CAMINANDO WITH JESUS: An Easter People in a Good Friday World

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.

- John 20:1-18

When Martin Scorsese received a Lifetime Achievement award from the American Film Institute in 1998, he opened his acceptance speech with a story. As you may know, before becoming a filmmaker, Scorsese actually studied for the priesthood in the Roman Catholic Church. After years of filmmaking he unexpectedly reconnected with one of his seminary professors.

Eventually the conversation circled back to the subject of his movies. “Have you seen any of my films?” Scorsese asked his beloved mentor. “Oh, yes,” was the reply. “Well, what did you think?” There was a slight pause. “Marty, Marty, Marty … too much Good Friday, not enough Easter Sunday.”

For the past four weeks, we have felt, more often than not, like we are living in a time that has too much Good Friday, and not enough Easter Sunday.

You don’t need me to catalogue the losses: tens of thousands have died, many more critically ill; wide spread, fear, chaos, disruption; economic meltdown, job losses and, on top of this, loss of public worship, restriction on human contact and connection, sheltering in place, and heartbreaking stories of life and death choices having to be made when the health care system is overwhelmed by those in desperate need of care.

This is a time when we are all longing for signs of hope, searching for meaning, praying for relief, especially for those who bear a disproportionate burden of this upheaval: people of color, the poor, those with no safety net.

So, how do we celebrate Easter in such a time as this? When we aren’t necessarily feeling joyful, or full of hope, or that the promise of the gospel is very apparent.

Barbara Harris, first woman bishop in the Church and a friend and mentor of mine, released her memoir in 2018. It was entitled Hallelujah Anyhow. That was one of her many trademark expressions born out of a life tenacious and faithful leadership, proclaiming the Good News of Jesus through thick and thin, in season and out of season, come what may.

When Barbara was editor of the Witness magazine before her election as suffragan bishop in the Diocese of Massachusetts, she had an op-ed column called “A Luta Continua" – The Struggle Continues. Barbara was no stranger to the struggle to articulate hope in the face of great challenge, and even opposition. One of her other consistent messages in her preaching was: “We are an Easter people in a Good Friday world.”

Barbara died last month, not of the coronavirus, but she left behind a legacy of clear, grounded, joyful, stubborn, tenacious, hope-filled leadership. She had a way of calling out the signs of promise, the harbingers of hope, even in the most difficult circumstances. Barbara embodied gospel power, resurrection power. Standing in her presence was like receiving an infusion of passionate, love-driven hope.

I imagine this is something like what Mary must have felt that first Easter, in the garden, when the man that she had presumed was the gardener called her by name, and she recognized that it was Jesus. What relief, what joy, what an infusion of gospel promise, of resurrection power.

Of course her immediate impulse was to touch him, to hold him, to reconnect. How poignant for us, in a time of social and physical distancing that Jesus says: “No, Mary, do not try to hold onto me.”*

And there is lesson here for us. And in case we miss this, Mary even calls him Rabbouni, Teacher. The lesson is that resurrection power is not something we can possess or hold. It is only something we receive. And if we are learning anything this year at Easter, it is how to receive.

We receive the heroic and courageous gifts of those who serve on the front lines of this pandemic. We receive the act of passing by of our neighbors on the other side of the road not as avoidance, but as concern for our safety and well-being. We receive the gift and challenge of sheltering in place as a forced interruption in our drive to succeed, or to achieve, or to acquire.

We recognize that resurrection is not about performance, or even, with all due respect to Wendell Berry, about practice. Resurrection is about receiving the grace and the gift of God’s love for each of us, embodied in Jesus. And resurrection is about being surprised, even in the very worst of circumstances, by stories of hope, by gifts of grace, by the sudden recognition that God is still with us, always with us, even to the end … and beyond.

In my Good Friday meditation, I mentioned that we had discovered, on a neighborhood walk, messages of hope written in sidewalk chalk that felt like a contemporary Stations of the Cross on our journey in a time of pandemic.

Did you know that there is now, within the life and tradition of the Church, something called Stations of Resurrection? And the third station of the Resurrection is focused on the story we heard in this morning’s Gospel. It concludes with Jesus’ direction to Mary, to go and tell the others of this gift of resurrection. Go and tell what you have seen and received.

When Debbie and I returned to that neighborhood for another walk, a week later, the messages had been changed. They had been updated. It seemed that our Stations of the Cross had become Stations of the Resurrection. Here were the new messages:

Inhale/Exhale/ Repeat…

Find Joy in the journey…

You are strong…

A grateful heart is a magnet for miracles…

Today is Easter! You may not feel like it is Easter this year, at least not yet. That’s okay. You are not alone. Alleluia, anyhow! This is hard, It isn’t over. It may get harder. That’s okay. Alleluia, anyhow! Easter is more than a day. It is a season. It took the disciples weeks to absorb, to receive, what had happened, to let the gift of the Resurrection take hold of them. It wasn’t something they could fully grasp in the middle of their own heartbreaking circumstances, at first.* Alleluia, anyhow!

Because take hold of them, it did. And then, like Mary, they went out and told others, boldly, gracefully, gratefully, faithfully and passionately, and miracles began to happen.

Alleluia! Alleluia, anyhow! Alleluia, Christ is Risen!

*Inspired by a conversation with the Rev. Rebecca Yarborough based on an article quoting the Rev. Dr. Emily Heath she read in the St. Alban’s, Davidson, newsletter.

The Rt. Rev. Sam Rodman is the bishop of the Diocese of North Carolina.