Mary’s Resurrection Story – Part 1: Discoveries
I have to confess to you that if I were the author of the Gospel of John, I would not have crafted the story – the Resurrection story, the most important story in the entire Gospel – in the way John did (John 20:1-18). Sure, he gives preeminence to his role as the beloved disciple. But even more important than his own role, he puts someone front and center who by any consideration would have been considered the least likely. Not only the least likely, but the least desirable. Someone who, particularly in that first-century milieu, would have been considered the least reliable witness. Who’s that?
Mary. Mary Magdalene, the outcast, the one with the dubious reputation, the one who seemed to be on the sidelines and never particularly included in the rest of the Gospel.
‘They Have Taken the Lord Out of the Tomb’
And yet she is the one. As the story begins, she’s walking to the tomb. It is Sunday, before daybreak. So what she’s doing in fact, walking alone before daybreak, is extraordinarily dangerous. She could have easily been robbed or kidnapped. But she makes her way to the tomb. And when she arrives, she doesn’t know what to do except to stand and grieve.
The one whom she loved is dead. And even this opportunity to be able to, in essence, pay respect, to honor him, is abruptly taken away because when she gets there, the stone is rolled away. The tomb is open.
She doesn’t know what to do except just run. And so what does she do? She goes back, and she finds John, the beloved disciple, and Peter, indicating she probably had to go from one house to the next. And the two of them take off like rockets, running down the road. The beloved disciple makes a point of letting us know he was the one who got there first. And Mary soon follows.
John peers in and doesn’t quite know what to make of the scene. And of course, bull-in-a-china-shop Peter barges right into the tomb, breaking all the Mosaic laws about not coming close to dead people. And yet it is because of their witness that we see the astonishing scene of grave clothes rolled up. The particular cloth that covered the face? Neatly folded. It’s mystifying; this isn’t grave robbery.
If you’ve read this passage, you’ll remember that when Jesus’ body was taken down from the cross and put in the tomb, his body would normally have been wrapped in what the Scriptures describe as 100 pounds’ worth of spices, and then linen. If there had been some kind of grave robbery, everything would have been everywhere.
And yet, here’s this orderly scene. Peter and John? They’re mystified. They don’t quite know what to say or do either. And so they go back home.
‘I Do Not Know Where They Have Put Him’
It’s Mary, again, who stays. In fact, the Greek describing where she stands makes the point of the fact that she stands fast right there on the spot. The literary point: She is immovable; she will not be thwarted with the last responsibility that she has, which is to stand and honor the one she loves by being present at the grave site.
She’s sobbing, not just for his death, but for the cruelty of what she sees in front of her: not even in death is this man, this honorable man, to be honored. But then she takes a step in; she looks inside. And to her astonishment, she sees angels: one at the head, one at the foot, often interpreted later as representing the two angels on either side of the tabernacle in the Old Testament. They are witnessing, in essence, by their presence, a new atonement, a new forgiveness. They asked her in the tenderest way, “Why are you crying?”
There’s no reproof in this question at all. It’s a kind word. It is an effort to somehow assuage the deep agony of what it is that she feels – the angels knowing, of course, that Jesus is alive.
She talks about not knowing where they have laid him, and then Jesus himself appears. And he asked the same words, and of course in her grief, she isn’t thinking clearly. With swollen eyes and tears, she’s not even seeing very clearly. John records that she was thinking he was the gardener, and she asks, “Have you taken him away? If you have, can you please tell me where you have laid him?”
And Jesus says one word, her name: “Mary.”
And immediately, she turns. Something has reached her past the deep, deep place of grief. She knows the voice. She knows how he says her name.
She cries out, “Teacher!” Because of course that’s what she called him. She embraces him.
In my next post, we’ll see what else Mary discovered – and how it changed her life.
What most touches you as you walk with Mary through the Resurrection story? Share this blog and your response on Twitter. Please include my username, @revgregbrewer.
(This post is an adaptation of Bishop Brewer’s sermon recorded for April 12, 2020, in the Bishop’s Diocesan Chapel, Orlando.)
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.