Easter: Awake

Mary woke from late night darkness into early morning darkness.

She did not sleep much the night before, the events that would always seem like they happened just yesterday ran through her mind.

She laid on her side and closed her eyes yet on the back of her lids, she saw over and over again her teacher, her leader, her friend struck and beaten, placed on a cross, and breathe his last.

A pounding as if a storm raged in her head, she closed her eyes harder against the memories.

The sun, long since gone past its dusky horizon, left darkness in its wake.

Finally, she slept.

And before its short return, she woke to the slightly lighter blue of early morning, moonlight gleaming through mist still danced in the sparse desert foliage.

She woke carrying the memories and heartache of earlier, she woke with things to do.

Getting dressed, she placed on her various garments with distraction.

She left her home, closing the door behind her, she noticed the desert air was still chilled.

Turning to warm, she made her way down the narrow streets then wider pathways that led her to her savior’s tomb.

She walked to where it should have been.

At first she saw the stone they laid in front of it to prevent graverobbers was gone.

Strange.

She continued on, closer to the tomb just to take a look inside.

The body was gone.

The stone was removed, the body was gone.

She ran.

She ran to Simon Peter and the other disciple.

She told them what had happened, Jesus was gone.

They must have taken him.

Not quite understanding what was going on, they followed her back to the place where his body should have lain.

It was gone, they confirmed.

More so, they now believed their savior had risen.

They then left and Mary stayed.

Mary wept.

She wept standing up, her shoulders hunched, her hands covered her face, her feet were side by side and close together.

Tears landed softly on the dirt.

She stooped, she saw two angels, they asked her why she was weeping.

She had lost her Lord.

She turned to the gardener, “where is my Lord,” she asked.

Not realizing who it was she was speaking to, that it was Jesus and not the gardener, Mary Magdalene was unable to see the light of the world standing before her.

Mary, through her grief, was unable to see the light.

And then he called her name.

Mary!

Rabbouni! She replied.

The light had arrived.

And I wonder, when are we unable to see the light?

When does the darkness overcome us?

Certainly not today, not this morning when we say our alleluias, not when we celebrate the resurrection of our messiah, not when the air is crisp and the forsythia blooms.

Certainly, there is no darkness this morning!

And yet there is darkness, and even on a day such as this, the darkness can overcome us.

On this glorious morning, with the hopefulness of Christ so evident, where despite the light before us we see only that which threatens to break us, to submerge us into our interiors.

The darkness can even be seen on this the most glorious of days, the sunlight can betray our sadness.

This morning’s light is the complete juxtaposition of Holy Saturday, just yesterday, when Jesus was in the tomb and the light was not let in; yes, even on a morning such as this, the sunlight can go unseen and only darkness seems to surrounds us.

And that is a reality we wake to each and every day.

Sometimes we are unable to see the light yet friends, I promise, the light is still there.

The light of God is upon us and we need to sometimes turn our heads to witness it yet still it is there.

The light of God is upon us and we sometimes need to remove ourselves from misbelief and rely on the sight of other to help us see it.

The light of God is upon us and we sometimes need each other to witness it.

We sometimes need each other to witness it.

And we sometimes need to sit ourselves in a quiet place, weep, and in our faith know that the light shall return.

In our darkness, faith promises light.

For Mary was grieving.

Perhaps we are grieving too.

Mary was broken and sad and perhaps we are broken and sad as well.

In her sorrow and heartache, Mary knew only darkness.

We too might be sorrowful.

We too might be feeling heartache.

And still, standing before her, right in front of Mary was the light.

And the light called her by name.

The light calls you by name.

For on this day, on this morning, the light returns.

Hell has been harrowed; the darkness is overcome.

The Lord is risen indeed!

We entered this place under sunlight as if God is shining upon us.

The windows are bright, sunlight pours through.

We are perhaps dressed a bit better than usual.

We exclaim our hosannas; this morning is a morning of light.

And still, those things that might be bothering us, that might be distracting ourselves from seeing the light, persist.

Where there is light, the darkness is sometimes unseen and the opposite is true.

Where there is darkness, the light is never far away.

Friends, on this morning we welcome the light, on this morning we witness Mary struggling in the darkness and struggling to overcome it.

She sought out her friend’s tomb, for solace, she sought out her friends to confirm with her that indeed that tomb was empty.

And she wept, yet through her tears, she heard angels speak and she talked to a gardener begging him to show her where her master’s body lay.

In the darkness Mary searched for solace and companionship and understanding, she did not give in to the darkness.

For in the darkness was faith.

She may not have recognized Christ face to face in that darkness until they spoke to one another, but still she had the faith to speak and to search and eventually, to even see.

Her faith brought her to the light.

Our faith brings us to the light.

We might say that we haven’t had the opportunity to speak to Jesus one on one in the flesh, but our faith tells us when our prayers have been answered or, at least, heard.

And our faith tells us too, when we need to listen for God, to look for the light.

And the light is never far away.

On this Sunday and most Sundays throughout the year, we gather here together, looking for or living in the light.

Each Sunday we celebrate the presence of the light for this day and every other is not a memorial or recreation of the Last Supper.

Our Eucharist is not a re-creation as if we are dressed in blue participating in some Civil War reenactment.

Instead, our Eucharist is an actual interaction with Christ in whatever form makes sense to you.

In our Eucharist we call on the presence of Jesus to become present amongst us.

In our Eucharist is the real presence of God.

This morning too, yes we are celebrating the resurrection, but we are celebrating too the continued resurrection of Jesus in all of our lives.

Jesus lives in the Heavens and through us, we cannot separate his rising from the present tense.

Yes, friends, sometimes our faith is not as strong or even there, for the reality of Jesus present in our lives isn’t based on evidence but faith.

Our continuing search for that light is evidence of Christ’s presence in our lives.

Mary would not have wept without faith in finding the answer to where her savior lay and her faith was answered with Christ’s presence.

Our faith is to is answered with that same presence.

If this was just a memorial or reenactment then the importance of this day would be diminished.

The truth is though that Christ is present amongst now, on this day and always.

Our faith is found in the acknowledgement of the reality that we are surrounded by God’s love without having to search for it.

We do not need to search for God for God is already there.

We need to but listen to God to hear God’s word alive in this room and everywhere.

Friends, Mary woke into the darkness after a day of darkness before that.

And she woke to search for the light.

And in the darkness, she heard the Word, and the Word said do not weep.

On this morning, we shall not weep for Christ is risen and the light is returned.

On this morning we see the light and we will remember the light so that we might understand we are loved by God when God is hard to see and our faith is difficult to believe.

For in the beginning was the light and the darkness did not overcome it.

And on this day we say, I have seen the Lord.

The Lord who has been here all along.

I will invite you soon into the liturgy of the table where we will celebrate the Paschal feast.

And in that feast, always and forever, will be the presence of God.

God who has been with us In darkness and in light.

Alleluia, Christ is risen, the Lord is risen indeed!

Alleluia!

Amen.