Sermon for April 20, 2025
Resurrection of Our Lord/Easter Sunday
John 20:1-18
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
Mary Magdelene arrived at the tomb in grief—her friend had died two days before. She had learned from him, supported him. And now he was dead. Of the many people who had, been helped by him, even followed him, it was only Mary and a few others who stood at the foot of the cross to bear witness to the punishment he endured. “It is finished” were the last words she heard Jesus say. Such finality; such trauma. Grief.
Mary Magdalene arrived in fear—Jesus had refused to act in violence or coercion, yet he was deemed a threat. Just a week earlier, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate entered the city on a warhorse, with armed soldiers beside him. He always did this before the Passover, to assert his authority and remind the Jewish people that they may once have escaped from slavery in Egypt, but that doesn’t mean they should get any big ideas about rising up against the mighty Roman Empire. [https://www.nytimes.com/2025/04/13/opinion/palm-sunday-protest.html]
At the same time as Pilate’s show of force, Jesus was entering Jerusalem on a humble donkey, representing an alternative to Rome, an upside-down kingdom where his authority comes not from might-makes-right, but from the crowds waving palm branches to support him, while shouting “Hosanna!” (meaning “Save us!”—a plea for help); followed by “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (an expression of confidence in God’s power to save). But as Mary arrived at the tomb, this confidence had been shattered. Who would save us now? What will happen to us if they went so far as to crucify Jesus? Fear.
She arrived in shadows. It was early on that first day of the week—the third day since the crucifixion. It was so early that it was still dark. Mary had observed the Passover festival just the day before, which always took place on a full moon. This meant the moon was still almost full early that morning, to guide her steps to the garden where Jesus’ tomb was located. Enough light to see, but dark enough to hide. The shadows matched her emotions of grief and fear as she began the difficult journey towards acceptance—that her Lord and Teacher was gone. Not just hers, but their Lord and Teacher, as well—the other women and the Beloved Disciple who stood with them at the cross, as well as the 12 disciples who shared a Last Supper with Jesus. They all had to accept that he was gone now; died on a cross, sealed up in a tomb—and they were powerless to change it.
When Mary arrived at the tomb her grief, fear, and shadows were soon met by something else—confusion! The stone had been removed from the entrance to the tomb. That wasn’t supposed to happen. And who would have done such a thing on the Passover, no less? It could only mean one thing, she thought: “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” This is what she said after running back to the city to tell Peter and the Beloved Disciple. Mary didn’t know it yet—but she had just preached the first Easter sermon, the first proclamation of the Empty Tomb.
Peter and the Beloved Disciple threw caution aside and ran, in darkness and shadow, to reach the tomb and see what in the world she was talking about. The Beloved Disciple gets there first, bends down, looks in, and sees linen cloth just lying there. No sign of the body, no disturbance of the linen that had been so carefully wrapped around the body along with the spices used for embalming. Peter, true to form, just rushes in. He sees the linen wrappings, and the cloth that had been covering Jesus’ head just rolled up and placed by itself. They join Mary in confusion, because (as the gospel tells us), “they did not yet understand the scriptures, that he must rise from the dead.” Yet even though he did not understand, the Beloved Disciple saw the Empty Tomb and believed—believed that whatever in the world had just happened, somehow it meant that God was saying “YES” to Jesus and his way of life, and “NO” to the ways of sin and death (the ways that Pontius Pilate represented).
When Mary finally takes her turn to bend down and look in, there are two angels sitting where Jesus’ body had been laid. They weren’t there a minute ago. It goes to show: heaven and earth are not far apart; they’re right next to each other. And when they ask why she is weeping, once again Mary proclaims the Empty Tomb: “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” I do not know. When she confesses her lack of understanding, that is precisely when she sees Jesus standing there. Maybe it’s the darkness and shadows, or maybe it’s the tears from grief and trauma; but she supposes he’s the gardener. It’s a reasonable assumption, since they are standing in a garden. And she’s more correct that she realizes—because Jesus is the gardener in the garden of God’s new creation! God is growing new life out of death, with Jesus becoming the “first fruits” harvested from the future that God is preparing for us. A new world is on its way!
And Mary catches a glimpse of this new world when Jesus speaks her name: “Mary!” “Teacher,” she replies, not in understanding but in recognition. She recognizes that the risen Jesus is the one who can teach her to understand how to lean in to the faith that is beginning to kindle within her. When she goes back to the disciples she announces: “I have seen the Lord.” Mary Magdalene becomes the first Apostle—the Apostle to the Apostles—because she is the first one to be sent by Christ with the message of his new and living presence in the world.
She does not yet proclaim that “Jesus is risen” (not yet), only that she has seen him; that somehow he is alive on the other side of death, and they’ve got to figure out what this means. Mary Magdelene, and Peter, and the Beloved Disciples, and all the disciples how inhabit the gray area of faith seeking understanding—they live somewhere between the confusion of all they’ve just seen and experienced, and the new reality that is emerging in the risen Christ: where forgiveness is more powerful than sin, and God’s promises more powerful than death.
We live in this gray area with them, a lot of the time. Not that we want to, because it’s uncomfortable and usually against our own will; but whatever gray area you may inhabit: whether it’s confusion, or lack of understanding about which path to take; a scary diagnosis or an approaching death; a job loss, or instability handed to you when you’ve worked so hard to succeed; whether it’s pain, trauma, or the foundation you thought you were secure on starts to crumble beneath your feet; whatever the case may be, it’s when the old ways of being just don’t seem to “work” anymore. It’s a gray area.
We can’t force our way into new life—we can only get there with God’s help, by faith. And faith starts, like it did for Mary Magdelene and the Beloved Disciple, by trusting that somehow the living and risen Christ is present. And then the next step: asking yourself “where have I seen the Lord?” Like Mary Magdalene, that’s where we must start.
Where have you seen the presence of the Lord? Was it in compassion towards someone’s weakness, suffering, or death—that’s a sign of the cross. Or in a new baby’s birth—that’s a sign of the Incarnation. Was it in kindness offered by helping someone with no expectation of reward—a sign of the New Commandment, to love one another as Jesus first loved us. Or, in people coming together across their differences—a sign of Holy Communion. Maybe in forgiveness, healing, and new beginnings—a sign of Baptism. Or in awe at the beauty and wonder of the world—a sign of God’s creative power. Or was it in reaching beyond yourself to the connections we have with God and all creation—a sign of prayer.
Where have you seen the Lord? As you look with Mary Magdalene to catch a glimpse of God’s new creation in Christ, make sure to listen for how Jesus speaks your name! Amen. Alleluia!