Whom Are You Looking For?

A sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, April 16, 2006, Easter Sunday.

Scripture: John 20:1-18

The Rev. Susan M. Reisert, Minister

Sermon prayer: Gracious and merciful God, in whom is the fullness of light and wisdom, enlighten our minds by your Holy Spirit and grant us grace to receive your Word with reverence and humility. Amen.

John begins his version of the Easter story with these words: “Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark . . .” This is always how our discovery of the risen Christ begins—in darkness. While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to a tomb because just a few days earlier Jesus had been crucified and killed and then laid in the tomb. With his death, Mary’s hope had died.

Many others, before her and since, have experienced that same kind of darkness, that same kind of abandonment of their hope—even just a few days ago.

A few days ago, someone in this community experienced the death her beloved husband.

A few days ago, a friend of mine—a few years younger than I am—was told that he might have cancer.

A few days ago, a family learned that one of their children was killed in action in Iraq.

A few days ago, a young girl in Oklahoma didn’t come home from the library.

A few days ago, a teenager considered hurting himself.

A few days ago, someone lost their job.

A few days ago, someone’s hope was crucified. And the darkness can be overwhelming.

This is how we come to Easter morning. This is how we ought to come to Easter morning, if we are to understand—even in a small and remote way—the power that this day has.

No one is ever ready to encounter Easter until she or he has spent time in the dark place where hope cannot be seen. Easter is the last thing we are expecting. And that is why it terrifies us. This day is not about bunnies, or baskets, or the rebirth of spring, or girls in cute dresses, or great choirs singing their Alleluias. This day is about more hope that we can handle.

But, you can’t get to the hope until you’ve been honest about the darkness. And, I dare say, that most of us know all too well what the darkness can be like. We know what it is like to find our hopes dashed, our lives adrift, something so important and vital to our lives crucified.

We may not want to think about those dark days, but that is the road to Easter and so we are called to travel that road—to consider the darkness, the darkness in which Mary Magdalene walked on that first Easter morning.

We know what it is like to be in Mary’s place. We know what it is like to travel in darkness as Mary did. We know what it is like to think that all our hope is lost.

As Mary made her way down the dark road to the tomb, memories of better days in Galilee tried to pierce through the darkness. Ah, Galilee. How far away that must have seemed from this wretched place, this journey to the tomb. Jesus was popular then. Hope had taken root in Mary’s heart. No one ever knew exactly what to expect of Jesus, but clearly they all had higher hopes for him than that he would be crucified as a traitor to Rome and a blasphemer to the Jews.

When Mary arrived at the tomb, she was startled to discover that it was empty. At first she was horrified. As she told Peter and another disciple, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then John tells us that for a while there was a lot of running back and forth to the tomb. This is still what we disciples of Jesus do when he is missing. We run around a lot.

Eventually it all gets to be too much for Mary and she breaks down in tears by the door of the empty tomb. When she sees a couple of angels sitting in the place where Jesus was supposed to be, she is not at all impressed, but tells them, “They have taken the Lord.” Then a man she assumed to be the gardener asks her why she is weeping and then asks, “Whom are you looking for?”

That question is ours today as well: “Whom are you looking for?” Whom are you looking for in the darkness of your lives? Whom are you looking for on this Easter morning?

Finally, the gardener, who is the risen Savior, calls her by name, “Mary.” Stunned she can only say, “Rabbouni!” It was probably Mary’s favorite name for her old teacher. Out of indescribable joy, and a fair amount of confusion I’m sure, she lunges to embrace him. But to our dismay, and certainly Mary’s, the risen Christ says, “Do not hold onto me.”

Whom are you looking for? Well, he’s still not here.

If this were a made for television movie, this would be the final scene and it would feature a long embrace and a whole bunch of tears and then Jesus would look Mary in the eyes, brush away her tears and say something like: “Find the others and tell them I’m back. We’re getting out of here and going home.” But this is not a made for television movie, modeled for our desires. Jesus doesn’t say what Mary longs to hear. Instead, he says, “Don’t cling to me.”

Whom are you looking for? Well, he’s still not here.

As Mary is just beginning to understand, following Jesus is a never-ending process of losing him the moment we have him captured, only to discover him anew in an even more unmanageable form. Every expectation of Jesus is only another futile effort to get him back in the tomb. But Jesus won’t stay there.

Whom are you looking for? Whom are you searching for on this Easter morning?

What we long for, what we miss and beg God to give back, is dead. Easter doesn’t change that. So we cannot cling to the hope that Jesus will take us back to the way it was. The way out of darkness is only by moving ahead. And the only person who can lead the way is the Savior. But not the old Rabbouni we once knew, which is only one more thing that has to be left behind. Until we discover a new vision of the Savior, a savior who has risen out of our disappointments, we’ll never understand Easter.

Whom are you looking for? For whom are you searching on this Easter morning?

The question that Easter asks of us is not “Do we believe in the doctrine of resurrection?” To be blunt, that’s not particularly hard. Our doctrines bend easily to conform to the darkness, and before long our beliefs are reduced to sentimental claims about the spirit of Easter or “new beginnings.” Or we make the opposite mistake of insisting only on belief in the historicity of this event. It’s all just a way of begging the question. Ultimately, what the Gospels ask is not “Do you believe? but “Have you encountered a risen Christ?”

We get the feeling that Mary was never the same after Easter. Neither is anyone who has learned that what matters is not that we be confident in our hold of Jesus, but confident in his hold of us. Seeing that, we are ready for anything.

After the resurrection, things do not return to normal. Thank goodness God is not the producer of made for television movies. That’s the good news. It is basic to everything the New Testament proclaims. After seeing the risen Jesus, we see that there is no normal. Now we can’t even count on the darkness.

Whom are you looking for? Whom do you seek on this Easter morning?

The risen Christ will not be just as we want him. We may not even recognize him. But, he is there. He is here. In those dark moments, in those confusing moments, when everything seems hopeless, he is there. He is here. And he knows our names. And he calls to us, calls to us by name. Listen.

After every encounter with the risen Christ, after every new Easter morning, we are never the same. Thanks be to God. Amen.

[Much of this sermon was brazenly “borrowed” from “Savior at Large” by Craig Barnes, printed in The Christian Century, March 13, 2002.]