Easter Sunday: God’s Grand, Ongoing Movement
And then Love calls your name, you hear him say:
The way is open, death has been deposed,
As though some heavy stone were rolled away,
And you are free at last on Easter Day.
-Malcolm Guite, from “A Villanelle on Easter Day”
After Adam and Eve did the very thing God commanded them not to do, take from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the seed of pride took root, wrapping itself like Kudzu around their hearts. It was grounded in the soil of “Oh, we can be like God…” They were banished from the Garden, and two cherubim were stationed… ”And he placed a flaming sword that flashed back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life” (Genesis 3:24).
Separation.
This was the consequence. Playing god, trying to write our story ourselves, isn’t a joke. The wisdom of God sets up borders and limits for our own safety and protection. Adam and Eve figured they could make their own choice about these kinds of life decisions. In a way, God gave them what they wanted—the choice to choose their own way. What a mess we make.
Have you ever stopped to take a sweeping look at the arc of Scripture? It’s one long river, the movement of God to solve the problem of separation we created. He continually comes toward us. The stories are full of rescue. Intervention. Restoration.
Today is the fulcrum, all movement leading to this moment in God’s big plan. We celebrate the resurrection of Jesus—the grand design to dissolve all separation between God and humankind. And sweet Mary Magdalene is a key player in the unfolding of the story…
It must have felt like whiplash.
Having an intimate meal with Jesus. His talk of betrayal. His solitary moment in the garden, crying. An arrest out of nowhere. Dragged off, standing trial, yanked back and forth between cowardly leaders…and then whipped to excess…carrying his cross down the street to be crucified. Mocked, nailed right onto the wood, barely breathing…straining his last word, “It is finished,” and he was gone. A reality no one anticipated. Often, the arch of history, even our own lives, feels like we are stuck in the bend of Good Friday. Dark and hopeless. Confusing. Mary Magdalene certainly felt it down to the quick.
If I could choose someone to have a glass of wine with, it would be Mary Magdalene. When Jesus said things like, “My Kingdom is not of this world,” she got it. Given her story and the healing she experienced, I cannot imagine how that Friday was for her. As anyone who has been through the trauma of watching a loved one suffer with the pain and exhaustion of death, I am certain she was sick to her stomach, anxiety-ridden, and deeply afraid. Sleepless and spent. It makes sense, then, what we read in John’s Gospel: “Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb…” There was nothing else she could do with herself, and she needed to get close; she wanted to anoint his precious body.
A well-developed and accessible imagination is advantageous when we read the stories in Scripture. We retain our humanness when we have empathy…when we enter into someone else’s skin and wonder what it was like. We can’t do that without imagining. Eugene Peterson calls it a “Holy imagination,” developed in him by the profound influence of his mother, a Pentecostal preacher. There’s no imagination and connection without stillness. Contemplating such things doesn’t work in a rush, and noise messes it all up. The phone will hijack the connection with the Spirit with one ping. Stillness, as we all know, is hard to come by these days. It’s worth choosing for this story. I imagine that I am Mary…
Once she got to the tomb and saw that the stone was gone, in total confusion and panic, she ran back to tell the guys.
“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!”
After all the devastation of the last 48 hours, now this. In a total whirlwind, Peter and John ran to the tomb, falling over each other as they arrived, they saw the same thing—the stone rolled back and no body. I am not sure there is any rational response in a moment like that. They scurried back to where they were staying in shock and utter confusion. And here is why I love Mary so much…
“Mary stood outside the tomb crying…”
Raw emotion. I can picture her. Head in her hands, bent over, weary and sad. Paralyzed, she had no idea what to do, what to think, how to feel. She felt everything and nothing. Spinning with thoughts about what may have happened, while also totally blank. Thank God she stayed back, lingering…
As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.
It pays to remain. Peter and John, in their hurry, missed this moment. A supernatural call back to Exodus. The Ark of the Covenant was where God would meet his people: “And you shall make two cherubim of gold... on the two ends of the mercy seat…There I will meet with you.” Ever since the fall of mankind, God has been determined to make a way back to us, his people. All of Scripture tells this story.
They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.
He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”
One small woman in a desperate state. “…I will get him.” How? What would she do with the body? Where would she get the strength? This is the love of a loyal follower of Jesus. Loss like this doesn’t consider the rational details. Oh, that we would love him like that.
And then he said her name…”Mary.”
Clinging to him, she was the first to witness the resurrected Lord, the first to hear what it all meant:
Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
When Jesus took his last breath, the whole earth responded, and this one image explained it all:
At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom (27:51).
No more separation. Our most complicated, self-inflicted problem was solved. But not by our determination, good looks, good works, or good ideas. We simply can’t get back to God. Dry bones don’t make themselves come back to life. We don’t resurrect ourselves. We don’t make the ground underneath us fertile. We can’t do it for our kids, either. Like Mary, we cooperate, but we aren’t the author. Praise God, the curtain is one massive message: Welcome back!
Twice when Jesus appeared to the disciples, he walked through a locked door to get inside:
On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jewish leaders, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” (John 20:19)
Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” (John 20:26)
The perfect word picture. For Jesus, doors are no longer doors. No more barriers. No more separation. No more being closed off or walled in. The curtain tore in two from top to bottom.
I reached out to the administrative assistant at St. David’s Church earlier this week. “I wasn’t sure after COVID if the doors of the church were still kept open during the day,” I explained my connection to that small stone building, my dad’s side of the family, my engagement with special permission, and my times in solitude with Jesus. I was longing to sit there again. Alone. Uninterrupted. It had been too long. Here was her kind response,
Thank you so much for reaching out, and for sharing your family’s connection to St. David’s. It’s lovely to hear from you, and I’m so glad you’re hoping to spend some quiet time here as we approach Good Friday and Easter.
Yes — the buildings are generally open between 8:00 am and 5:00 pm, so you are very welcome to come and spend time in prayer during those hours.
St. David’s Church
So, on Thursday, I packed up my bag…my Bible, a journal, Plough Magazine (which featured six new poems by Wendell Berry), Malcolm Guite’s Lent poetry book, and a few other books…But then I had a thought come in from outside of my own thoughts:
“Dawn, don’t take all that.”
This scenario is all too typical for me, ask my sister. If you know me at all, you know I like to have options…However, in the end, with so much to choose from, I end up unable to focus on anything. I knew what he was saying…”Don’t hook into a book, just let me speak.” I liked that idea.
And I was really glad I had one other thought come into my own…
“You can take Plough for Berry’s poems…😉”
Expectant, I made my way down Route 30 and onto the back roads that wind around, leading me up to the rich, rolling hills and tall trees on the property of St. David’s, where God has met me so many times. My body grew noticeably calm.
The cemetery alone is a historical landmark dating back to before the Revolutionary War. You can almost hear the old trees tell the stories.
I pulled into a parking space, took a deep breath, and said to the Lord, “You don’t have to do some big thing; I am just in need of this time and space. I know you are here.” With that, I wandered in. Flooded with memories, I was immediately engaged and open. I stood still for a few moments, looking around, taking it in. Completely alone, I knelt in front of the chancel. Silent, I had no words. This was an opportunity to receive his presence and peace. There are times like this when you become vividly aware that you are exactly where you are meant to be. This was a moment like that for me. The entire hour and a half is an essay in itself; I must write about it separately. But I will share these few bits…
I wanted to visit that space as I had for so many years. I needed to be in the quiet, in a sacred spot, with no one else around. I needed to be in a sanctuary, with God, during Holy Week. With all the disorder in the world, I needed this place to orient me to my True North and that story.
As I walked to the pew where I was going to sit and pray, I turned and saw the spot where Scott had proposed to me (another story to tell since it is altogether otherworldly). Filled with tears, I became aware that this was the exact weekend 9 years ago that he asked me the most sincere question I have ever been asked. I am grateful for that moment on my timeline. I had been single until I was 46, and though the road was rich, it was long. I still wouldn’t trade it.
But what was coming up in me more than the emotion of that memory was this: God was reminding me, “You are in the middle of a much larger story. For hundreds of years, this place has held celebrations and losses, wars and peace, times when my presence was palpable and other times when I was hidden. All of it, Dawn, pages and pages, and pages of history, stories upon stories—and here you are, sitting right in the middle of it. I am the stones underneath this building. The one who holds everything up. I am doing the work to come near, to make all things new, piece by piece, bit by bit. It just keeps going. Dry bones brought to life."
I live most days as if I’m not in the middle of his story. Most of us live as if it is all up to us, and truthfully, it feels that way—every single thing, up to us. Our careers, our finances, our relationships, tending to our bodies, working through the hard things, our kids’ lives, and their well-being. All of it. We begin and end our days as if we are the ones who are generating the force behind everything. No wonder we have so much anxiety.
But the cross and resurrection make something perfectly clear: dead bones don’t bring themselves back to life. Jesus is imperative. He’s not a support system; he is the lifeblood. He’s not just a companion; he’s a Savior. Easter tells us to stop and remember that there is One who raises the dead. He moves in the hearts and lives of his people in the most mysterious and subtle ways. And, what can be most challenging for us: He is SLOW. Faithful, but slow.
Today, we are reminded that there are no barriers. We can approach the throne of grace with confidence so we can find HIM in our time of need. With all of it, go to HIM. This is not a passive faith; this is a relational, cooperative faith. We go to him, we engage with him, and we work alongside him. But we are not the source.
I sat in that moment, so starkly aware that I have an author, and it’s not me.
My friends, may this day remind you that Jesus’ resurrection means God is close. Our posture is a noticing posture. Look for him. Our attentiveness matters. In your sorrow, look for him to come near. In your shame, look for him to come near. In your fear, look for him. In your temptations, in your stuckness, waiting, loneliness, wandering, and rebellion, may you see him come through the door, sit on the floor with you, and say, “Peace be with you…”
The Lord is Risen!
The Lord is Risen Indeed!
“God does not require a pure heart before embracing us. Even if we return only because following our desires has failed to bring happiness, God will take us back. Even if we return because being a Christian brings us more peace than being a pagan, God will receive us. Even if we return because our sins did not offer as much satisfaction as we had hoped, God will take us back. Even if we return because we could not make it on our own, God will receive us. God's love does not require any explanations about why we are returning. God is glad to see us home and wants to give us all we desire, just for being home.”
Henri Nouwen
