Grace to you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I come to you this morning to share the story of what happened on that first Easter. My name is Mary—Mary of Magdala, though you know me as Mary Magdalene. Just to be correct, Magdalene was not my last name—it referred to Magdala, the place I came from.
I suppose as long as I am clarifying things, I should also add that I wasn’t a prostitute. I had suffered under the influence of 7 demons for many years. As you might imagine, no one wanted to be near me—demons are not pleasant company. When I met Jesus, he saw beyond the demons to me, the hurting woman inside, and he set me free. I was so grateful! Words cannot begin to explain how wonderful it was to be set free in that way. Jesus came to me in the midst of my suffering, and gave me life—a life free from the torment that had been mine for so long.
In my gratitude, my whole life and focus changed. I was fortunate enough to have some money, so I made sure that Jesus and the disciples always had food to eat. I traveled with them, along with several other women, and we did what we could to make their journeys easier.
There was much worry and controversy in those days, and our group never knew quite what to expect. We had been in Jerusalem for the Festival of the Dedication during the winter, and the crowd had turned against Jesus. They had been ready to stone him, accusing him of blasphemy, but he managed to slip away from them.
When we received word that Lazarus was deathly ill, we were worried. Lazarus lived in Bethany, right outside Jerusalem, and we really didn’t want Jesus to go back to that area. We remembered the angry crowd, and we feared for him. But Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters, and he was determined to go to them at their time of need, even though we didn’t think it was a good idea. So we went back, and Jesus called Lazarus forth from the grave, and the controversy just became bigger and more dangerous.
There was so much that went on that last week in Jerusalem. I don’t know how to explain it all to you, to make you understand what it was like.
There were high points: like when Jesus rode the donkey into Jerusalem and the crowd waved branches and proclaimed him king.
There were scary points: like when Jesus spoke of his heart being troubled, and how he wished he didn’t have to suffer what was to come.
There were confusing points: like when Jesus insisted upon serving his disciples as he washed their feet.
But finally, there was only the reality of his suffering and his death. Amid all the hopes and dreams, amid all the promises and confusion, there was the reality of the cross, and his suffering there. I stood there at the cross on that Friday. His mother, aunt, and several others of us stood and watched, unable to believe what was happening. How could it all end this way? He had saved Lazarus from death, why couldn’t he save himself? He had escaped death before by slipping away from the angry crowd, why did he allow them to crucify him now?
We watched as he suffered, as he cried out in thirst, as he breathed his last. It was the longest 6 hours of my life. How can I explain what it felt like when they shut the tomb with that stone? It was like all my hopes and dreams died there with him. It was Friday night, and so the Sabbath had begun, limiting what I could do. I observed the Sabbath, and it was the longest Sabbath of my life. I kept coming back to what I had seen happen, and wondering how it could possibly be real. It seemed like a nightmare, except I didn’t wake up. I couldn’t sleep, either.
Finally, early Sunday morning, I decided I had to go to the grave. I had to go see that it really was true. I’m not sure what difference I thought it would make, but somehow, I had convinced myself that if I could see his body, if I could see that it was properly cared for, things would be better. I would feel better. I know, it made no sense. I just felt that maybe, somehow, going there and seeing his body would give me closure and enable me to begin to move on. So I gave up pretending to sleep and set out for the tomb. It wasn’t even light yet, but as I went, I convinced myself that once I could see the body I would be able to make sense of all of this. Like I said, I know it didn’t make sense. It just was an indication of the state I was in—I was seeking to do something, anything, to get out of the feeling of unreality that had surrounded me. Seeing the body would make it real, somehow. It would make what was impossible and unthinkable real, as much as I didn’t want it to be real.
So I went to the tomb, not even having a clear plan. I was almost there when I realized that once I got there, there was no way I would be able to roll the stone away and open the tomb. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw that the stone had already been rolled away. Now you probably wonder why I didn’t immediately realize what had happened. Why in the world did I assume that someone had stolen his body? It was just the state I was in. He was dead. Dead people don’t come back to life.
So when I saw the stone was rolled away, I was devastated. Even this simple comfort, the comfort of seeing the body, was being denied to me. Someone had taken this comfort from me, had stolen the body, it was just one more unbelievably cruel thing I was being forced to endure. I ran and woke Peter and the others, screaming at them in my despair, “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” I know it must seem silly to you, that I immediately thought someone had stolen the body. Why didn’t I realize that he had risen, as he said?
You need to understand, that when they took him down from that cross and placed him in the tomb, he was dead. Dead people stay dead. They don’t come back to life. They don’t walk out of the tomb—yes, I know I’d seen Lazarus do just that, but that wasn’t what I was thinking that morning. I was thinking that even the comfort of anointing his body was going to be denied me, and it just wasn’t fair and right and I was crushed.
So Peter and the others came and examined things, and then went back home. I didn’t care what their evaluation of the situation was. All I cared about was that the body of the man who had given me back my life was missing, and I didn’t know where it was. I stood there outside the tomb crying. At one point I looked in, and saw two angels, who asked me why I was crying. Of course, I didn’t know they were angels, I just knew the body was gone. I couldn’t believe these two men were asking me such a stupid question! “They have taken my Lord away, and I do not know where they have put him!” I managed to get that explanation out through my tears. I turned from them in disgust, and saw a man standing there, he too, questioned my tears. I asked him if he had taken the body, and where I might find it. Then he said to me, “Mary!”
How do I explain what I felt? How do I tell you how I suddenly knew? It was like when he had looked beyond those seven demons to see the hurting woman. He had done the same thing again—coming to me in the depths of my despair, at a time when I was making no sense and couldn’t think clearly, he had come to me and called me by name. He had accepted me as I was, a crying mess, and by simply saying my name, he turned everything around. He was willing to meet me where I was, with no judgment, no criticism, he just stood there and cared for a weeping woman, and in calling my name, called me beyond the tears.
“Rabbouni!” That means teacher. I said it, and turned, seeking to hug him, to hold him, to assure myself that this was reality, that all that had gone before had been wiped clean.
“Do not hold on to me,” he said. But that was exactly what I wanted to do. It was what I had come to the grave seeking to do. I wanted to do it when I thought him dead, and now that I knew he was alive, I wanted to do it even more.
“Do not hold on to me,” he said. How could I not hold on to him? I wanted to make sure I never lost him again. I wanted to make sure I never knew such despair again.
“Do not hold on to me,” he said. The resurrection didn’t restore things to the way they had been—it didn’t erase the cross and the suffering. It didn’t restore—it transformed. Jesus was alive in a whole new way, in a whole new body. He was back among us, but not in the same way. There were no longer limits to his presence. He was no longer bound by time and space. He suddenly appeared in locked rooms, and just as suddenly vanished. But because he had been set free of those boundaries, those limits that are a part of this life, he is just as much alive to you now, two thousand years later, as he was to us in those first amazing days after Easter.
“Do not hold on to me,” he said. Of course I couldn’t hold on to him, he was much too big to contain. The resurrection is the biggest event in all of history. It changed everything. It took away the fear of death. It drove the Romans crazy—they’d try to stamp out the early church by killing Christians, but as Christians we didn’t fear death, we welcomed it—for us it led to the resurrection, the ultimate victory. How can you frighten a people who have no fear?
“Do not hold on to me,” he said. I come here today with a challenge for you. Are you trying to hold onto Jesus? Are you seeking after a God that you can understand, contain, hold onto? Are you limiting God by trying to keep God understandable?
Twice Jesus came to me in my pain, once when he cast out those seven demons, and once when he came to the crying mess of a woman who thought he was a grave robber! Each time, he met me in my pain, and set me free of it. God will come to each of you in your pain, are you willing to be set free of it?
Sometimes our pain is comfortable, familiar. Sometimes we cling to things that hold us back, because they are convenient excuses, and protect us from venturing out in new ways and taking new risks. Jesus comes to you where you are, but he doesn’t leave you where you are. He invites you to leave your brokenness behind and be made whole. He invites you to rise above your limitations, and soar in the security of his love and grace.
“Do not hold on to me,” he said. He took the cross, a symbol of suffering and death, and transformed it into a victory over suffering and death. He invites you to share with him in that victory. To share in that victory, you need to be willing to let go—to let go of your desire to be in control, to let go of your life itself. Come share that victory—allow the love of God to transform you and free you to be all that God intended you to be! Go out into the world and proclaim the victory!
Christ is risen!
