Reflection on John 20:1-11

There are some truths of life that hit me quite strongly in this Easter Story from John. 

The first thing that struck me is the fact that grief has decided to ravage Mary in the middle of the night.  Did you notice?  It is still night when Mary goes to the tomb to grieve. 

Grief has never been a kind sleeping partner.  Grief does not share the bed well.  Grief is restless, stretches a lot, and eventually boots you out of the comfort of your bed.  The night is a lonely, lonely time.  And, Mary is alone when she goes, soul full of grief, to the tomb of the Lord.

I do not know about you, but even though we have been stuck within the comfort of our homes and beds over the last few weeks, the nights have not lent themselves to great sleep.  There is plenty to worry about in the world.  There are plenty of people to worry about in the world.  And, for some reason, grief has decided to show up in the middle of the night, the loneliest of lonely times.

Speaking of loneliness, I see another truth in life in this story: just because you are surrounded by people does not mean you are not lonely.  When Mary discovers that the tomb is empty, she runs and tells Peter and the disciple that Jesus loved.  So, for a brief moment in time anyway that early, early morning, Mary was not alone.  There were others with her. 

But, it made no difference.  It was as if she were invisible.  The two disciples checked on the tomb as requested, and the disciple that Jesus loved even peered in and believed.  Now, did that disciple’s belief and hope spread to the one who found herself wracked by grief, alone in a graveyard in the middle of the night?  Like I said, just because you are surrounded by people, does not mean that loneliness is not present.

And, this Easter especially, where we are not allowed to gather with family and friends because of fears of spreading this deadly virus, the image toward the end of the story of Mary not being allowed to touch her Lord, even after he had joyfully revealed himself to her, is awfully poignant.  She cannot give the man she loves and trusts a hug, and neither can we. 

In my own family, a family member has seemingly returned from the dead.  An accident with a tree, leading to a coma, has reversed itself, and the family member is, thank the Lord, recovering.  But, his own wife and children cannot visit him.  They cannot touch him.  They cannot give him a hug.  They can only wave at him through the window of his rehabilitation facility.  They can put their hands up to the glass and touch, yet they do not connect.  They are so close, yet they are so distant. 

And, I have to admit that life with the risen Lord Jesus sometimes feels like that.  It feels as if he is so close, yet we are not allowed to grasp him.  He is present, filling us with divine love, but he is not touchable.  There is always an element of ungraspability in our faith that, like seeing the family member through the glass, allows us to experience the hope and love of Jesus, yet always is just beyond the grasp of our hands or our hearts.

The good news in all of this is that Jesus is, none-the-less there.  Right?  In the loneliness of the grief stricken darkness, Jesus is indeed there in the background, approaching.  Mary was not forgotten, and neither are you. 

While dwelling in the loneliness of other people who seem to completely ignore us and our needs, Jesus is there bearing witness to it all.  He still sees.  He still knows. 

And, especially when we reach the lowest of low points in life and we cry out like Mary, “They have taken away my Lord!” and the Lord, indeed, appears to have vanished from our sight, Jesus actually could not possibly be any closer to us, right there in the anguish with us, calling out our name from an unfamiliar body in an unfamiliar place. 

Mary thought Jesus was the gardener, but she did not understand how the Lord shows up in our lives.  No, she was not talking to the gardener, she was talking to Jesus. 

Jesus is right there during it all.  And, even though we cannot grasp him, though his flesh is not huggable, he has, none-the-less made himself and his undying love known to us.

And, though there is a lot of anguish in this story that is familiar, I hope that the last part of the story strikes you as familiar in a good way.  It is the part where Jesus brings Mary out of her sorrow and draws her into the joy of hope and new life. 

I hope and pray that you too will be able to shout out, “I have seen the Lord” and give praise to the one who could not be held down by death and sorrow.  May you too recognize the Lord in the unfamiliar places, and shout out praises to his holy name when you recognize him and his love. 

May you rise up from the ground with Jesus, because he could not possible any closer to you than he is right now.