Easter Tuesday
One of the realities of life is that our little minds are quite capable of self-delusion, and on a grand scale. Most of the time we fool ourselves into thinking we understand what is going on around us–way more than we actually do understand. We kid ourselves that we are in control, and even that we know what’s going to happen next. We structure our lives around that deception.
And then something happens to jerk us back into the real. Usually it’s a disaster–a car wreck, a sudden illness, even a death. The men and women surrounding Jesus were still basking in the Passover glow of the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. He even went through the special gate that no one was supposed to ride through, no one but the king. They had celebrated a moving but confusing Passover in which the Lord had said something about giving His body and His blood being poured out. And then, while they were half-asleep, a mob seizes Jesus and 24 hours later He is dead and in the grave.
Talk about a jolt into reality. They cowered behind doors. Only the women, who were least at risk, dared venture out, and two of them who ran off to Emmaus where they thought they’d be safe.
But reality jolts aren’t reserved for catastrophes. Imagine, if you would, winning the lottery, or getting a full-tuition scholarship to Stanford or Notre Dame. It would throw you into a whole new state of confusion.
That was the disciples’ problem. They were whipsawed–dazed and frightened by Jesus’s death, and then totally confused when all these women come back talking about the tomb being empty. Indeed, they probably thought the Romans had taken the body, that their next move would be to round all of them up and crucify them. It was maddening.
Mary was the first one to be loved back into sanity. The scene is touching. Jesus stands near her, wielding an agricultural implement, probably a rake or hoe. She mistakes Him for a gardener, and only wakes up when she recognizes Him speaking her name. It’s a scene for all of us. We all have catastrophes or triumphs that confuse us. In the midst of it, though, a calm and calming voice speaks our name. If we spend some time each day in silence we will hear it, as Mary heard her name. It is the Lord. Our response should always be, “Teacher, teach me.”
