Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?

Beyond the door, there’s peace I’m sure,
And I know there’ll be no more tears in heaven.

That is a portion of the song Tears in Heaven, written by acclaimed guitarist Eric Clapton and his friend Will Jennings.  In his autobiography, Eric Clapton described the events underlying the song’s lyrics:

[I had taken my 4-year-old son Conor to the circus on Long Island.]  It was a great night out.  Conor never drew breath and was particularly excited at seeing the elephants.  It made me realise for the first time what it meant to have a child and be a father. . . .  The following morning I was up early, ready to walk crosstown from my hotel to pick up Lori and Conor to take them to the Central Park Zoo. . . .  At about 11 am the phone rang and it was Lori.  She was hysterical, screaming that Conor was dead. . . .  I remember walking up Park Avenue trying to convince myself that everything was really all right . . . as if anyone could make a mistake about something like that.  When I got near the apartment building I saw a police line and paramedics on the street, and I walked past the scene, lacking the courage to go in.  . . . Finally I went into the building, where I was asked a few questions by the police.  I took the elevator upstairs to the apartment, which was on the 53rd floor. . . .  By talking to the police and the doctors I established what had happened without even having to go into the room.  The main sitting room had windows down one side, which went from floor to ceiling, and they could be cantilevered open for cleaning. . . .  On this morning the janitor was cleaning the windows and had temporarily left them open.  Conor was racing about playing a game of hide and seek with his nanny and . . . he simply ran into the room and straight out of the window.  He then fell 49 floors before landing on the roof of an adjacent four-storey building.  . . . I had to go [to the mortuary] and identify him on my own.  . . . . As I looked at his beautiful face in repose, I remember thinking, “This isn’t my son.  It looks a bit like him, but he’s gone.”

There is an unreality to death, something within us that does its best to deny that death could possibly have taken place and that begs for everything to go back to the way it was.  That pleads with the universe to run backwards just long enough for us to change the facts — for us to find a cure for the cancer, to take the gun out of the criminal’s hand, to stop the car in time, to close the windows and prevent a little boy from running out of our lives.  There is an unreality to death that leaves us wondering if it truly has taken place, that urges us to go check just one more time, and maybe learn that it was only a dream — one horrific nightmare from which we can awaken.  Is that what was going on within Mary Magdalene that morning so long ago?  Is that what caused her to get out of bed before sunup and go out to the place where Jesus had been entombed?  Did she want to go check just one more time, and maybe learn that it was only a dream — one horrific nightmare from which she would soon awake?

Mary Magdalene had been there on Friday.  She was standing near the cross, close enough to hear Jesus say that he was thirsty, to watch him drink sour wine from a sponge lifted up on a branch.  Mary heard Jesus say, “It is finished,” and watched him bow his head and give up his spirit.  When the Roman soldier pierced Jesus’ side with his spear, Mary was able to see the blood and water come out.  She watched as Joseph of Arimathea took Jesus’ body down off the cross and as he and Nicodemus wrapped Jesus’ body with spices and linen cloths.  The men laid Jesus’ body in a tomb nearby, and Mary knew that a huge stone now sealed the body of Jesus inside that tomb.[i]  And yet, Mary came.

Early 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.  So 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.”  Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb.  The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first.  He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in.  Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb.  He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself.  Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead.  Then the disciples returned to their homes.  But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb.  As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and 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.  They 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.”  When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus 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.”  Jesus said to her, “Mary!”  She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).  Jesus 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.’”  Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

It takes more.  It takes more than the aroma of lilies, the music of a choir, and baskets full of colorful eggs for us to experience Easter.  It takes more than years spent in Church School and sanctuaries hearing over and again the old, old story, learning about Jesus’ life and death and about all that he taught and all that he did in his time here on earth.  For the disciples — for the men and women who had spent years traveling the countryside with Jesus — it took more than hearing him teach, watching him perform acts of power, and knowing him as their leader and friend.  It took more than calling Jesus “Lord” or even being moved to declare that he was the Son of God.  It took more than all of those things for the disciples to experience Easter.  For Easter to dawn within them and change the course of their lives.  It took more.

When we look at Mary Magdalene, it would appear that she had everything she needed to recognize and understand what was taking place within the event we call Easter.  Mary was part of Jesus’ “inner circle.”  She was one of the people who went with Jesus as he traveled “through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God,” and one of several women who gave financial and practical support to Jesus’ work.  But, beyond being a bystander and even a participant in Jesus’ ministry, Mary was a recipient.  Jesus had healed Mary of a serious illness, and that had put her in a position to know, in a profound and unique way, the divine power that Jesus carried within him.  Mary had not just watched that divine power at work in others, she had experienced that power at work within her.  And yet, Mary was still in the dark.  The author of the Gospel of John makes that point for us.  He writes that Mary came to the tomb “while it was still dark,” even though the other gospel writers are careful to tell us that dawn had in fact arrived, that the sun was already up.[ii]  But, the author of John wants us to realize that as Mary walked to Jesus’ tomb, she was enclosed in a darkness that daybreak, alone, could not dispel.  A darkness that facts and knowledge could not relieve.

Mary was the first person to see that “the stone had been removed from the tomb.”  She was there to know that there was no body inside, just the linen wrappings that had been used to encase Jesus’ body in about 100 pounds of ointment and spice, but now were lying in one, neat pile.  Mary had seen and talked with the two angels who now sat where Jesus’ body had once been.  She had even talked with Jesus, himself, who stood before her and asked, “Woman, why are you weeping?  Whom are you looking for?”  But none of this made any sense.  For whom was Mary looking?  Mary was looking for a corpse, for a dead body.  Mary was looking for a man who once was alive and now was dead.  Dead never to live again, never again to impact her life, guide her steps, or heal her ills.

Mary had come to the tomb that morning while it was still dark — while she was still “in the dark” — looking for a dead body, and in the darkness of that belief she could not imagine what had taken place.  She could not recognize the risen Lord.  Not until he said, “Mary!”  Not until he called her by name.  Suddenly, everything that had gone before — everything Mary had seen and heard from the moment Jesus had healed her to the moment of his death — suddenly everything fell into place.  Now, Mary knew that the one she had once called Lord truly was Lord — the Lord of Creation, the Lord of Life.  It was just as Jesus had said.  Jesus had explained to Mary and the others that he was the good shepherd, who would lay down his life for his sheep.  He had said, “I know my own and my own know me,” and that when he called his sheep by name they would know his voice.[iii]  When Mary heard the risen Jesus call her by name, she did know his voice.  Mary understood that the person who stood before her was not a stranger, but someone who knew her completely, who loved her completely, who welcomed her as his own.

It takes more.  It takes more than hearing the parables Jesus taught and believing that he performed acts of power.  It takes more than calling Jesus “Lord” or even being moved to declare him as the Son of God.  It takes more than all of those things for you and me to experience Easter, for Easter to dawn within us and change the course of our lives.  It takes hearing the question, “Whom are you looking for?” and recognizing that the one who poses that question is not just some stranger, but is the Good Shepherd who has laid down his life for us and whom God has raised up beyond death.  Two thousand years ago, Mary Magdalene came to a tomb to mourn, and the risen Christ lifted her out of her mourning when he called her by name.  Now, the risen Christ is calling you by name.  He is speaking your name with the tenderness of one who knows you completely, loves you completely, and is ready to welcome you as his own.  May you hear and know his voice and then answer his call.  Amen.

 

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