and with it the start of the Sabbath
when no work could be done. Quickly, they rolled his body in
linen, then watched as the great stone—like a sliding door
in its groove—was placed across the entrance and marked with
a royal seal. And Mary’s love followed him all the way to
the grave.
So the
sunset came, and with it the Sabbath calm, passing through
what I am sure was a sleepless night and a day of reclusive
mourning.
You’ve been there, haven’t
you? Been there with a family and circle of closely-knit
friends in days like this?
Sitting around the dining room
table, then moving toward the family room, sort of bumping
into each other, no one quite knowing what to say. Then
someone says, “Remember when he…” and it trails off into
choked tears or warm laughter which brings on its own tears.
Another recalls, “Ah, you know I used to love it when…” And
another, “I’ll never forget the time…”
The long hours passed and the
sunset of Saturday brought the end of the Sabbath. Once
again, the dark of night settled in, but now there was,
gratefully, something to do, some work to be done—gathering
the spices which will be used to cover the stench of the
decomposing body, folding and refolding the remaining grave
cloths, making ready for the dawn.
And finally, John says, “On the
first day of the week, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb
early…while it was still dark…,” probably somewhere between
3:00 and 6:00 a.m.
Oh,
the extravagance of Mary’s love.
First she funded his mission and
cared for his disciples. Then she stood by helplessly
enduring the hours on the cross, the agony of his death. She
followed him to the grave and held vigil through the two
sleepless nights. And now, early in the morning while it was
still dark, she comes to prepare his body for its final
rest, the last drop of compassion she can give for the one
who had given himself for her.
Imagine her walking into the
dimness of the garden in the pre-dawn light. Imagine her
eyes tired with too many tears. Imagine her exhausted,
grief-wearied mind, trying to cut through the early morning
fog to find her way to the tomb. And when she finally gets
near enough to see, all she can see through the pre-dawn
shadow is the stone rolled away.
Now
don’t get ahead of yourself in the story.
I know you know the end of the
story, or you probably wouldn’t be here this morning. But
just for a moment, put yourself in her place. Her first
thought was not “Resurrection,” it was “Desecration.” Her
first reaction was not “God at work,” but “Grave robbers at
work.” Her first response was not “He Is Risen,” it was “He
is stolen.” So she runs back across town, through the still
silent streets to Peter and John (still in hiding, mind you,
or still in bed perhaps!) and shouts, “They have taken away
the Lord and I don’t know where to find him.”
Now it’s John and Peter’s turn
to sprint. They take off running back to the garden and the
tomb. John must have been spending more time on the
treadmill. He was in better shape, so he outran Peter and
got there first, but impetuous Peter dashes right past him
and barges into the empty tomb. Remember, Peter had failed
his Lord in the courtyard where he had denied him three
times. He has had all weekend to think about it, and now he
is determined not to fail him again. The least he can do is
protect his grave. They see the empty grave cloths and run
back to tell the other disciples.
Whew…I don’t know about you, but all this running back and
forth has worn me out!
Mary finally catches up and
passes them on the way. Now she is really exhausted.
Remember, this is her third trip this morning. Her eyes are
blurred by weeping, her heart broken by tragedy compounded
by treachery, her senses numb from all that has happened.
And John says with such powerful understatement: “Mary stood
weeping outside the tomb.”
She sees two witnesses who ask
her the question of the morning: “Woman, why are you
weeping?” She is beyond caring who they are at this point.
The only thing that matters is the stunning question and the
obvious answer: “Because they have taken away my
Lord, and I don’t know where they have laid him.”
And
once again…we’ve all been there, haven’t we?
Standing beside an open grave
which has taken away our loved one, standing beside an open
pain which has sapped our strength, standing beside the tomb
of broken dreams and failed hopes, standing beside a broken
world that seems bent on its own destruction—a world of too
many crosses, too much brutality and war, hunger and strife,
a world full of weeping. Like Mary, we stand by weeping,
because we simply don’t know what else to do and we don’t
have a clue as to where to go.
Then the question is asked a
second time by one she assumes to be the gardener: “Woman,
why are you weeping?” “Oh,” she says, “if you have taken him
away, tell me where you have laid him and I will come and
take him away.”
Once again…all you can say is:
“Look at the extravagance of Mary’s love.” Mary, Mary, Mary,
do you really think you could handle the dead weight of a
corpse by yourself? And even if you could, what would you do
with him, where would you take him?
Then
it happens.
It has been called “the
greatest recognition scene in literature.” It is one of the
most eloquent and exquisitely beautiful scenes in all of
scripture, and I dare to say one of the most touching
moments in all of the literature of humankind across the
ages, even more beautiful because it is told in such simple
understatement. Years ago, on an Easter morning during my
college days, I heard Dr. David Seamands preach on this
text. When he got to this point, he asked, “What is the
sweetest sound in the world?” He responded to his own
question that an egotist might say, “The sound of your own
name.” But then Dr. Seamands said:
Ah, better than that. Better
than just the sound of your own name. The sweetest sound in
all the world is when God, the great God of the universe, he
who by a word created the stars and flung the planets into
their unerring orbits, the God who scooped out the Grand
Canyon with his fingertips and spat out the seven seas; when
this great God comes to visit our planet and speaks your
name…yes, when God calls your own name: MARY.
(Dr. David Seamands,
“Mary of Magdala,”
Wilmore Methodist Church, April
14, 1968)
What wouldn’t you give this
morning to have a CD of just that one word—“Mary”? The same
old inflection. The loving sound of his familiar voice which
she thought had been silenced forever. The warmth, the
intonation. The same greeting she had heard a hundred times,
now more precious than all the gold in the world. He called
her by name—“Mary”—and that was all it took!
Now she is off running again.
Remember, this is her fourth time to make this trip. She’s
becoming quite a sprinter this morning! Somebody clock up
her miles in the CLC! She runs back to the house with the
word: “I have seen the Lord.” What a difference! She came to
bury a dead Christ…she leaves to proclaim a Risen Lord. She
came weeping for her dead Messiah…she leaves worshiping a
Living Savior. She came to mourn…she leaves to praise.
The story is told of two
Frenchmen who had lived for many years in England. Finally,
one of them decided to become a British subject. So he went
to the courts, met the requirements and took the oath. The
magistrate shook his hand and said, “Welcome. You are now a
British citizen.” His friend was there, and when it was all
over he asked him: “Well, what difference does it make?” And
the new Brit smiled for a moment and said, “Yes, there is
one big difference. Yesterday Waterloo was a defeat…today
it’s a victory!” (Dr David Seamands, April 14, 1968)
Yesterday the cross was a defeat
and death. Today it is the sign of victory and eternal life.
Yesterday the Jesus story was one of sorrow and remorse.
Today it is a song of hope and promise. Yesterday Mary was
weeping for a dead Jesus. Today she runs to tell the good
news: “I have seen the Lord.”
Frankly…I don’t know why you
have come this morning. I don’t know why you are weeping,
what burden you carry, what grief might be weighing you
down, what fear or despair might be hidden under your Easter
bonnet. But I do know that the Living Christ stands ready to
call you by name. The eternal God stands by to give you hope
and courage and faith once again. The redeeming Savior who
has been, literally, to hell and back for your sake offers
his loving word and healing embrace. Mary, John, Peter;
Johanna, Thomas, James; Roger, Jane, William; Barbara,
Brandon, Bridget; Simon, Sarah, Sam. He calls us by name. He
heals us in his grace. He offers us new life.
Lo! Jesus meets thee, risen from
the tomb;
lovingly he greets thee, scatters fear and gloom.
Let the church with gladness hymns of triumph sing,
for her Lord now liveth; death has lost its sting.
Thine be the glory, risen, conquering Son;
endless is the victory thou o’er death hast won.
(United
Methodist Hymnal, page 308)
Note: Let me add a personal
word. As the pastor of the Wilmore Methodist Church,
Wilmore, Kentucky, during my years at Asbury College and
Asbury Theological Seminary, Dr. David Seamands influenced a
generation of preachers. I am grateful to have a copy of
the 1968 Easter sermon quoted here, and am indebted to him
for his influence on my life and preaching.
|
