The Question That Changes Everthing

By: Robert Heerspink

Scripture Reading: John 20:1-18, John 20:15

April 8th, 2007

IN THE GRAVEYARD


In 1994, the city of Longmont, Colorado decided to take a bold step to stamp out morbid street signs. The city council decided to outlaw all signs that read: Dead End. Said one resident who favored the change, ?We just moved into a condo, [and] right outside there’s a dead—end sign. Every time you come, you have to go by this sign, and it just isn’t very pleasant.“ “Dead End“ now reads “No Outlet.“ As one newspaper [The Baltimore Sun] entitled the story: “The Dead End Dead in Sensitive Colorado City.“


People can get touchy about reminders of death, can’t they? Even when those reminders seem to stretch the imagination.


I wonder what that condo owner would have thought about the typical place you found graveyards back 300 years ago? A few months ago, during the Christmas season, I visited Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. Now, Colonial Williamsburg is a restored village that carries visitors back over 200 years to the events that led to the independence of the United States of America. Whenever I visit Williamsburg (and I’ve visited several times before) I attend services at the church in the center of the village, a church known as Bruton Parish. Even though their building is over 300 years old and candle—lit for evening services, the church isn’t a relic from the past. In fact, the congregation numbers almost 2000, and is involved in ministry throughout the community and beyond.


Still, a sense of history is inescapable when you visit Bruton Parish, and not only because of the age of the building. A visitor senses the past because to enter the sanctuary you’ll need to walk through the church cemetery. It is as though you need to give a nod to former members of the parish before you can meet the present members of the parish. The truth is, the sanctuary is set in a graveyard. All around the church are crypts, gravestones, and crosses.


As I stand near the entrance of that church and watch the visitors swarm in, I wonder how many think this is all quite weird and macabre. In fact, in my more cynical moments, I wonder how many think that a graveyard is a symbolic statement about the condition of the Christian church today. I wonder how many think that the church is archaic—that it has had its day—that it can be buried in the graveyard of history. A church building surrounded by old graves probably suggests to some people that the church itself is obsolete.


Yet I find it most appropriate that Bruton Parish rises from among the gravestones. And I’ll tell you why. Because the church’s very existence is testimony to life in the face of death. I mean, not just Bruton Parish Church—but every church—is a witness to life in the face of death.


FIXING DEATH?


Author Fleming Rutledge tells of talking to a friend who was terminally ill. That friend had recently suffered through the theft of some valuable antiques. She said to Rutledge, “Oh, well, we can get the insurance [money], we can fix it.“ And then she added, “Everything can be fixed—except death.“


“Everything can be fixed, except death.“ That seems true, doesn’t it? We have answers for everything these days. But death can’t be fixed, can it? At least not by our own efforts and energies. Rutledge reminds us of a cartoon that ran in The New Yorker some time ago that shows the doorway of a New York City apartment. The open door frames the occupant——fiftyish, professional. Standing outside the door is his visitor. The Grim Reaper——wearing a long, hooded robe, in his hand holding a scythe. Death has knocked at the door. Says the gentleman who receives this unwelcome visitor: “And just as I was beginning to take charge of my life.“


Yes, we think we can take charge of our life. But can we take charge of our death? “Everything can be fixed—except death.“ And so people spend their lives ignoring death, hiding from death. Some have argued that one of the great motivators in life—the reason people do what they do—is because they are in denial of death. No doubt many think of religion itself as a way of denying that death exists.


But then, why would a church go and position itself in a cemetery? Let me give you an answer. A church would gather the dead around its doors as a bold witness that the impossible is possible after all. Death itself can be undone. Everything can be fixed—even death. But not by ourselves. No, not by ourselves.


It is Easter. And on Easter morning, the first followers of Jesus are to be found, in of all places, in a cemetery. Let’s explore what that means—right after we hear this song.


THE DARKNESS OF EASTER MORNING


Have you noticed? The story of Easter begins in a graveyard. The Apostle John writes in his Easter account: “On the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark . . .“


In his gospel, John stresses the gloom and shadow of Mary’s early morning outing. Mary is on her way to a graveyard at a time of day that we might call ?morning twilight.“ It’s so early that Mary has to pick her way carefully along the path. But in John’s mind, this darkness is not just physical. For Mary’s pilgrimage to Jesus’ tomb is undertaken in the gloom of confusion, uncertainty, even despair.


You see, Mary had hoped that Jesus was something more than just an insightful teacher and rabbi. Mary remembered when Jesus had stood in the temple courts and cried out: “I am the Light of the world.“ Mary had hoped that Jesus was God’s own Son, the Messiah, the true light sent from God.


But now, light had given way to darkness. That darkness settled in on a Friday afternoon on a hill called Golgotha. It was as though the powers of evil rose up to engulf not only the Savior, but seemingly, the entire world. And while the darkness at Calvary lasted only three hours, to Mary it must have felt as though the darkness never lifted. For at the end of that terrible afternoon, her Lord was dead. And with his death, her hopes died too. No wonder John tells us, “. . . it was dark.’


ON A MISSION


Yet in the midst of the gloom, Mary is on a mission. She is seeking out Jesus’ grave. And why would she do that?


Well, for one thing, to pay respect for the dead. Mary has serious grief work ahead of her. It was common practice for Jews to gather at the graveside to mourn their dead. The Jewish rabbis said that mourning reached its emotional peak on the third day after death. This is the third day after the crucifixion. The shock of what happened on Friday afternoon has worn off. Harsh reality is sinking in. Mary goes to spill her sorrow at the grave of the one she thought would have a far different future than this.


And Mary goes for a second reason. She goes to pay her last respects by anointing the body with spices. A brave act indeed in a world where embalming was unknown. Few of us would have the stomach to anoint a body three days after death in the hot climate of Palestine.


Now, I’ll give you one reason not on Mary’s mind. She is not going to the graveyard because she expects to see a corpse raised to life. Frankly no one goes to a cemetery for that reason. Please divest yourself of any notion that Mary so expected to see a living Jesus, that she projected her impossible wish upon the canvas of reality. Mary is not going to the gravesite to turn romantic fiction into wild—eyed tales of a living Lord. Such a theory is nonsense.


For Mary knows the hard truth. Jesus is dead. His body is putrefying in a Palestinian grave. All she can do is honor his life and provide some powerful perfumes to overwhelm the stench of his death.


It is dark. But for Mary it will get darker. For the one act of respect left to her is no longer possible. You can’t anoint a body that isn’t there. The door to the tomb has been rolled away. The grave is open. The body is gone. In shock, she can assume only one thing——that robbers had visited the gravesite. That fear was in her mind as she ran back to Jerusalem to tell the disciples the news. “They have taken away the Lord’s body, and I don’t know where they have moved him.“ Accompanied by Peter and John, Mary returns to the tomb, where the two disciples confirm Mary’s discovery. And after Peter and John make their preliminary investigations, they return home.


In their perplexity, did they forget about Mary? Or did Mary need time to herself? We aren’t told. All we do know is that Mary is left at the graveside. Mary is left by the open grave, crying her eyes out. Do you blame her? We don’t typically need to ask people in cemeteries why their eyes are red and their cheeks tear—stained.


CENTURIES OF SORROW


But, you know, I think it fair to think that Mary was not just weeping for a friend who had died. These tears are more than that. These are tears that have been wept before by God’s people. These are tears of despair and broken dreams.


Psalm 137 talks about those tears. In Psalm 137 we read of the anguish of the exiles taken into captivity to Babylon. What do you do when you have lost your home and livelihood? What do you do when all your hopes for the future have been dashed? You sit down and cry.

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
When we remembered Zion.
There on the poplars we hung our hearts
For there our captors asked for songs,
Our tormentors demanded songs of joy
. . . .
How can we sing the songs of the Lord
While in a foreign land.

The exiles of Jerusalem have been dragged to Babylon. Their captors have sarcastically asked for a happy tune. But these exiles have no songs to sing. Only tears to weep. The exiles cry their eyes out.


Now, in a real sense, that exile had never ended. Oh, to be sure, a remnant of Jews had straggled back to Palestine from Babylon. Some semblance of Jewish government had been re—established. Even a temple had been rebuilt. But even though their external conditions had changed, the Jews knew the truth about themselves—they were still in bondage—in bondage to their sin. In bondage to pagan overlords. Where was the Kingdom of the Most High God? Where was the reign of David’s Greater Son?


No, if you had asked a Jew of the first century, when the exile had ended, he would have said, “The exile never did end.“ The tears of the exiles were still being wept.


But during the ministry of Jesus, there had been a small band of followers who had thought that perhaps the exile was finally ending after all. Perhaps God had not forgotten Israel. Perhaps the rule of pagans in this world would end and the reign of God would descend! Perhaps God had visited his people in Jesus Christ, God’s Son, the Messiah of Israel.


But now, this Jesus lies in a tomb. Hope is shattered. What is left but tears? In a real way, Mary’s tears catch up all those cries of past centuries.


THE QUESTION THAT INSPIRES HOPEAnd then there emerges on the scene someone who Mary had considered just part of the garden scenery. Who else would you expect to see in a Garden but the gardener, the groundskeeper. And this Gardener asks Mary a simple question:

Woman, why are you weeping?

“Woman, why are you weeping?“ At first the question seems nonsensical. Why wouldn’t Mary weep?


But then this Gardener speaks Mary’s name. And suddenly, the word of Scripture is proven true:

Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy comes in the morning.
The night of Good Friday has given way to the light of Easter morning.

“Why are you weeping?“ Jesus is saying to Mary that the time of weeping is over. The reason for the tears is over. For death is undone. Jesus has stepped from his tomb clothed in life of God. Eternal life has broken into the world. The powers of darkness have been dethroned. The forces of oppression have been overturned. The Kingdom of Life has dawned!


The Lord has delivered his people. And not jut from some physical Babylon, but from their spiritual Babylon. The human race, living East of Eden for so long, is on the verge of returning to God’s garden. The testimony of the one that was thought to be the Gardener tells us that the way is open again. Back to our real home. Back to true community with God. Easter is the beginning of God’s new creation. God’s new world has arrived. The words of Revelation 21 are on the verge of fulfillment: “He shall wipe every tear from their eyes, and DEATH shall be no more.“


Jesus says to Mary—Why are you crying? And in that moment we glimpse the amazing implications of Easter morning. Things are the same. Yet everything has changed.


Things are the same. It is still Jesus. It is still Jesus speaking Mary’s name. The shepherd still calls his sheep. Jesus is here! Alive! In the flesh! Things are as they once were!


Yet things are different. Jesus says to Mary: “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the Father . . .“ Now, those words are often misunderstood. There are those who can’t figure out why Jesus tells Mary here NOT to touch him, when in only a few days later he invites Thomas to do just the opposite. But those two episodes really have little in common. The problem for Thomas is that he doubts the resurrection. So Jesus invites Thomas to test empirically the fact that he has returned bodily to life.


Mary doesn’t question that Jesus is alive. Instead, Mary needs to understand the transformation that has come at Easter. Jesus’ resurrection is no mere resuscitation of a corpse. Jesus has not returned to walk again the dusty roads of Palestine as a wandering preacher.


No, things are different now. In the resurrection, the powers of God have invaded history. The first—fruits of a new creation have been revealed. The Kingdom has made itself known. And a victorious Savior now prepares to sit in triumph at his Father’s side.


DEATH UNDONE


“Everything can be fixed—except death“ she said. And now we know that even death itself can be done. By the one who stands living among the graves on a Jerusalem hillside. And now we know why a cemetery isn’t a bad place to find the church. For the Christ of the church has undone death itself.


Several years ago, I stood on a windy Vermont hillside at the funeral of my father—in—law. It was a raw November day. The clouds were dark and heavy. But just as we prepared to lower the casket into the ground, the late afternoon skies split open, and a shaft of light burst through and illuminated the hillside. My brother—in—law leaned over and whispered to my wife, “I prayed for that to happen.’


Yes, we pray for that to happen——that in the darkness of death, a beam of light will illumine the blackness. That in the grief of sorrow, someone will wipe the tears away.


And maybe that is your prayer. You understand Mary’s tears. You too know what it means to weep over the brokenness of life. You too know the pain of grief. The devastation of the death of someone you love.


My friend, your prayers are answered.


Hear Jesus say: “Why are you weeping? I am the resurrection and the life.“

Prayer

Lord Jesus, With tear—stained faces we seek you today. For we live in a culture of death and we know the pain of deep grief and sorrow. But come into our lives with an unspeakable joy this day. Turn sorrow into gladness. Birth in us an Easter faith that confesses: ”Christ is Risen!—He is Risen indeed.”

About the Author

Robert Heerspink

Rev. Robert Heerspink is a native of west Michigan. He completed his undergraduate studies at Calvin College and holds the degrees of Master of Divinity and Master of Theology from Calvin Theological Seminary. He has also received a Doctor of Ministry degree from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. Bob was ordained a minister of the Word in the Christian Reformed Church of North America in 1979, and has 26 years of parish experience, having served four churches throughout west Michigan. He was appointed the Director of The Back to God Hour in 2006. Bob has written several resources related to congregational stewardship, including the book, Becoming a Firstfruits Congregation. He is a regular contributor to TODAY, the monthly devotional of The Back to God Hour. Bob is married to Edith (Miedema) and they have three children. His hobbies include reading fictional and historical works, watersports, and occassional golfing.

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