Easter Vigil

Sermon for Saturday, April 11, 2020 | The Great Vigil of Easter | John 20:1-18 | The Rev. Dr. Ryan Mills |

¹Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. ²So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” ³Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. ⁴The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. ⁵He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. ⁶Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, ⁷and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. ⁸Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; ⁹for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. ¹⁰Then the disciples returned to their homes.

¹¹But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; ¹²and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” ¹⁴When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” ¹⁶Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). ¹⁷Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” ¹⁸Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her (John 20:1-18, NRSV).

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This is the night.  “This is the night,” we’ve heard sung.  This is the night when in ancient times God delivered the children of Israel and led them dry-footed through the Red sea.  This is the night in which all who believe in Christ are rescued from evil and the gloom of sin, and renewed in grace and holiness by his rising brightness.  This is the night, where, breaking the chains of death, Christ arises from death and hell in triumph, Christ who has beaten every enemy, Christ who has destroyed your death, this is the night when Christ now lives and reigns forever, so that you and I will live with him forever too.

And so this is the night that we need this year just as much or even more than any other year: the Pass-over of Christ from death to life; and our Passing over from this world subsumed in sickness, death, and despair into the glorious victory of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has carried our illnesses, born our diseases, and who in his real body has been raised this night in glory everlasting.

And together, if only over Facebook, we’ve told the old, old stories tonight, those told by seers of old times, who gazed towards the Good News announced by the angels at the empty tomb tonight. The good news of our God who created us in his image to live with him forever. Of our God who rescued his children who were worked-to-death slaves and were not allowed worship him by an evil King.  Of our God who is the only one we may worship, who is with Shadrack, Meshach and Abednego and even us in the fieriest furnace, in the worst this world has to offer, and who is with us always, even to the end of the age.

This is the night, when Mary Magdalene went to the tomb in darkness, before it was daylight, to do the loving, respectful thing and tend to the body of her Lord.  How many families in these days have been denied that most basic human decency: to hold and tend the body of their loved one? But what did she find when she got there?  What insult added to injury?  The stone, that big giant gravestone, had been rolled away!

Three days earlier Mary had seen them arrest Jesus, and mock him and beat him.  She’d been there when they nailed him to the Cross, she waited with him during those long hours when darkness covered the earth, she was there when he breathed his last, she stood weeping when they took him down, she had seen them lay him in the tomb and seal it shut.  But now the tomb was open, with nothing and no one inside of it.

Death is doubled here by absence—where was He? I’m reminded of a story in the New York Times this week about a family who sent their grandmother, suffering from the Coronavirus, to the hospital by ambulance. Forms were lost, names switched around, and she died alone and unknown, her family unable to locate her.

And so this night Mary ran–what would you do if you found an emptied, messed with tomb? She ran, and came to the disciples—the same disciples who had abandoned Jesus, and denied him, and left him alone to die on the Cross—she came and told them, “They have taken the Lord away, and we don’t know where they’ve laid him!”

Now the disciples ran tonight, they ran together to see this disaster, faster and faster.  And when they arrived, what did they see, but the grave clothes lying there, neatly folded up, rolled up, the tokens of death put away as useless and powerless, save the receipt and take them back because these are not needed anymore–there was nothing to see there except for an empty grave, just as he had promised.

But Mary stood weeping and weeping outside the tomb, she was not leaving, she was staying.  Mary loved him, and she wasn’t leaving him even if he wasn’t there. There’s a beauty to faith that doesn’t give up, that doesn’t give in, that holds on to God even when everything has fallen apart– she stands right there and won’t leave and just weeps. And as she looks in, there they were: two angels dressed in white, one at the head and one at the foot of where Jesus’ body had been.  “Woman, why are you weeping,” the angels ask? God enters into your tears gently tonight, like a parent comforts a child, “Tell me, why are you crying?”

And as Mary turns to wipe her eyes, as she turns, right there in front of her is Jesus.  “Woman, why are you weeping?” he echoes gently.  “Whom are you looking for?”  In her tears, in her grief, in the darkness, Mary assumes he’s the gardener!  Here is the Risen Jesus Christ, with defeated death behind him, who has risen triumphantly and punctured death, killed it, triumphed over it, who has emptied your grave and my grave tonight and ushered in light and life eternal… and Mary thinks he’s the lawnmower guy!  Christ is always hidden from us, he looks too ordinary, too everyday, until he shows himself. God’s work in this world seems too ordinary to us in this world, until, as in these days, we are given eyes to see it!  And so he does, open Mary’s eyes, in the greatest, shortest sermon ever: “Mary.”

“Mary,” Christ knows his own, he knows those who belong to him, he knows you, he knows your name, and he’s not afraid to use it! Your name that he called out the day you were baptized, your name he had in mind as he died for you and for the world on the Cross, your name that he will speak as one day he calls you out of death, as he calls you out of your grave into eternal life forever with him.

“Rabbi, Teacher!” Mary cries out, and then she holds onto him.  This is no ghost, this is no figment of anybody’s imagination, this is the flesh and blood Jesus risen and alive forever, his body laid down cold and sick and broken is raised up warm and healed and new, and Mary and Jesus just for a moment hold onto each other, cling to each other, a promise that we too will be held close by the Risen Christ, that these broken down bodies will one day be raised up healed and new and beautiful like his, that we too will hold our loved ones in our arms again, that we will hold each other again, in this world when it’s safe again, and in the next one, forever.

„Don’t hold on,“ Jesus says—the King of Kings event of physical distancing! „Don’t hold on, but go and tell my brothers that I am risen and am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.“ So Mary went, Mary ran with all her might to go and tell—“I have seen the Lord!”

Tonight, with our little light shining in the great darkness, in the renewing of our baptisms, in our singing, by our being together, apart, by the power of the Holy Spirit, tonight in so many words we’ve said the same: „I have seen the Lord.“  You have seen the Lord. You’ve seen what he’s done!  Seen how he’s kept his promises.  Seen his light rising in the darkness. Seen his victory over your every grief and burden.  And though this night we may not hold him in the bread and wine, he holds onto you, and he send you and me too.  Sends you running back to your weary, anxious homebound life filled with the promise and hope of the Resurrection, filled with the midnight Easter joy of Mary’s words, “I have seen the Lord!”

For Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

          Amen.  

And the Peace of God, which passes all understanding, guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Ryan Mills

New Haven, Connecticut

Pastor@TrinityLutheranNH.org