This morning I want
to tell you a story. An old, old story, written in an ancient book. As we open
the book, the story begins – with [draw out] a handkerchief.
“Why are you
weeping?” the man asks Mary.
Why is Mary weeping? Not because Jesus is
dead. She has wept for that for forty
hours straight, and, for now at least, her tears have run dry. No, Mary is not
weeping because Jesus has died. These fresh tears are because someone has carried his body off, she knows not
where.
It reminds me of the
time when the Israelites were defeated in battle and the ark of the covenant
was carried off by the Philistines…
[draw out a wooden box]
It reminds me of the
time when the treasures from the temple and the royal palace in Jerusalem were carried off by the king of Babylon…
[draw out the gold
rings]
It reminds me of the
time when Jerusalem failed in rebelling against the Babylonians, fell, and the
royal court was carried off into
exile…
[draw out paper chain
of people and then fold them together again]
When something or
someone is carried off, it is as if
defeat were not enough. As if there is something
even worse. As if it were God’s way of saying, “I meant for that to happen.
It didn’t just happen: it happened as my passing judgement on my people.”
Adding insult to injury.
Most of all, it
reminds me of the time when Joseph was thrown into a pit by his brothers.
Reuben goes off, and when he returns, expecting to find Joseph in the pit, he
discovers that the boy is no longer there. The other brothers have sold him to
passing traders, [draw out play money] who carried
him off to Egypt. Reuben is distraught.
Many, many years
later, Joseph – now ruling Egypt on behalf of the Pharaoh – is reunited with
his brothers, and tells them, “You meant it for evil, but God meant it for
good.” God took hold of a heartless action…and from it wrought the saving of
the Egyptian Empire, and the descendants of Abraham, from famine.
“Why are you
weeping?” the man asks Mary. And then, once the reason is out in the open, he speaks her name. And in that moment,
Mary knows that yes, God claims Jesus’ death, that it stands as an act of
judgement. But that while men meant it for evil (so passing judgement on
themselves), God meant it for good (passing a judgement in favour of life, out
of death).
Even if the
outworking of that plan might still lie years in the future.
A promise, if you
will.
Perhaps that is why
Easter is not a day, but a season lasting fifty days. Because Day One is full-to-bursting,
with panic and adrenalin and trepidation and boldness and belief and failure to
understand and despair and joy and
trying-to-hold-on-too-tightly-in-case-it-all-falls-apart-again and fear and
doubts and failing to recognise Jesus. Since the stone was removed the future
is leaking into the present and the breach cannot be plugged. But it will take
us fifty days a year, year after year, to learn how to live into this new
reality.
[Close the book]
So, why are you weeping?
What hasn’t worked
out the way you hoped as you have followed Jesus?
Where has your hope
ended in defeat…only for something even worse to follow?
Sooner or later, we
all find ourselves weeping with Mary.
But then he speaks
our name.
And if the word
spoken on Good Friday is, “It is finished!” the word spoken at sunrise on
Easter morning is, “I’ve not finished yet…in fact, I’ve only just begun…”
