Written by professors, graduates, and others in
the Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary community, these reflections, prayers, and spiritual practices will take you along the journey with Jesus through the cross toward resurrection.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
• Psalm 126
• John 20:1–18
As I write these words, the church is still captivated by the afterglow of Christmas. There are still lights in the trees and bushes of my neighborhood, and brightly-lit Christmas trees still shining from the windows of living-rooms. The challenge for me as I write is letting go of Christmas in order to look once again at the looming mystery of Easter—the day that celebrates more of an absence than a presence.
At Christmas, the props and evidence of a profound presence fairly litter the texts for the day. Stable, straw, donkey, splinters, Mary, Joseph, a census, a star, shepherds, wise men, gold, frankincense, myrrh. And, of course, at the center of it all, a baby named Jesus. At Christmas, God comes to us as a fleshly, tangible thing that we can hold in our hands and cradle in our arms.
But not so on this day. There’s nothing to hold on Easter, and that’s the main problem with it. The scene at Easter is muted and understated and tentative. Its setting is a cemetery. Here in John’s gospel, Mary Magdalene is there to come to terms with what is most terrible about that scene—that there’s nothing to hold.
This is how Easter begins, which is why it’s so hard to get a grip on resurrection—at least initially—because there’s just so little to grip.
We know that from our own cemetery experiences. At first, there are things to do—choose the casket, plan the service, receive the casseroles, hug the children back home from faraway places to do what they can. But sooner or later, the children and grandchildren leave again, the food stops coming, the flowers dry up … and there’s nothing to hold. What Mary would like is Jesus—back! Back just the way he was! But when the resurrected Jesus reveals himself to her, she learns that he is back not just to validate a past but, more profoundly, to usher in a promise. Easter is not about going back and having something to hold. It is rather about going forward, with nothing to hold—except the contours of a new kingdom coming in.
“Do not hold on to me,” he thus says to Mary, “because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” He is not on his way back to a remembered past; he’s on his way to God, and he’s taking the whole world with him. On this day, the bad news with which it begins—that there’s nothing, really, that we can hold—ends up being the Good News. There’s nothing, really, about Easter that we can hold!
What we can do is what Mary does next. We can run forth rejoicing, telling anyone who will listen that “I have seen the Lord.” Even as things in this world are falling apart, the Good News is that other things—through Jesus Christ our Lord—are coming together. We can be grateful for the past, but, more importantly, we can live expectantly toward the future; for Easter reminds us that God is there!
We rejoice with you, Risen One, for you have done great things for us. If we cannot hold on to you, then hold onto us, we pray, as you lead us not back to the past but to your promised future! Amen.
– The Reverend Theodore J. Wardlaw
President and Professor of Homiletics
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