I hope that you are doing as well as possible in these times of uncertainty. You are in my thoughts.
In preparation for writing this reflection, over the past several days I’ve read the lectionary texts repeatedly, as well as commentary and pieces by many theologians. I’ve struggled mightily to figure out what I might write. As I said in my reflection last week on the story of Lazarus, I’m weeping with Jesus. I’m ready for Easter to come, but know it won’t look like I want it to.
So. Here I share with you some thoughts on Easter, which are neither conclusive nor as satisfying as I want them to be. And, I also feel as though they’re reflective for my (our) context. So for now, they’re what I’ve got. (Perhaps next week I’ll have a brilliant insight to share, retrospectively. Perhaps not.)
We’re nowhere near an end to this global pandemic and the despair it is and will continue to bring about. It seems to me that more than I’ve ever imagined before, we’re feeling similar emotions to the ones Jesus and his disciples were likely feeling in the days before Easter—despair, fear, grief. I try to sit with those emotions even more as I read this part of the story. What might Mary be feeling?
As the story goes in the book of John, Mary Magdalene came and saw that the stone was gone from the tomb. She ran to Simon Peter and the other disciple, exclaiming that someone had taken Jesus out of the tomb, and she didn’t know where his body was. The two disciples ran together to the tomb, and saw the wrappings for Jesus’ body, and the story says that they believed. They went back to their homes.
Mary stayed behind, and continued weeping outside the tomb. Soon she saw two angels where Jesus’ body had been. They asked her why she was crying, and she told them that someone had taken Jesus and she didn’t know where his body was.
The emotions that the disciples and Jesus were probably feeling in the days leading up to Easter (the ones that are probably similar to what many of us are feeling now) — these are emotions that aren’t described in this part of the story, but the grief and anxiety impact every moment. We’re weeping with Mary, and many of us may be feeling similarly frantic as we look for the love and goodness in our world right now.
And at the same time, 2,000 years later, we who follow Jesus know and hold onto other similar things. In the midst of our greatest worries, God’s presence is more powerful than our doubts. God will not abandon us. Even in the pain and chaos of this pandemic, there will be moments of peace. Resilience and renewal will rise up (and already are rising up!) in the face of anguish.
Every day now we can see the vulnerability and beauty of humans: in the compassion and courage of first responders and front line workers; in the life-saving social distancing most of us are practicing; in the ordinary people who are making phone calls and masks; in the ways in which we are all practicing kindness and patience with those around us, whether physically close or distant.
As she said this, she turned around and Jesus was standing there, but she didn’t recognize him. He asked her why she was crying. Mary thought he was the gardener, and asks him to just show her where he moved Jesus’ body. But then Jesus said her name, “Mary”, and she turned with a start and said “Teacher!” Jesus told her not to hold onto him too hard, because he still needed to ascend to God. He asked her to tell the others that she has seen him, and she does.
In Mary, too, we see both vulnerability and beauty. One theologian points out that when Jesus tells Mary not to hold onto him, he is literally telling her “do not touch me”. There will be no hugging, and instead physical distancing. And still, soon after Mary becomes the first one to go tell others this story of hope and love.
This Easter yet again we celebrate that which we cannot see and do not fully understand. This Easter yet again we live into this great mystery, grateful for reminders that nothing can separate us from God’s love. As we continue to live through this pandemic remembering how deeply God loves us, let us all find ways to, as Wendell Berry instructs, “practice resurrection”.*
*If you don’t already know it, look for Wendell Berry’s “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front”.
*Also, I’d love to hear of the ways that you find to practice resurrection where you are! Email me at hcampbell@carleton.edu to share.
Hannah Campbell Gustafson ’09
Associate Chaplain for Christian and Interfaith Life