Alive

 Today is a joyous day of life, love, and hope. It’s desperately needed, as our world has never been more parched of life, love, and hope. And today, on Easter Sunday, when we’ve never been more dehydrated of what keeps us alive, Jesus invites us to drink out of the firehose.

We need to never forget how revolutionary Easter is. We need to never allow ourselves to grow complacent, to go through the motions, to come here because mom told you to but passively hear the same story you’ve heard many times. As if resurrection is old news.

It’s ancient news, from our beloved ancestors. From our sister, Mary Magdalene, lovingly preserved so we would never forget. But old? The resurrection never gets old. We need it now more than ever.

Because we live in a society where we spend most of life digging ourselves a grave, fully expecting that someday we’ll either stumble in, or get pushed in by someone or something else. It’s downright countercultural to stand here and proclaim otherwise. 

Somewhere, sometime this week, someone heard the words “you’re fired.” And a career they spent years building went up in smoke.

Somewhere, sometime this week, someone heard the words “it’s terminal, there’s nothing more we can do.” And someone prepared for their life to end, and a family prepared to lose a loved one.

Somewhere, sometime this week, bombs dropped on a village, and history was destroyed. Lives were taken. Home would never look or feel like home again.

Somewhere, sometime this week, someone heard the words “I don’t love you anymore,” and they not only lost a partner, but part of their soul died, too.

Somewhere, sometime this week, friendships ended, and the ties that bind were severed. An addict fell off the wagon and the chasm between them and sobriety widened. Flood waters rose–right here in town, in fact–and histories were washed away. Someone said the words “I’m moving out” while another said the words “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat”, and another still said, “we need to talk.” And all the while trash spilled in the ocean, smog filled the air, children went to bed hungry, books were burned, schools and churches closed, weapons were brandished, armies were deployed, animals went extinct, migrants were deported, jobs became automated, and gas hit $4 a gallon.

Jesus came that we may have life and have it abundantly. God so loved the world that God gave the only begotten Divine Son that whoever believes may have eternal life. We may have heard both of those verses from John’s Gospel a thousand times a piece, but they never become passe, because we can’t seem to figure out how to live, we’re much better at killing and dying. The Good News of the resurrection is so paramount because if we didn’t make it central to our faith story, we might forget.

But because of our sister Mary, we remember. She was the very first person to see new life, behold its precious rareness, and to promise to stop digging herself into a hole.

By sunrise on Easter morning, nearly every other person who had ever been an important part of Jesus’ life had given up. All twelve of his disciples–one of whom had already taken his own life–the vast majority of the folks Jesus had ever taught and healed, the crowds and multitudes who followed him everywhere hoping to taste just another crumb of hope, his neighbors, even the crowds that demanded his crucifixion on Friday. They knew what “dead and buried” looked like, and they fled to protect their own hearts. Death was the constant. It was the expected, it was the powerful. Dying young and in pain was the norm for them. Rome crucified folks in droves, and if Jesus hadn’t ended up on the wrong side of Pontius Pilate, he may have perished for lack of food, lack of clean water, lack of clean, dry clothing, lack of shelter, or lack of medical care. 

Just like many today still do.

The folks around Jesus thought all they could do was move on. He had a respectful burial thanks to the faithful women, and thanks to Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, but what more was there?

Mary thought the story wasn’t over yet. She thought the worst day of her life might not have the last word. If for no other reason than because she would never forget Jesus’ love.

Because Mary hadn’t given up yet, and that’s why she was at the tomb that morning. Even if Jesus’ body was gone, his spirit was very much alive for her. But then the shock of her life happened–Jesus’ body was literally gone! The stone being pushed out of place was bizarre enough, no person was strong enough to move it alone. She feared the worst, that a group had vandalized Jesus’ grave. But still, before succumbing to that conclusion, she asked for help–Peter, ashamed after denying Jesus three times and looking for a way to make that right, and the unnamed disciple that Jesus loved. Maybe a glimmer of hope still lived in each of them.

Unfortunately, not quite enough. When they both saw an empty tomb, they arrived at that conclusion, far-fatched though it may have been, because they couldn’t imagine a future after death. After the end. After trauma. After heartbreak. They were done. And they left.

If Mary had allowed the same despair to pollute her spirit, she may have turned around and left, too, and none of us would be sitting here today. Mary stayed. She let Jesus continue to live even in her grief, and even in her tears. Even when she didn’t recognize his face or his voice, she was prepared to tell Jesus’ story to a random cemetery gardener. That’s discipleship, folks.

In a world so consumed by death, loss, and sad endings, we need just the right kind of prompting to be able to wrap our spirits around something else. That was true even for Mary. It wasn’t enough for her to see the body of a man who matched Jesus’ description. The coincidence that he materialized out of nowhere right in her hour of need wasn’t enough, either. Even his radical compassion wasn’t enough. 

But Jesus calling Mary by her first name, in a tone only he ever used with her–that was enough.

Imagine a world so destructive that being called by your own first name is proof of a miracle.

Mary’s weakness was one Jesus knew. She would never give up on her savior, but she had nearly given up on her own self, on her own potential, on her own calling, and on her own future. Mary’s neighbors rarely named women at all, and if anyone had something to say about Mary, it wouldn’t have been her name, it would have been the rumors–she was fallen, she was sinful, she was demon-possessed. To be named, to be affirmed, to have her personhood restored, to be sacred, to be loved–that was enough. Only Jesus would have done that.

Mary knew something about a world that didn’t know how to live, only how to dig graves. But Mary knew Jesus was alive because he affirmed that she was first. And she responded with the special nickname that only a few people called Jesus: Rabbouni.

In her book Pastrix, Pastor and author Nadia Bolz-Weber wrote the Good News as she understood it: “God simply keeps reaching down into the dirt of humanity and resurrecting us from the graves we dig for ourselves through our violence, our lies, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our addictions. And God keeps loving us back to life over and over.”

Jesus is alive. And we, like Mary, can know that for a fact because we’re alive, too. We matter, we’re loved, we’re worthy, we’re treasured, and in a world that remembers our mistakes and faults and weaknesses first, we start the revolution of life by calling each other by our first names.

The world may have already taken a million swings at you this week alone. We’ve been hit by death, destruction, breakups, unemployment, sickness, poverty, climate change, and war–but we’re still here. Life is worth celebrating every single day. And life is worth remembering, cradling, and holding onto even in the worst moments, even when the body can’t take any more, because the worst day doesn’t ever get the last word, and we don’t have to live in fear of the grave. We find life and hope in all of it not just because God loves us, not just because we have an eternity awaiting us in heaven, but because we affirm and honor one another right here on earth.

Put down the shovel this week and remember your name. Jesus is alive, and so are you.

Alleluia. Amen.