| Amidst the nightmare of a dark only thickened by the fog-shrouded moon, Mary Magdalene stumbled her way through a maze of streets and on past the city wall toward the tomb where Jesus’s crucified body lay. Blanketed against the dankish chill only by tears and torment, Mary nonetheless felt strangely warmed by the prayer she was murmering, mantra-like-the psalm she’d first learned in Jesus’s company, on a grassy, sheep-cropped slope overlooking their beloved Galilean lake:
“’Adônai ro‘î, lo’ ’echsar,” “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” “bin’ôt deshe’ yarbîtsenî, ‘al-mê m?nuchôt y?nahalenî, nafshî y?shôvev.” “The Lord makes me lie down in green pastures, leads me beside still waters, and restores my soul.” “gam kî-’elek b?gê’ tsalmawet lo’-’îra’ ra‘ kî-’attah ‘immadî.” “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me.” As Mary and others had walked the Galilean countryside with Jesus, the thought had crossed her mind more than once that this man who spoke so often of wandering sheep and caring shepherds was himself what the Lord God’s shepherding presence was all about. Yes, “the Lord” who had enabled her to lie down in green pastures beside still waters with soul restored-that “Lord,” that shepherd, who had healed her from her long illness, had been Jesus himself, whom she had come affectionately to call “Rabbouni,” “my honored rabbi.” Yes, it was indeed through Jesus himself that she had most powerfully felt the touch and presence of the living God. But where had God been when Rabbouni himself had had to walk through his dark valley, the valley of the shadow of his own death? And now that he was dead-horribly, torturedly, heartbreakingly dead-who was there left who could tend to her in this new dark night of her soul? For she was all too aware that she was slipping back into the grip of her mental illness. If God was not there with Jesus on the cross, how could she think that God was present with her now? Yet why was she feeling so strangely warmed by those words: “’Adônai ro‘î, lo’ ’echsar,” “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want”? Was this feeling of hers but an aberration, just another symptom of her slide back into delusion? Or could this feeling of hers somehow be a sign that, in the silence between the dark and the dawn, God had returned to the world to sow new light. “gam kî-’elek b?gê’ tsalmawet lo’-’îra’ ra‘ kî-’attah ‘immadî.” “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me.” At last Mary reached the rock quarry that was to be her landmark. Its white limestone cliffs glowed ghost-like through the otherwise embalmed darkness. They pointed Mary’s way into the gloom beyond and reminded her of those words of her prayer: “yanchenî b?ma‘g?lê-tsedeq l?ma‘an sh?mô,” “The Lord leads me in right paths for the sake of God’s name.” Joseph and Nicodemus had described for Mary where to find the path that took off from the quarry. And soon she reached a tomb. From the instructions she’d been given it had to be the one she was seeking. And then, as if to help her, a thin patch in the fog refracted a touch of moonlight, to softly illumine the rock face of the tomb. But what was revealed to her seemed suddenly sinister. The men had said that they’d rolled a large round stone over the tomb’s entrance, to seal it.But the mouth of this tomb was gaping wide. Mary was seized by dread. Enemies must have broken in, to defile Jesus’s body. Greatly alarmed, Mary turned and hurriedly re-traced her steps into the city, where, stammeringly, she told the others her stunning news. By now, dawn had broken, and even amidst the lingering fog Peter and John were able to run sure-footedly to the tomb, leaving Mary far behind, in their wake. Arriving at the mist-shrouded garden, they entered the tomb and quickly saw that it was empty, just as Mary had thought. The only things they could find there were a few pieces of abandoned grave clothes, confirming Mary’s suspicions. Not knowing what to make of all this, Peter and John headed home, heedless of waiting for Mary. So when Mary arrived, nothing at the tomb seemed different from before. And still too broken up to enter, she stood outside, weeping-devastated that Jesus was dead and terrified that his body had been stolen. What were those words again? “lo’-’îra’ ra‘ kî-’attah ‘immadî.” “I fear no evil, for you are with me.” So summoning her courage, and trusting in God, she made bold to peer into the chamber. And there, through a mist created by her own tears, she seemed to see two figures sitting where Jesus’s body ought to have been. Then she heard them asking, “Woman, why are you weeping?” And she blurted back, “They’ve taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they’ve laid him.” As she spoke, she turned away, out of complete despair, only to see a fog- shrouded figure standing in the garden, at some distance. Her only thought was to escape past him, but in her flight she stopped short when he, too, put a question to her, also asking: “Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?” Supposing this one to be the gardener, Mary pleaded,“Sir, if you’re the one who’s carried him away, tell me where you’ve laid him, and I’ll take him away.” In reply, the figure spoke but one word, yet that word changed the world. He said simply, “Mary!” And at that very moment, when she heard him speak her name, her heartbreak was dispelled by hope, her darkness was dispersed by light, her dread of death was displaced by a promise of new life. And she cried out in joy and in faith, "Rabbouni!” For, though she knew not how, her Lord was once again alive, and she could once more offer her prayer with a full and certain heart: “gam kî-’elek b?gê’ tsalmawet lo’-’îra’ ra‘ kî-’attah ‘immadî.” “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you[, my Lord,] are [still] with me.” And in her joy she soon found herself running back to Jerusalem to proclaim to the other disciples: “I have seen the Lord!” And as she ran, she recited with such fuller meaning those concluding words of her psalm: “’ak tôb wachesed yird?fûnî kol-y?mê chayyay w?shavtî b?vêt-’Adônai l?’orek yamîm” “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” While it was still dark, Mary had gone to the tomb, and there, at the foggy bottom of her life, she had encountered the Risen Christ. And right then and there, hope had dispelled her heartbreak, light had dispersed her darkness, and the promise of eternal life had displaced her dread of death. I suspect that none of us is ever really ready to experience the height of Easter joy until we have spent time in those dark places where hope cannot be seen, where Easter is the last thing we are expecting. And what a year of such dark places we have had-9/11, murder throughout the world in the name of religion, a plunging spiral of violence and vengeance in the Middle East, Enron and Arthur Andersen, layoffs and postponed retirements, clergy violating their sacred trust, the growing pessimism that this new millennium of ours is turning out to be even worse than the old one, far, far too many persons in our community of faith being stricken by cancer-and on, and on, and on. I suspect there’s not one person here this morning who can say that during these past twelve months they’ve escaped having their hope crucified. I suspect all of us can identify only too well with Mary’s nightmare of darkness, tears, and torment, with her slide into a dark night of her soul, with her walk through the valley of the shadow of death, with her floundering toward the tomb without a shred of Easter hope. Yet it was to just such a person as Mary, to one stumbling about in the dark-clueless, hopeless, disoriented-it was to just such a person as Mary that the Risen Christ first appeared, and it is to just such persons as Mary that the Risen Christ continues to appear. For our Risen Savior is still alive, still calling us by name, still coming to us in the dark night of our soul, still blanketing us with the hope by which to cope, still assuring us of his presence amidst all our experiences of limits and loss. For Easter, you see, is the rediscovery of life in the very midst of death’s darkest hour. And I suspect that our time spent this year in all those dark places where hope could not be seen, can make our experience of the Risen Christ today all the more profound for joy, just like Mary’s experience on that first Easter. So let’s affirm it together, our Easter faith! Even though our world is still dark, let’s affirm it together! Are you ready? Christ is risen! [Christ is risen indeed!] Christ is risen! [Christ is risen indeed!] Alleluia! [Alleluia!] “’Adônai ro‘î, lo’ ’echsar,” “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” “’ak tôb wachesed yird?fûnî kol-y?mê chayyay w?shavtî b?vêt-’Adônai l?’orek yamîm” Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our life, and we shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Christ is risen! [Christ is risen indeed!] Christ is risen! [Christ is risen indeed!] Alleluia! [Alleluia!] Let us pray: Gracious Lord of Life, we thank You that the story of Jesus did not end on the cross. We thank You that the story of Jesus has not yet ended and will, in truth, never end. We thank you that Christ is eternally alive, coming to us while it is still dark to offer us abiding hope and joy. Amen. |
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