It was so early in the morning that it was still dark. The air was cool against Mary’s cheeks as she walked towards the tomb. It has been a sleepless night full of tears and grief and now there was no point trying to rest any more.
Mary had loved this man with her whole heart. He was good, deeply good, so much so that just being with him made her feel more holy. He brought out the best in her, inspired her to be her most loving self. He had brought meaning and purpose and direction.
All night Mary had tried to bring herself to believe that it had happened, that he had actually died. That he was gone. The prospect of trying to think of what to do with her life next was too exhausting. All she knew now was that she couldn’t bear the separation any more. Even if she had to sit a little way off and just look at it, she needed to go and be at the tomb. She needed to be with him.
It wasn’t long before she was there, and as Mary approached she realised that the guards weren’t there any more, and in their absence someone had broken into the tomb. Grave robbers? Alarmed, she ran the last few steps as her heart fell in anguish. He was gone. Someone had taken him. Was it not enough that she had seen him die and had her dreams broken? Fresh tears poured down her cheeks as she turned and ran to fetch help. Knocking at Peter’s door, she burst out, ‘He’s gone! He’s gone and I don’t know where!’.
Peter and John glanced at each other and were off, sprinting back down the road Mary had come from. By the time Mary caught up with them at the tomb again, they’d seen all that there was to see. They’d seen that Jesus wasn’t there. They’d seen that there was no sign of where he might be. Shaking their heads, they just walked away, defeated.
But Mary couldn’t leave again. Instead she stood with a hand on the huge stone, the stone that had failed to keep even his body safe, and cried and cried as though her heart would break.
The sky was beginning to lighten as the sun came up. Birds were singing the dawn chorus, oblivious that the world might as well have ended. Pink edged the sky and colour began to return to the landscape. With a little more light, Mary bent to look inside the tomb again - perhaps there would be some clue of what had happened. Strangely, two men sat there where Jesus’ body had laid. Just sitting calmly in a tomb. Mary’s heart leaped. Perhaps they were the ones who had moved him. Perhaps they could take her to him.
‘Why are you crying?’ one of them asked. Why was she crying? Because the man she would have followed to the ends of the earth had been killed. Because she had watched the one she loved more than anything draw his last breath, seen his blood trickle to the ground, seen his body carried away. Because the one who made her feel like she could draw close to God had left her, and now she was alone.
‘I don’t know where my Lord is!’ Mary cried out, and turned away to dry her eyes.
Another strange man was now standing next to her. Mary supposed he must be a gardener, but maybe he knew. Maybe he’d seen what had happened. “Woman, why are you weeping?” he asked. “Sir, tell me where he is, please”, Mary begged. “Tell me where he is so I can go to him.”
“Mary”.
Her name. The way he used to say it. The way of saying her name that encompassed who she was, that saw her, knew her, cherished her. “Mary.”
With a gasp, she knew. Sunrise exploded in her heart even as the warm beams of light reached over the hill and bathed her and the man in golden glory. He wasn’t a gardener. This was her Lord!
She flung her arms around him and the tears ran again in stunned joy and wonder. It couldn’t be possible, but here he was, gently saying her name. Of course the tomb was empty. Of course. Because Jesus was standing right here, not dead at all. She wasn’t imagining it, he was warm in her arms and the light now illuminated his kind, beloved face. “Don’t hold onto me” he was saying. “I am ascending to my father, to our God”.
Half an hour later she was knocking on Peter’s door again, her heart just about bursting with excitement. Mary understood now. It had had to happen, the awful death. All that anger and fear had to be met and loved to the end, even to the end of Jesus. But it hadn’t been enough to stop the love he brought. It hadn’t been enough to end his teaching and the new knowledge of God. Now Mary knew that he could never be taken away again. She would never be alone again.
The way he said her name, the depth of it, the love in it, the knowledge behind it, had healed her. Now Mary knew what came next. This almost unbearable joy had to be shared. The news that the tomb was empty was the most wonderful thing she had ever had to tell anyone. Her Lord was risen! She knocked harder on the door. “Peter!” Mary called out “come and hear!”
One day this incredible story would be known and celebrated across the world. One day thousands upon thousands of people would know their name the way Jesus had said hers this morning.
One day you would know you are loved, as the joy of the empty tomb spills out to shine light onto your face. Jesus is risen, he is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Comments