Time to Run

John 20:1-18
Easter Sunday 

What was Mary doing?  Up before the sun; all by herself; what did she hope to accomplish by the tomb of her friend?  Clearly, she did not expect what she found there, but what did she expect?  

One needs to keep in mind the way that John tells this story: if you were with us at our service on Holy Thursday, where we left off in our readings from John are exactly where we pick up the story today: “They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, according to the burial custom of the Jews. Now there was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. And so, because it was the Jewish day of Preparation, and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.” That was on Friday.  Suddenly, in John’s telling of this story, it’s pre-dawn Sunday morning.  What happened with Mary in between?  Were the friends and followers of Jesus in hiding?  Were they grieving?  Maybe both.  

It seems as if it was Mary who emerged first, but still we don’t know why.  And by the way, there are a few Marys in the Gospels so for clarity: this is the Mary from Magdala, whom in the Gospel of Luke, had been healed by Jesus and was among a group of women who traveled with and were supportive of the disciples.  This Mary, what did she hope to find?  Maybe even Mary didn’t know.  Maybe just to sit by a grave, as we sometimes do, and try to make sense of a thing that doesn’t make sense.  We don’t know what was going on in Mary’s mind, but here’s the thing: because of what she found there, we now have hope that someday we can just ask her.  

Of all the Gospels, the way that John tells the story of the Resurrection, might be my favorite.  There is something inherently comical about John’s telling.  And why not?  This is pure comedy in it’s own weird way!  Comedy is all about the surprise ending, right?  Like, what did God say after creating the first man?  “Wait, I can do better.”  It’s the silliness of the surprise that we enjoy, and what’s more surprising than an empty tomb?  I mean, and hear me out, maybe not in that moment; but when Mary told this story, years down the line, I bet they laughed about it.  This story is all comedy.  

A pastor-friend of mine suggested earlier this week, that women should always be the ones to preach the sermon on Easter morning.  I love that idea.  I know that won’t ever happen as long as I, a male, am your pastor; but I love the idea.  I mean, I imagine our elders would have something to say if I tried it: “So on Easter Sunday—the Superbowl of Christianity—you’re going to let someone else preach.”  

But I like what it remembers: it remembers that the first ever Easter sermon was preached by a woman.  It wasn’t a long sermon (that’s always nice), but it was an important sermon!  Mary alone bears witness, first to the Empty Tomb, but then to proclaim, “I have seen the Risen Lord.”  The Resurrection story, at least as it’s told by John, centers on what Mary does.  Of course, the most important part of the story is that Jesus indeed has risen from the grave, but Mary is central in proclaiming that news.  It is Mary’s voice we need to hear on Easter morning. 

Like a lot of good comedies, according to John, there was a lot of running on that first Easter morning.  Mary comes to the tomb, only to find it empty, and then runs to tell Peter and the “Beloved Disciple” about it.  They in turn run to see about it for themselves.  I love how hyper-masculine all of this becomes: not that they didn’t just take her word for it, it’s a thing you’d need to see for yourself; but it’s the footrace.  At the end of the Gospel of John, we find out that this “other disciple” is the one who is telling this story.  In other words, in telling this story, about the Resurrection of Jesus, the other disciple not only feels it’s important for us to know they ran to the tomb, but that he ran a little faster than Peter did.  

What puzzles me a little is that all they experience is an empty tomb.  No angels, no Jesus in disguise, just the leftover, neatly-folded grave-cloths.  Think about it: Jesus could have easily shown himself first to Peter and “the other.”  They were right there too.  These were Jesus’ closest friends; these were men who would make up the foundation of the church.  Why didn’t Jesus show up then?  Why did Jesus wait until they had gone back home to show his risen self?  Again, perhaps these are questions for another time.  

As it is, Mary must have run with or right behind the disciples; she is right there at the tomb when they return home.  She remains, weeping. Then she (finally) bends down to look into the tomb herself; but, in the kind of surprise that comedy relies on, the tomb is no longer empty. "Where the body of Jesus had been lying," sit two angels.  Angels who as a ridiculously comical question, considering they’re in a tomb: “Why are you weeping?”  

Then, she turns around and sees—again, where nothing was before—a man standing behind her.  Some guy, must be the gardener; he asks her the same absurd question.  “I don’t know, I’m looking in an empty tomb where my friend is supposed to be.  

Again, in typical comedic fashion, the characters talk past each other. The “gardener” asks Mary whom she is looking for. Mary says, in effect, “If you you’ve put him somewhere, just tell me so I can put him back.”  

Comedy thrives on surprise and disguise, but they’re even more fun when we, the audience, see the punchline coming.  We’ve known it was Jesus all along; and it’s revealed to Mary when he calls her by name. Then she knows him. Then she calls his name: "Teacher," and reaches out to take hold of him, before he somehow gets away again, goes missing (or puts on another disguise), so she cannot find him.

“Don’t hold on,” he tells her; he needs to go away again for a bit.  “But go and preach for me.  Tell my brothers,” he says, that "I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God."  And the plot of the comedy is resolved… and yet, somehow it isn’t.  

The action of the play may be coming to an end, but the story is not nearly done. Jesus will also give his disciples the Spirit, breathing it into them, in the story that follows this one. This Spirit not only blows where it wills, but it will blow the followers of Jesus where it wills.  An Easter faith cannot hang on.

So Mary lets go. She goes and preaches, just like she was told.  Without training or a seminary education; she goes with the simple witness that she bears; she is the first to proclaim this wonderful news, least likely as she is.  She goes and tells her news.  

On this glorious Easter morning, we look to Mary; she is our example today.  Hers is the example we follow.  As we meet the Risen Jesus, may we too proclaim that we have seen the Risen Lord; and may we preach that beautiful message through our words, through our actions, and throughout our lives.