Easter Sunday
April 9, 2023
John 20:1-18
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| The Resurrection, by Ellie, age 7 |
Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.
Every preacher will tell you that even if you have read or preached a text a dozen times, every now and then something will cause you to look at one detail differently, and it helps you read the story in a new way. That happened with me this week with the story of Mary in the garden looking for Jesus. When Jesus encounters Mary in the garden, before she knows it is him, he asks her, “Who are you looking for?” But this week, I learned that in Aramaic, that is, the way Jesus would have spoken it, that question is better rendered, “Who do you want?” That has a very different feel to me than “who are you looking for.” It feels more visceral, like it speaks to a deep inner yearning, and not just an intellectual interest. Who do you want?
It makes me wonder, who is it that we want, as we come with Mary to the tomb this morning? I suppose we all come to Jesus wanting something, looking for something, craving something. Perhaps we come to Jesus wanting comfort. I do wonder if that’s what Mary was seeking. Other Gospels tell us that the women were bringing spices to the tomb that morning, to anoint the body, but John’s Gospel makes no mention of this intention. So perhaps Mary is only coming to feel close once again to her friend and teacher. She has been through quite a lot these past days, after all, watching what happened to Jesus. She is understandably deep in grief. And so she comes to the tomb, wanting… A place to cry and feel close to Jesus? An escape from the long, sleepless nights that so often accompany such acute grief? Maybe she herself doesn’t even know what exactly she hopes to find, what she wants, what she is looking for. And yet, she goes in search of it, hoping and praying that mere proximity will bring her the comfort she craves.
What else do we want from Jesus? Perhaps we come to the tomb, come to Jesus, wanting relief – relief from pain, from our myriad day-to-day struggles. I think of the story we heard a couple weeks ago, when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. On the way to that tomb, Jesus is met by Lazarus’s sisters, saying, “If you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” You have the power to fix this, Jesus, we know you do. And in that case, Jesus did raise Lazarus from the dead! So, if Jesus has the power to take away our pain, then why shouldn’t we come to him asking the same? We want a God who can *poof* make our troubles disappear.
Or perhaps who we want is simply someone to give us answers, something certain in this world that sometimes makes no sense. It would seem that’s what Peter and the beloved disciple seek. They come racing over like two schoolboys trying to get to the ice cream truck first, hoping to find the answers they crave – what was the point of all this? How could this happen? What will become of us? When all they find is a tomb with no body and some deserted grave clothes, they head back home. They wanted answers, not more questions. And I know that feeling! I have shaken my fist in God’s general direction enough times to know the frustration of not knowing. We hear about another mass shooting, another devastating natural disaster, another senseless tragedy, and we want answers – answers that come from policy change or action, yes, but also on a more philosophical level, answers from an allegedly all-powerful, all-knowing God. Why would such a God allow this to happen? And so we come to Jesus, and who do we want? We want a God who will give us the answers we crave.
I also know there are among us this morning plenty of skeptics, folks who are not so sure about this magical story of a man who is raised from the dead, and this somehow saves us from sin and death. I get that – it does seem completely implausible at times! It is well beyond my comprehension! Frankly, even if you do believe in the story of the resurrection, it seems implausible – why would God care so much about me, that God would go to such a length to show that love? What’s so special about me, or any of us? If either of these describe you, maybe the Jesus you want this day is one who makes sense, who fits neatly into your understanding of how the world works.
And what about you? Who do you want? When you come to church on Easter morning, or arrive at the tomb or whatever is a symbol of your loss, pain, and need – what is it you want out of Jesus? Who are you looking for? Who do you want?
This is all worthwhile reflection – it is never wasted effort to plumb the depths of our hearts to find what drives us and our actions – but the real question on Easter morning is not who do we want, but who do we get?
The Jesus we get is not one who pats us on the back, saying, “There, there,” and hands us a tissue to mop up the tears and snot, if that is the sort of comfort we wanted. The Jesus we get is not one who will instantly remove the source of our pain like some sort of magician. The Jesus we get on Easter morning will not give us answers, at least not in the way a textbook or Wikipedia will. He will not make everything suddenly clear and able to fit neatly into a box, because as soon as you can fit God into any earthly vessel, that has ceased to be God – God is far too big to fit into anything we can comprehend.
So, what Jesus do we get?
The Jesus we get is one who will join us and sit with us in our pain. He won’t say, “Stop crying, it’s okay,” because he knows that sometimes, it isn’t okay. We have been hurt or we’ve hurt someone else; we have made a tragic mistake; we have experienced or participated in some injustice – and it is not okay, and crying is an appropriate response to that. But he will ask us, “Why are you weeping? Tell me about it. I’m here, and I’m listening. There is space here with me for you and your needs.” He will ask what we want, what we need, what we’re looking for. He will call us by name, to assure us that we are known and loved, even when we are broken, even unrecognizably, into a million pieces.
The Jesus we get is one who is absolutely present with us in this way – even as he is also utterly transcendent, far beyond our understanding and comprehension. Truth be told, the ways of God don’t make a lick of sense. The resurrection sure doesn’t! But in the end, it is not despite this, but because of it that we can trust the Jesus we get on Easter morning. This good news, that God is more powerful than death itself, more powerful than anything, and yet still longs to meet us where we are, and to bring us with him into new life, is bigger and better than anything our feeble brains can handle, and better than anything on earth can provide. It is mysterious and awesome, and we are invited to dwell in that mystery – not to dissect it and figure it all out, like we do with earthy things, but to rejoice that it is ours.
We can trust the God that we get, the God of Easter morning, precisely because that God, in Jesus, is willing to enter into the messiness of our lives, not brush it quickly away or pretend it doesn’t exist. I don't tend to trust people who don't take my feelings seriously. He enters into it, comes right up beside us in our tears and snot, wants to learn more about us, and calls us by name to let us know that we are seen, and loved, and known – and, that we are by his acts, saved from the power of death.
As it turns out, that is the Jesus that I want.
Let us pray… Living God, you don’t make any sense, and, you are the only thing that makes any sense. You are with us, and you are beyond our understanding. You are a mystery, through and through – and yet you love us still. Dwell with us in that mystery, helping us to trust that you are exactly what we need. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Watch the full service HERE.
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