Standing at the Empty Tomb John 20:1-18 Easter Sunday, Year A, March 27, 2005 The Rev. William V. Livingston, Rector Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi Even in the resurrection, we encounter ambiguity and mystery in our relation with Jesus. Before we celebrate the resurrection, we must journey with Mary Magdalene in the dark to the empty tomb. What are Mary's thoughts as she makes her way? Still reeling from Friday's events, stunned, lonely, frightened - both as a woman alone in the dark and as a follower of Jesus when all other followers have fled. For Mary who has never heard our eucharistic exclamation: Christ has died; Christ has risen; Christ will come again, watching the lifeless body of Jesus removed from the cross on Friday and finding an empty tomb on Sunday, what's going through her head? Holy Week, 1988, Diane, Christopher, and Lee accompany me to Boston where I am presenting a paper at a national conference. Our first morning, we walk Boston's Freedom Trail. Around 11:00 a.m. we arrive at the Common, a restored market, a collection of restaurants and boutiques. As Diane and I review the trail map, Christopher (age 12) and Lee (almost 8), are a few feet away feeding popcorn to pigeons. As she makes her way to the tomb, preoccupied with grief, the pungent ointments she carries to anoint the lifeless Jesus fill the night air. Being Holy Week and Passover the Common is crowded: a blend of merchants, residents, shoppers, and tourists like us. Balloons and bright colored banners fill the Common. Sounds of crowded shopping merge with melodies of street musicians. The smell of cotton candy, popcorn, grilled steaks, seafood, and Italian dishes mask the dank smell of an old city. As Mary arrives at the tomb, she finds the stone already rolled away. As Diane and I finish reviewing the map, Christopher, having fed all his popcorn to the pigeons, is standing next to us. Lee, is not with him nor next to the fountain where they were feeding pigeons. Through the darkness Mary runs to Peter and Jesus' beloved disciple. "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb and we do not know where they have laid him." I verbally attack Christopher, "What do you mean you don't know where he is. You were just with him seconds ago. I told both of you not to venture from that spot and to watch out for each other." Diane and I glance up and down the Common. Standing at opposite corners, we scan all four directions. Lee is not visible. The men outrun Mary on their sprint to the tomb. Finding it empty, the men return to their homes. I approach a woman in a police uniform, "Excuse me. My wife and I were standing right there and our two sons by that fountain. Our younger son is missing. Can you help us find him? He stands about that tall, has blond, curly hair. What's he wearing? I don't know, Diane, what's he wearing? Oh, yea, blue jeans, pink-t shirt and blue jean jacket." Her overly distressed expression surprises me as she talks on her radio. After all, he probably just wondered off not paying attention, though he never had before. In less than five minutes, police officers in uniforms and plain clothes, some on horseback are scanning the crowd. This quick and massive response seems extreme. I move close enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. I realize they are discussing the possibility of an abduction. My anxiety escalates to panic. I question the woman officer and learn there have been several abductions of younger children in the Common recently. She does not volunteer, nor do I ask the outcome of these abductions. Just days before, Mary had stood outside another tomb as Jesus wept and called to his friend Lazarus. They had shared supper and listened to his words. Now he was gone. He had been taken, beaten, mocked, crucified. Now, Mary, rather than anointing his lifeless body, in hopelessness and fear of never seeing the body of her Lord, stands weeping outside his empty, unforgiving tomb. I instruct Diane and Christopher to remain there. I circle the block. What had been cheerful balloons, banners, merchants and tourists are now a jungle obstructing my vision to the height at which Lee's head of curly hair should be. The street sounds and musicians become a roar. I circle back to Diane and Christopher. No sign of Lee. I continue circling. I frantically weave among the shoppers and tourists. At each entry to the Common, I peer up and down adjacent streets. He would not leave the area. I must make sure no one was leading him away. The previously bright, friendly streets are now a maze, through which someone could drag a defenseless child unnoticed. I circle again; still no Lee. The police appear more concerned. Bending over to peer inside, she sees two men in white sitting where Jesus' body had been lying. "Woman why are you weeping?" "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where he is." To the one presumed to be the gardener, she wails, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you laid him, and I will take him away." My eyes are darting so quickly I am unable to identify anything, but I do not see the blue jean jacket and curly head I so desperately seek. I the one, who remains calm, does not overreact, I am envisioning Lee being subjected to every type of misfortune possible. Now, the only sound I hear is the pounding of my heart, beating faster and more deafening with each step. The smells of restaurants, popcorn, cotton candy mixes with large city dankness. I think I'm going to be sick. I circle the block again. Still no Lee. Did Mary face the same kind of dread and fear as she stared in the tomb? Did she dread the possibility of finding Jesus and, in finding his lifeless body, losing him, while at the same time fearing the possibility that not even his body would ever be found? I don't know, but I suspect she did. After all, she had the same desires and fears as we, and this is our story as much as it is Mary's story. We are told, however, of her response when she heard Jesus' voice call her name - a voice she knew from long, loving association. Mary's response is to embrace and hold on to the Lord: to freeze that moment and never let him go. It was only 30 minutes but seemed like hours, when the woman officer I had first approached appeared holding the hand of a tearful Lee. Sobbing he explains that while feeding the pigeons he and Christopher had moved with them. Not noticing Christopher return to us, he kept moving with them. When he ran out of popcorn, he could not see us and looked for us, only becoming more disoriented in the crowd. As he explained, the four of us hugged and wept. Jesus' response is jarring. "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, "I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God." An order, not a request. There will time for reprimands and to talk about following instructions but for now I want to hug my children forever. I want to freeze that moment: never have them grow up; none of us to ever be separated again. As wonderful as that seems, they, we would never become the people we are to become. How do we hold on to Jesus? What are our visions, expectations and dreams that revolve around a particular understanding and relationship with Jesus? I continue to be amazed when I realize that knot I felt in my gut when I thought I might never see Lee again is very much like the feeling I get when I find myself facing a Jesus different from the safe familiar one I have been used to. Faced with the loss of the familiar and the comfortable, my first impulse is to hold on, cling, to limit. We are offered many different Jesuses to cling to: Jesus the pacifist, liberator, healer, comforter, and on and on. He is each of these as so much more, but clinging to anyone of them, just as Mary's clinging to the just resurrected Jesus, will prevent entering into the full relationship he desires for us. Jesus admonishes Mary not to cling to him, and, then, sends her to the disciples to relate the good news that Christ is risen and will ascend to the Father. Mary now knows what we knew from the beginning. Jesus is not lost. He is risen, ascended and there with her. And where is Jesus today? Stop just a moment. Look around you. Jesus is not lost, he is risen. He is here with us today. Alleluia, Christ is risen!