Sally A Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
Each of the four gospels describes events that take place at Jesus’ tomb early on the first day of the week following Jesus’ crucifixion. All are different; yet, on two points they agree: the tomb was found open, and Mary Magdalene was there. One may disagree with the lectionary designers’ insistence that John’s version of the Easter story should be preached every year on Easter; preachers are free to choose another Gospel’s story. That said, John’s narrative may prove especially pertinent in our present moment. John traces an arc that begins in the darkness of Mary’s sleepless, agitated grief, compelling her toward Jesus’ tomb before sunrise. But it is there, in that place of death, that Mary comes face to face with undefeated Life in the person of the risen Christ. For John, the essence of Easter preaching is not, “He is risen!” but Mary’s joyful shout: “I have seen the Lord!”
Preaching on Easter morning is challenging, not least of all because this all-important message has to be delivered before Easter visitors, many of them minimally invested in the sermon. Yet, most preachers are better equipped for this task than they realize. We are all practiced in the art of a significant analogue to the Easter sermon: the funeral or memorial service homily. Funeral sermons need to do two things. First, they need to embrace the specific grief in the room (which may include anger). Second, they declare that nothing, even death itself, can separate us from the love of God. John’s Easter morning story traces precisely this movement. First, his narrative throbs with the flesh-and-blood authenticity of wrenching human grief born of deep love: there is the sound of Mary’s inconsolable weeping; there is the sound of running footsteps as Peter and John, hearing that the grave is open, race to the tomb of their friend; and when they are gone, Mary’s desperate pleas for help to find what is lost continue; “they” have taken away what she most cherishes. This Easter day, the weeping of Mary can function metaphorically, gathering to it (and validating) the grief, anger, and fear felt by many in our pews in recent weeks. Both the angels and Jesus himself ask Mary, “Why are you weeping?” We will raise our alleluias; but let us make space, first, for grief, loss, and fear.
Grief-blinded, Mary doesn’t recognize the kind strangers inside the tomb as heaven-sent. (John’s angels do not declare, “He is not here; he is risen!” [Mt 28:6; Lk 24:6]). Nor does distraught Mary recognize the stranger she meets upon turning around—the very one whose missing body she seeks. “If you have taken him, tell me …,” she pleads. It is then that a single word from the Stranger—her name spoken!— breaks open the deadly closure of her world. His death was real; she saw all of it. But this is—unmistakably—her Teacher and Lord. On Easter, we join her fearless testimony that the one who was dead is alive; the rule of death has been defeated. Tyrants may rage, and the taken-for-granted security of our lives may quake. We are mortal and fragile; we are not immune to suffering, or even death. But out of darkness, unquenchable life arose. Death, and the fear of death, lost their grasp on the beloved children of God. Life has the last word. Alleluia, alleluia!
*The New Revised Common Lectionary specifies John’s Easter morning narrative for preaching on Easter in all three years of the lectionary cycle. Those who wish to preach from Luke 24:1-12 are encouraged to make use of the scripture indices of on-line resources such as workingpreaching.org for helpful commentary on that text.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 