“Easter Fullness”
John 20:1-18
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
Easter Sunrise
4/1/18
John 20:1-10
Early
on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to
the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. 2So
she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus
loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do
not know where they have laid him.”
3Then
Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. 4The
two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the
tomb first. 5He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings
lying there, but he did not go in.
6Then
Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen
wrappings lying there, 7and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head,
not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself.
8Then
the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and
believed; 9for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he
must rise from the dead. 10Then the disciples returned to their
homes. (NRSV)
In his version of Easter morning,
John places Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and the mysterious disciple “whom
Jesus loved” at the tomb. Arriving first, Mary Magdalene discovers that Jesus’
grave has been disturbed and that his body has been removed. Distressed over
what she logically assumes is a case of grave robbery, Mary runs to Peter and
the other disciple to tell them that “they” have moved Jesus’s body. In John, “they”
refers to the leaders of the Jews.
The two men run
to the tomb. They enter and discover that Mary’s story is no idle tale. But the
sight terrifies them. They fear that the Jewish leaders will come for them
next, so they hurry home, and by the end of the day, all the disciples are
locked inside one house.
What if those
ten verses were the end of John’s resurrection witness? To me, that terribly
unsatisfying ending would accurately describe the life offered by a
resurrection theology based on nothing but an empty tomb. If we base our faith
on an empty tomb alone, we’ll huddle together in locked sanctuaries, our individual
and corporate lives a tangle of bewilderment, distress, and selfish fear. Empty-tomb
theology is a theology of absence. There’s nothing gospel about it.
As the Church,
we’re not called to explain resurrection any more than the gospel writers do. None
of them even try to guess what happened in the tomb before the women arrive.
They simply describe the disciples’ experiences of the risen Jesus. They set
the example for proclaiming a living and present Christ, not an empty tomb.
It seems to
me, though, that one problem for the Church has been that an empty tomb is easier
and safer to deal with. A life defined by absence and scarcity is a lot less
demanding than a life of resurrection fullness. Empty-tomb theology allows for
a kind of divisive certainty that’s foreign to true spirituality. Empty-tomb theology
pits us against each other. And it fits on bumper stickers that say things
like, “God said it. I believe it. That settles it.”
Thanks be to God, resurrection
isn’t about an empty tomb. Resurrection is about the fullness of God’s ongoing self-revelation
in and for the creation. And Easter invites us into that revelation.
John 20:11-18
11But
Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into
the tomb; 12and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body
of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet.
13They
said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
She
said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have
laid him.”
14When
she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did
not know that it was Jesus.
15Jesus
said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”
Supposing
him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away,
tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”
16Jesus
said to her, “Mary!”
She
turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).
17Jesus
said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the
Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and
your Father, to my God and your God.’”
18Mary
Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she
told them that he had said these things to her. (NRSV)
When consumed by absence, Mary’s
eyes and heart are hollow and dark. And no one – least of all you and I – can
blame her. Her last memory of Jesus was of his execution on a Roman cross. And
it’s safe to assume that she knows all-too-well what dead looks like, and that
it’s usually a permanent condition.
One way to understand grief is to
see it as love that has lost its object. After a significant loss, that love must
find a new purpose, and we a new identity. Grief also hurts because we’ve lost
someone who loved us. That person knew us through-and-through, and still
cherished, trusted, and forgave us. They made life a more joyful and holy
experience.
Think about who that someone might
be for you, that person who has died, or whose death would cause you the kind
of grief that Mary Magdalene is feeling in the garden. Memories may be a source
of happiness, but nothing can replace his or her presence. Nothing can substitute
for hearing your name in that person’s voice.
“Mary!” says Jesus.
Mary doesn’t ask for an explanation.
Nor does she question herself. When she hears her name in that beloved voice, the
heavens open, and she recognizes Jesus.
“Rabbouni!” she says.
Don’t
touch me, says Jesus. I’m here, but not
like I used to be. I’m different. And while a lot is going to look, feel, and
sound the same, everything is different now, even you. In time you’ll begin to
understand. Now, go, and tell the others that there’s more to come.
Easter happens in the midst of grief,
loss, and fear, but it moves beyond them. And Easter doesn’t come with noise
and flashing lights. Easter creeps up on us in the speaking of our names, in
the reminders that we are known and loved more fully than we can imagine.
Easter doesn’t have to come to us
from beyond the grave, either. Because our theological tradition considers the
Kingdom of God a here-and-now reality, we can gratefully acknowledge how God
continually Easters us through people we can see and touch.
My dad has occupied a lot of my
time and energy over the last few years. And I’ve been preoccupied with
thoughts of him since his death two weeks ago. But Dad figured intimately if
not physically in what I consider an Easter moment that happened almost twenty-four
years ago.
As I’ve shared with you before, my
sister got me interested in working with dreams. And one of the central faith
claims of dreamwork is that dreams are gifts from God. They’re holy utterances
of love, affirmation, and healing.
It was August of 1994. I was about
to complete my supervised ministry at Timberridge Presbyterian Church in
McDonough, GA. It had been a great summer, a confirming experience. I had
preached and visited. I took trips with the youth. I’d been challenged and
mentored by a wonderful supervising pastor named Tom Bagley. And I’d been
embraced by a loving and very patient congregation.
Then, one night, in the depths of
sleep, the image of my dad appears. In the dream, Dad doesn’t speak. All he does
is smile and hand me a stole, the symbol of a pastor being yoked to Christ,
yoked to his or her vocation.
Dad was Thomas Allen Huff, Sr. He,
along with my mom, gave me not only life, but my name, Allen. God used Dad, the
one for whom I am named, to affirm my given name and my baptismal name.
Allen,
said God, I have chosen you to join those
who recognize the presence of Jesus in the world, and the need for his love,
justice, and peace. Go and tell Easter stories. Go, and tell people that
there’s more to come.
Even today, when I feel weary, when
I feel disconnected from all that once felt holy and beautiful, when I feel
like nothing more than an empty tomb, that dream wriggles into my
consciousness. It speaks my name, and it renews me.
Easter is about God’s naming and
calling fullness. And perhaps we feel it most powerfully when we share it, when
we stand with and speak the names of those who grieve, who hurt, who hunger, and
who continue to work for justice in a world enslaved to the empty tombs of violence
and greed.
This day and all days, may you hear
your name spoken in some new way, some way that reminds you of your holiness
and of your Beloved-ness of God.
May you see it in others, and with
the voice of Christ, may you name it for them.
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