It was two days later…really the third day if you count the day it happened. Mary came early to the tomb. Not Mary his mother, mind you. She was too exhausted. She would come later. This was Mary of Magdala, the one they called Mary Magdalene. She came with Peter and John and a few other women. She wanted to get there early because there had been so little time to prepare the body before the Sabbath…and there were rumors everywhere about his body being stolen away. She knew there would be guards at the tomb, but guards could be bribed. Besides, she had had almost no sleep the last two days. She might as well go and help. But she, too, was tired; more tired than she could remember. Friday had been so awful. And now it was over. He was gone. They had killed him. The religious leaders and the Romans had gotten together and framed him and killed him and now it was over. She had thought, she really had thought that…oh well, it didn’t really matter now what she had thought. They had crucified him. But she loved him for who he was and for his kindness and caring. The least she could do was to honor his body now. So she went with the others to the tomb, wiping tears away as she went.
As the women neared the tomb, they saw no guards. And even in the dark, they could tell that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. Mary was scared. She had gone on ahead with the women, but now ran back to fetch the others. She knew without seeing and she told them that “they had taken him away, that we do not know where he is.” Peter and John broke into a run. John, younger and smaller, arrived first at the tomb. He looked in and saw only linen cloths. Peter caught up. Never one to stand on ceremony, the impulsive Peter entered the tomb, with John following. The cloths lay there as though their occupant had just gotten up and shed them without movement, as though the body of Jesus had just evaporated out of them. 1 The face cloth lay neatly folded to the side. John knew. He saw and believed. Without exchanging a word that could be heard, they left and returned home.
Poor Mary. The men had looked in and confirmed her fears and yet had said nothing to her. In a way she understood. The last two days had seen a lot of silence and the disciples and the faithful had hidden in that upper room, trying to absorb what had happened and what sort of danger they faced. She knew they were confused and scared. Only a few days ago, they all thought they were following the Messiah promised by the prophets. And now…now he was crucified and they were alone again. She had never felt as alone as she did right now. She could not stop crying.
Mary stooped to look in the tomb. Two angels sat where Jesus’ body had lain. They asked her why she was crying. She repeated her words to the two disciples: “they haven taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” She turned around and there was another man. He asked her the same thing: “Woman, why are you weeping?” Thinking he was the gardener, she thought maybe he had seen or done something with the body. She asked and he said to her: “Mary.” She turned and this time she saw him. He talked to her, telling her to return and tell the story to the disciples. She went to them declaring “I have seen the Lord.” John leaves the rest to our imagination as he has much more ground to cover. But I linger, thinking about Mary…how her mood, her countenance, her entire life had changed in an instant. “I have seen the Lord,” she said, and for her at that moment, that said it all.
Have you seen the Lord? I certainly hope so. I have seen the Lord, although I fear I have not seen him nearly as much as he has seen me. He is everywhere and yet more often than not I see only the man in my mirror. I am like Mary of Magdala, so self absorbed, whether it be in my responsibilities or my family or my grief…that I cannot see he who stands in plain view.
I am not alone. I am in good company. I am joined by churchgoers all over the planet who think God is an hour a week on Sunday morning. I am joined by Pharisees and Sadducees and scribes and high priests and scientists and philosophers and even the great apostle Paul. They all stood and looked either directly at him or at the incontrovertible evidence of him and saw him not.
Have you seen the Lord? I have seen him in the eyes of my wife when she ministered to our children over these many years; children not born of her but no less part of her than if they had come from her own womb. I have seen him in the hands of nursery and childcare workers and teachers and school bus drivers looking after the children in their charge. I have seen him in the arms of first responders pulling crash victims from harm’s way. I have seen him in the hugs of soldiers and sailors and airmen as they bear hardships together. I have heard him in the same way that Mary Magdalene did in the phrase of a hymn sung in worship. I have felt the warmth of his presence through friends and family and church family. I have seen the Lord and I hope you have too.
Have you seen the Lord? If you’re not sure, look around. He is sitting in your pew. He is sitting on your lap. He is leaning his head against your hip as he settles in for the message. He is calling to you in these hymns. He is reaching out to you in these Scriptures as though it might be your name he is calling rather than Mary Magdalene. Have you seen the Lord, because if you haven’t, look up. Look here to the cross and see the Lord anew, as if for the first time. To see the Lord means we have to turn away from the tomb. We cannot see him if our eyes are upon the grave, for he is not there. He lives and he stands before us in glory with his hand out, waiting for us to see.
He called her by name and then she saw him. Perhaps it was just the dawn beginning to break. Perhaps it was that she finally cleared her eyes of all the tears. Perhaps it was the sound of the Master’s voice calling her that gave her pause; that made her recognize his face. Whatever it was, she saw him. She saw her Lord and he told her that all the things she had believed were being fulfilled. “Teacher,” she said, in a voice filled with reverence and awe, for, as she put it, “I have seen the Lord.”
I know how she did it, and you do too. It was love. It’s always love. Faith, hope, love, these three, but the greatest of these is love, says the apostle Paul. According to this passage, it was the beloved disciple, whom we identify as John, who first believed when he saw the empty grave clothes of Jesus. It is said that of all those who were privileged to know and love our Savior personally while he walked the earth as a man, perhaps Mary Magdalene loved Jesus more than anyone. It is to her that Jesus made his first appearance after the resurrection. It is Mary who first saw him. 2 It is love which gives us the vision to see him. It is love which he gives to us. It is love, not a Roman soldier, which nailed him to that cross. It is love which sustains us, fulfills us… saves us. Have you seen the Lord? Don’t waste time looking for him in the tomb, for he is not there. Death cannot hold our Lord. He’s waiting for you right here where you are… and he’s calling your name.
1 William Barclay, John, Vol. 2, The Daily Study Bible Series, p. 266.
2 Ibid, p. 267.
No comments:
Post a Comment