Back to the garden
Commentary
Note: This installment was originally published in 2007.
A first-time father glanced over at his wife as dawn began to break. Both were exhausted and had gone sleepless again because of their colicky newborn who cried the night away. "It must be time to get up," he told her. "The baby's finally asleep."
Sometimes it seems as if dawn will never come, and the night will be an endless whimpering of pain and suffering. The metaphor is not only for those restless midnight- to-first-light watches but also for the fate of the human race. There is a darkness that surrounds us like oil and seeps through our societies with its vexing blight, filling news reports with violence, and back pages with obituaries. Night is with us always, and it is not our constant friend (see Psalm 88:18).
So it is a wonderful thing to remember on this Easter morning what Clement of Alexandria declared: "Jesus has turned all of our sunsets into sunrises." Similarly, when Houston Smith, the great scholar of religious studies at the University of California in Berkeley, pegged the seven major world religions to the clock (Confucianism at 9 a.m. for its social organizational motifs; Islam at noon when the brightness of the sun cast no shadows and all must bow in obedience; Taoism to the personal path that one begins to meander at 5 p.m. when the obligations of the work day are set aside; Buddhism to the supper hour of 7 p.m. and all the modest pleasures of simple life enjoyment; Judaism to sundown and rest as the reward of God's good favor; Hinduism to the midnight hour when all things merge into oneness), he taught that Christianity was the religion of the dawn. Christianity puts its face to the future, and builds its hope from the passing of the dark night of sin into the promises announced by "That Great Gettin' Up Morning" relished in the old spiritual.
All of the gospels tie the importance of today to the garden tomb, and the witness of its stark emptiness over against all other cemetery plots on this grave-littered planet. But John increases the impact by linking the garden of the tomb to the garden of Eden. In the most profound of reversals of fortune, according to the fourth gospel, the alienation that closed the garden of paradise at the beginning of our race's history is suddenly undone when Jesus reopens fellowship between God and humanity in the garden of Easter morning.
Peter's testimony to Cornelius resonates with the same historical condensation: a change in divine strategy emerges in the Easter garden and produces the dawning of the new age in which we live. Similarly, Paul's great instruction regarding death and resurrection to the Corinthian congregation is filled with echoes of dawn and morning and a return engagement between the Creator and the creature in the power of Easter's firstfruits. Today, to paraphrase T. S. Elliot, we go back to the garden and know the place again for the first time.
Acts 10:34-43
Peter's short recital of salvation history is a gem of condensation and punch. Creation, Israel, Jesus, Pentecost, and the mission of the church are quickly packaged together and tied up with a call to believe.
But the words take on even more significance when understood within the development of the great ripples of grace that eddy outward through the book of Acts. Luke narrates the story of the early church along the pattern set by Jesus in 1:8 -- "You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you and you shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the world." He adds literary nuances which refine that global spread. Along with the big shift after chapter 12 which vaults Paul to the primary role of gospel presenter after the initial dozen chapters that focused on Peter, there is another, more subtle progression within the tale. The markings of this secondary advancement are noticed particularly in verses 6:7; 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; and 19:20. In each of these a similar refrain recurs. The "Word of God" "grows" or "spreads" or "multiplies." These repetitious choruses mark the end of narrative sections in which a successive portion of society is penetrated and transformingly influenced by the message of Jesus and the resurrection. First, it is Jerusalem which revels in the good news (2:1-- 6:7), then it is Judea and Samaria (6:8--9:31); later it will be Asia Minor (12:25--16:5) and Europe (16:6--19:20). But here, in between geographical advances, comes the tale of a new harvest leaping beyond the Jewish world and landing feet-first in the kingdom of the Gentiles. 9:32--12:24 forms a section in which Peter becomes the bearer of the gospel across ethnic lines in the first deliberate missionary engagement of the kind.
It is striking to see that the message Peter brings to Cornelius, the Roman centurion stationed at Caesarea, is exactly the same as that announced to the Jews in Jerusalem on Pentecost Sunday. It is all about creation, Israel, Jesus, Pentecost, and the missionary message of the church. The critical junction in the story, as it is always told, is not the ethical wisdom of Jesus or even his healing miracles; rather it is his savage death and amazing resurrection. Easter is the heart of the gospel message. Everything changes because of Easter. When people struggled only to live for the hours of this lifetime they succeeded in various ways and attempted to make it through according to a variety of religious traditions. Now that Jesus has died and come back to life again, the very playing field is altered. To make it through this life is not enough. We must also now face our Creator who judges both "the living and the dead" (v. 42). Therefore everyone, Gentile as well as Jew, is forced to deal in some way with Jesus. Religions, as well as life itself, can be favorable to Jesus or antagonistic to Jesus, but they cannot any longer ignore Jesus. Resurrection morning has revised the rules of the game.
Years ago, a newspaper editor assigned one reporter to write a human interest story about David Livingstone, the great pioneer missionary and explorer of Africa. The editor gave specific instructions: "Don't focus your attention on Livingstone's religion. Keep it about the man, the do-gooder, the humanitarian."
This was easier said than done, as the reporter found. For it is not possible to talk about Livingstone apart from his religion. There is no doing good without understanding the source of that good in Livingstone's perceptions. There is no humanitarian kindness apart from the kindness of God to humanity which became the substance of Livingstone's testimony. Livingstone as a man is God's man. Even the epitaph written to commemorate him in Westminster Abbey subtly suggests the same by making allusions to 1 Peter 2:5: "He needs no epitaph to guard a name / Which men shall praise while worthy work is done. / He lived and died for good, be that his fame. / Let marble crumble; this is living stone."
So it is with Christianity. It can be evaluated on many fronts and understood through multitudinous dimensions. But at its heart, inseparable from any part of it as air is from life, is the resurrection of Jesus. Take that away and you no longer have Christianity. You may have an ethic or a sentiment or a philosophy or a moral code, but you will not have Christianity.
1 Corinthians 15:19-26
This is actually the second of Paul's letters to the Corinthian congregation from his third journey base of operations in Ephesus. Earlier he had sent a nasty scourge (see 5:9) which met with mixed response and resulted in a delegation coming to Paul for further clarifications. It is clear to read this history in the language and themes of this letter. Chapters 1-3 address the problem of many competing groups within the congregation, and then tip over into Paul's need to defend his own authority in chapter 4. Paul was, after all, the source of the gospel message for the Corinthian church, and the founder of its congregational character. Divisions in the church threatened to turn it into a balkanized amalgam where party politics undermined a unified sense of identity in Christ.
Paul goes on in chapters 5-6 to address the overt sinful behaviors that apparently had been the target of his earlier missal. One case involved a man shacking up with his father's wife in a manner that offended many in the congregation, and even more folks beyond, thus compromising any hope of effective witness about Jesus. The other incident was a public account of fellow church members suing one another in court, and scandalizing the unity of the Body of Christ. Paul's fingers wag menacingly as he warns the church to deal quickly and appropriately with these blights.
Then, beginning in chapter 7, Paul responds directly to the questions raised by members of the Corinthian congregation, seeking his wisdom and direction:
1. Should we encourage marriages or not (7:1-24)?
2. How should virgins handle their sexuality (7:25-40)?
3. Can we buy and eat the cheap meat in the markets that comes from pagan shrines and has been originally devoted to other gods (8:1--11:1)?
4. Are there any rules for appropriate worship services (11:2-16)?
5. Some are complaining about our Lord's Supper celebrations -- what are we doing wrong (11:17-34)?
6. Which are the best spiritual gifts and how should they be used (12:1--14:40)?
7. What will happen to those in our community that have died (15:1-58)?
8. What's this collection you keep telling us about (16:1-4)?
Today's lectionary passage is the heart of Paul's response to the question about death in the early Corinthian congregation. While we enjoy the power of this passage as a strong literary treatise, we are often not aware of the intensity of both its original question or the power of Paul's answer. The idea of "resurrection" erupted as the core and central element of Christian preaching because of the uniqueness of Jesus' return to life on Easter. While there were religions and philosophies that speculated on the immortality of some spiritual inner essence of humankind, few shaped a doctrine of resurrection that was vitally gripping and described a full return to life of the full person. This is what made the message of Christianity stand out among the religions of its time.
Furthermore, there was a very strong sense in the preaching of the apostles that Jesus, who had recently returned to heaven, was about to come back to earth to finish the job of creation's restoration as the messianic age began. Jesus only went to heaven in order to allow time for the apostles to tell everyone about the events of his death and resurrection. But probably next week, or next month at the latest, the missionary blitz will be finished and Jesus will return.
So there was a tremendous urgency about both the witness of the church and the eschatological expectations of the believers generally. This made the recurring problem of deaths in the community a confusing challenge. Since Jesus was returning so soon, everybody expected to be there when he came, and a transition state for the dead was not even considered at first. But when Jesus delayed his parousia, and as more folks succumbed to illness or age, the cemetery pile-up became a problem. Hence the question of what happens to those who die before Jesus returns?
This question gives Paul the opportunity to restate the evidence of Jesus' resurrection and then go on to talk about the powerful change wrought by Easter. Death is our human lot. But Jesus shifts us into a parallel humanity, founded not only on the terminal resources of the first Adam, but on the eternal energies of the firstfruits of the kingdom of God.
Death challenges us all, ever since it laid waste to the garden of Eden. But Jesus brings us back to the garden and offers us the antidote to the deadly virus that has ruled too long unchallenged. This time those who linger in the garden find life instead of death.
John 20:1-18
The two scenes in this lectionary passage are powerful in themselves, but take on extra significance when viewed within the framework of John's carefully crafted gospel presentation. First, John's commitment to reporting the details of events goes beyond merely stating the obvious. Already in the prologue to the gospel (1:1-18), two guiding principles become apparent -- John is casting this story of Jesus as a deliberate corollary to the original creation account of Genesis 1, and "light" and "darkness" will therefore become key criteria by which to interpret what takes place.
Here these themes erupt into action. Jesus' resurrection takes place on "the first day of the week," both chronologically and symbolically. It is the calendar day of Sunday, as we call it. But it is also the theological day of creation when by divine fiat God dispels the chaotic darkness through the declaration that light shall overcome it. So John tells us that it is not only "early" on that first day of the week, but that these things took place "while it was still dark." In other words, the gloom that had settled over planet earth as a shroud of sinful deception (see 1:1-18) still lingers, although God's new (re)creative work in Jesus is about to blast it away.
Second, when Mary looks into the empty tomb she sees two angels at the place where Jesus' body had been laid. Here again, however, John adds important interpretive details. The two angels are not standing next to one another, but are positioned at either end of the flat surface where Jesus' body had rested. Thinking back to chapter 1 we are reminded that when Jesus appeared, "we have seen his glory," according to John. This "glory" was one with that of the Father, and is a clear reminder that when God appeared to God's people in Old Testament times, there was an expression of the shekinah glory that pervaded tabernacle and temple, and took up residence on the mercy seat of the Ark of the Covenant. This mercy seat was the portable throne of Yahweh on earth, and was guarded at either end by cherubim -- angels who stood at attention. What John wishes for us to see as Mary looks into the tomb is that the "glory" of God as revealed in Jesus is no longer here, nor will it any longer be confined or localized to an earthly shrine. God has come to earth to create and re-create, bringing the light of heaven; now that work is accomplished, and we may live in the light wherever we go, and, as John shows us next, follow that light eventually back into heaven itself.
Third, while Mary is weeping at the tomb, John reminds us that this all takes place in a garden. Furthermore, when Mary is approached by a man, she believes him to be the gardener. Why does John make a big deal of this? Because, in the early days of the original creation as recounted in Genesis, humans lived in a garden, and the true "Gardener" came to walk and talk with them there. But after the divisive acts of sinful disobedience, the humans were thrust out of the garden and the days of intimate fellowship with the "Gardener" were ended. Now, however, as re-creation begins to reshape life on planet earth, the "Gardener" returns to the garden and pauses for conversation with those who too long have been alienated from him.
Fourth, this is confirmed in the fact that Mary is confused and doesn't understand anything until Jesus speaks her name. When Jesus says "Mary," everything suddenly falls into place. Mary knows who she is, and begins to understand who Jesus is. Notice that John never denies or challenges the notion that this figure looming into Mary's sight range is the Gardener. Instead, John allows that perception to stand, but fills it with all its theological significance. As the true Gardener speaks her name, Mary comes to life. Just as in the Genesis story where the Creator/Gardener calls Adam by name and thus brings him into being.
Clearly, John is telling us of events that took place on the first Easter Sunday morning. Just as convincingly, John is calling our attention to those details which help us see the significance of all this as a renewing of the creation by the creator who comes to restore light and life in a world that has been too long under the sway of darkness and death.
Application
Our cemeteries tend to look like gardens. Perhaps a play can be made on the idea of those who are entombed there as "Planted for Life." Of course, this planting is after the manner of Christian faith, not the irrevocable lostness of death without hope.
Dr. Alexander Simpson, who invented chloroform in his Edinburgh laboratory in 1847, was asked later in life what he considered his most valuable discovery. He astounded reporters by declaring that it was in finding the love of God. As testimony to this, when he and his wife buried their young daughter whose illnesses refused to be tamed even by her father's great skills, the gravestone contained only one word beside the typical name and dates: "Nevertheless ..." It was Simpson's assurance that death had already been trumped by life.
Alternative Application
John 20:1-18. While there is punch in the Acts reading and power in the epistle text, it is the gospel story that begs to be treated by itself this morning. Let Mary's experiences remind us of what Easter gives back to us: our friend Jesus, our very selves, and the lives of our loved ones lost during the years past.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Today, Christian people everywhere celebrate an incredibly absurd notion. Through the cultural overlay of bunnies and chocolate is found the shocking assertion that death is not the end. In a world where death is treated as the final sanction, the ultimate finish, this crazy notion asserts itself once again.
Today there are "glad songs of victory" (v. 15) as an open-mouthed and amazed people stand at the door to an empty tomb. Today this group rises with shouts and gasps as the voice of the holy says, "I shall not die, but I shall live!" (v. 17). Today we flaunt a world that wallows in death and insist that life wins in the end. Even though the "stone" was rejected by the builders of this world, we claim it now as the "cornerstone of a new reality."
In this psalm we see the seeds of a new reality planted, awaiting germination on this resurrection day. It is a new reality in which the definition and use of power have been completely up-ended. "Death," as we read in Revelation, "is no more." It is a reality where the "proud and mighty are scattered" (Luke 1:51), and where the first are now to be last. It is a reality where the dividing walls (Galatians 3:27) erected to keep people apart and alienated from one another have come down in an avalanche of love and compassion. It is a reality where the fear that is used to manipulate and manage is cast out by the "perfect love" (1 John 4:18) of this resurrected Lord.
It's Easter Sunday.
Today, an invitation has been issued to enter into this new reality as a community of faith. It is an invitation that comes with an RSVP. How is it that the church will respond? Will the faithful take the lilies, plant them in the backyard and get on with business as usual? Will the church simply send back the card saying that we are unable to attend?
No. This new reality, this shining new life is "the Lord's doing," and the call comes to the church to embrace it anew. The call comes to the people gathered to rise up and say the closing words of this psalm with a slight twist. "This is the reality that God has made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it! Let us rejoice and choose to live together in it!"
A first-time father glanced over at his wife as dawn began to break. Both were exhausted and had gone sleepless again because of their colicky newborn who cried the night away. "It must be time to get up," he told her. "The baby's finally asleep."
Sometimes it seems as if dawn will never come, and the night will be an endless whimpering of pain and suffering. The metaphor is not only for those restless midnight- to-first-light watches but also for the fate of the human race. There is a darkness that surrounds us like oil and seeps through our societies with its vexing blight, filling news reports with violence, and back pages with obituaries. Night is with us always, and it is not our constant friend (see Psalm 88:18).
So it is a wonderful thing to remember on this Easter morning what Clement of Alexandria declared: "Jesus has turned all of our sunsets into sunrises." Similarly, when Houston Smith, the great scholar of religious studies at the University of California in Berkeley, pegged the seven major world religions to the clock (Confucianism at 9 a.m. for its social organizational motifs; Islam at noon when the brightness of the sun cast no shadows and all must bow in obedience; Taoism to the personal path that one begins to meander at 5 p.m. when the obligations of the work day are set aside; Buddhism to the supper hour of 7 p.m. and all the modest pleasures of simple life enjoyment; Judaism to sundown and rest as the reward of God's good favor; Hinduism to the midnight hour when all things merge into oneness), he taught that Christianity was the religion of the dawn. Christianity puts its face to the future, and builds its hope from the passing of the dark night of sin into the promises announced by "That Great Gettin' Up Morning" relished in the old spiritual.
All of the gospels tie the importance of today to the garden tomb, and the witness of its stark emptiness over against all other cemetery plots on this grave-littered planet. But John increases the impact by linking the garden of the tomb to the garden of Eden. In the most profound of reversals of fortune, according to the fourth gospel, the alienation that closed the garden of paradise at the beginning of our race's history is suddenly undone when Jesus reopens fellowship between God and humanity in the garden of Easter morning.
Peter's testimony to Cornelius resonates with the same historical condensation: a change in divine strategy emerges in the Easter garden and produces the dawning of the new age in which we live. Similarly, Paul's great instruction regarding death and resurrection to the Corinthian congregation is filled with echoes of dawn and morning and a return engagement between the Creator and the creature in the power of Easter's firstfruits. Today, to paraphrase T. S. Elliot, we go back to the garden and know the place again for the first time.
Acts 10:34-43
Peter's short recital of salvation history is a gem of condensation and punch. Creation, Israel, Jesus, Pentecost, and the mission of the church are quickly packaged together and tied up with a call to believe.
But the words take on even more significance when understood within the development of the great ripples of grace that eddy outward through the book of Acts. Luke narrates the story of the early church along the pattern set by Jesus in 1:8 -- "You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you and you shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the world." He adds literary nuances which refine that global spread. Along with the big shift after chapter 12 which vaults Paul to the primary role of gospel presenter after the initial dozen chapters that focused on Peter, there is another, more subtle progression within the tale. The markings of this secondary advancement are noticed particularly in verses 6:7; 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; and 19:20. In each of these a similar refrain recurs. The "Word of God" "grows" or "spreads" or "multiplies." These repetitious choruses mark the end of narrative sections in which a successive portion of society is penetrated and transformingly influenced by the message of Jesus and the resurrection. First, it is Jerusalem which revels in the good news (2:1-- 6:7), then it is Judea and Samaria (6:8--9:31); later it will be Asia Minor (12:25--16:5) and Europe (16:6--19:20). But here, in between geographical advances, comes the tale of a new harvest leaping beyond the Jewish world and landing feet-first in the kingdom of the Gentiles. 9:32--12:24 forms a section in which Peter becomes the bearer of the gospel across ethnic lines in the first deliberate missionary engagement of the kind.
It is striking to see that the message Peter brings to Cornelius, the Roman centurion stationed at Caesarea, is exactly the same as that announced to the Jews in Jerusalem on Pentecost Sunday. It is all about creation, Israel, Jesus, Pentecost, and the missionary message of the church. The critical junction in the story, as it is always told, is not the ethical wisdom of Jesus or even his healing miracles; rather it is his savage death and amazing resurrection. Easter is the heart of the gospel message. Everything changes because of Easter. When people struggled only to live for the hours of this lifetime they succeeded in various ways and attempted to make it through according to a variety of religious traditions. Now that Jesus has died and come back to life again, the very playing field is altered. To make it through this life is not enough. We must also now face our Creator who judges both "the living and the dead" (v. 42). Therefore everyone, Gentile as well as Jew, is forced to deal in some way with Jesus. Religions, as well as life itself, can be favorable to Jesus or antagonistic to Jesus, but they cannot any longer ignore Jesus. Resurrection morning has revised the rules of the game.
Years ago, a newspaper editor assigned one reporter to write a human interest story about David Livingstone, the great pioneer missionary and explorer of Africa. The editor gave specific instructions: "Don't focus your attention on Livingstone's religion. Keep it about the man, the do-gooder, the humanitarian."
This was easier said than done, as the reporter found. For it is not possible to talk about Livingstone apart from his religion. There is no doing good without understanding the source of that good in Livingstone's perceptions. There is no humanitarian kindness apart from the kindness of God to humanity which became the substance of Livingstone's testimony. Livingstone as a man is God's man. Even the epitaph written to commemorate him in Westminster Abbey subtly suggests the same by making allusions to 1 Peter 2:5: "He needs no epitaph to guard a name / Which men shall praise while worthy work is done. / He lived and died for good, be that his fame. / Let marble crumble; this is living stone."
So it is with Christianity. It can be evaluated on many fronts and understood through multitudinous dimensions. But at its heart, inseparable from any part of it as air is from life, is the resurrection of Jesus. Take that away and you no longer have Christianity. You may have an ethic or a sentiment or a philosophy or a moral code, but you will not have Christianity.
1 Corinthians 15:19-26
This is actually the second of Paul's letters to the Corinthian congregation from his third journey base of operations in Ephesus. Earlier he had sent a nasty scourge (see 5:9) which met with mixed response and resulted in a delegation coming to Paul for further clarifications. It is clear to read this history in the language and themes of this letter. Chapters 1-3 address the problem of many competing groups within the congregation, and then tip over into Paul's need to defend his own authority in chapter 4. Paul was, after all, the source of the gospel message for the Corinthian church, and the founder of its congregational character. Divisions in the church threatened to turn it into a balkanized amalgam where party politics undermined a unified sense of identity in Christ.
Paul goes on in chapters 5-6 to address the overt sinful behaviors that apparently had been the target of his earlier missal. One case involved a man shacking up with his father's wife in a manner that offended many in the congregation, and even more folks beyond, thus compromising any hope of effective witness about Jesus. The other incident was a public account of fellow church members suing one another in court, and scandalizing the unity of the Body of Christ. Paul's fingers wag menacingly as he warns the church to deal quickly and appropriately with these blights.
Then, beginning in chapter 7, Paul responds directly to the questions raised by members of the Corinthian congregation, seeking his wisdom and direction:
1. Should we encourage marriages or not (7:1-24)?
2. How should virgins handle their sexuality (7:25-40)?
3. Can we buy and eat the cheap meat in the markets that comes from pagan shrines and has been originally devoted to other gods (8:1--11:1)?
4. Are there any rules for appropriate worship services (11:2-16)?
5. Some are complaining about our Lord's Supper celebrations -- what are we doing wrong (11:17-34)?
6. Which are the best spiritual gifts and how should they be used (12:1--14:40)?
7. What will happen to those in our community that have died (15:1-58)?
8. What's this collection you keep telling us about (16:1-4)?
Today's lectionary passage is the heart of Paul's response to the question about death in the early Corinthian congregation. While we enjoy the power of this passage as a strong literary treatise, we are often not aware of the intensity of both its original question or the power of Paul's answer. The idea of "resurrection" erupted as the core and central element of Christian preaching because of the uniqueness of Jesus' return to life on Easter. While there were religions and philosophies that speculated on the immortality of some spiritual inner essence of humankind, few shaped a doctrine of resurrection that was vitally gripping and described a full return to life of the full person. This is what made the message of Christianity stand out among the religions of its time.
Furthermore, there was a very strong sense in the preaching of the apostles that Jesus, who had recently returned to heaven, was about to come back to earth to finish the job of creation's restoration as the messianic age began. Jesus only went to heaven in order to allow time for the apostles to tell everyone about the events of his death and resurrection. But probably next week, or next month at the latest, the missionary blitz will be finished and Jesus will return.
So there was a tremendous urgency about both the witness of the church and the eschatological expectations of the believers generally. This made the recurring problem of deaths in the community a confusing challenge. Since Jesus was returning so soon, everybody expected to be there when he came, and a transition state for the dead was not even considered at first. But when Jesus delayed his parousia, and as more folks succumbed to illness or age, the cemetery pile-up became a problem. Hence the question of what happens to those who die before Jesus returns?
This question gives Paul the opportunity to restate the evidence of Jesus' resurrection and then go on to talk about the powerful change wrought by Easter. Death is our human lot. But Jesus shifts us into a parallel humanity, founded not only on the terminal resources of the first Adam, but on the eternal energies of the firstfruits of the kingdom of God.
Death challenges us all, ever since it laid waste to the garden of Eden. But Jesus brings us back to the garden and offers us the antidote to the deadly virus that has ruled too long unchallenged. This time those who linger in the garden find life instead of death.
John 20:1-18
The two scenes in this lectionary passage are powerful in themselves, but take on extra significance when viewed within the framework of John's carefully crafted gospel presentation. First, John's commitment to reporting the details of events goes beyond merely stating the obvious. Already in the prologue to the gospel (1:1-18), two guiding principles become apparent -- John is casting this story of Jesus as a deliberate corollary to the original creation account of Genesis 1, and "light" and "darkness" will therefore become key criteria by which to interpret what takes place.
Here these themes erupt into action. Jesus' resurrection takes place on "the first day of the week," both chronologically and symbolically. It is the calendar day of Sunday, as we call it. But it is also the theological day of creation when by divine fiat God dispels the chaotic darkness through the declaration that light shall overcome it. So John tells us that it is not only "early" on that first day of the week, but that these things took place "while it was still dark." In other words, the gloom that had settled over planet earth as a shroud of sinful deception (see 1:1-18) still lingers, although God's new (re)creative work in Jesus is about to blast it away.
Second, when Mary looks into the empty tomb she sees two angels at the place where Jesus' body had been laid. Here again, however, John adds important interpretive details. The two angels are not standing next to one another, but are positioned at either end of the flat surface where Jesus' body had rested. Thinking back to chapter 1 we are reminded that when Jesus appeared, "we have seen his glory," according to John. This "glory" was one with that of the Father, and is a clear reminder that when God appeared to God's people in Old Testament times, there was an expression of the shekinah glory that pervaded tabernacle and temple, and took up residence on the mercy seat of the Ark of the Covenant. This mercy seat was the portable throne of Yahweh on earth, and was guarded at either end by cherubim -- angels who stood at attention. What John wishes for us to see as Mary looks into the tomb is that the "glory" of God as revealed in Jesus is no longer here, nor will it any longer be confined or localized to an earthly shrine. God has come to earth to create and re-create, bringing the light of heaven; now that work is accomplished, and we may live in the light wherever we go, and, as John shows us next, follow that light eventually back into heaven itself.
Third, while Mary is weeping at the tomb, John reminds us that this all takes place in a garden. Furthermore, when Mary is approached by a man, she believes him to be the gardener. Why does John make a big deal of this? Because, in the early days of the original creation as recounted in Genesis, humans lived in a garden, and the true "Gardener" came to walk and talk with them there. But after the divisive acts of sinful disobedience, the humans were thrust out of the garden and the days of intimate fellowship with the "Gardener" were ended. Now, however, as re-creation begins to reshape life on planet earth, the "Gardener" returns to the garden and pauses for conversation with those who too long have been alienated from him.
Fourth, this is confirmed in the fact that Mary is confused and doesn't understand anything until Jesus speaks her name. When Jesus says "Mary," everything suddenly falls into place. Mary knows who she is, and begins to understand who Jesus is. Notice that John never denies or challenges the notion that this figure looming into Mary's sight range is the Gardener. Instead, John allows that perception to stand, but fills it with all its theological significance. As the true Gardener speaks her name, Mary comes to life. Just as in the Genesis story where the Creator/Gardener calls Adam by name and thus brings him into being.
Clearly, John is telling us of events that took place on the first Easter Sunday morning. Just as convincingly, John is calling our attention to those details which help us see the significance of all this as a renewing of the creation by the creator who comes to restore light and life in a world that has been too long under the sway of darkness and death.
Application
Our cemeteries tend to look like gardens. Perhaps a play can be made on the idea of those who are entombed there as "Planted for Life." Of course, this planting is after the manner of Christian faith, not the irrevocable lostness of death without hope.
Dr. Alexander Simpson, who invented chloroform in his Edinburgh laboratory in 1847, was asked later in life what he considered his most valuable discovery. He astounded reporters by declaring that it was in finding the love of God. As testimony to this, when he and his wife buried their young daughter whose illnesses refused to be tamed even by her father's great skills, the gravestone contained only one word beside the typical name and dates: "Nevertheless ..." It was Simpson's assurance that death had already been trumped by life.
Alternative Application
John 20:1-18. While there is punch in the Acts reading and power in the epistle text, it is the gospel story that begs to be treated by itself this morning. Let Mary's experiences remind us of what Easter gives back to us: our friend Jesus, our very selves, and the lives of our loved ones lost during the years past.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Today, Christian people everywhere celebrate an incredibly absurd notion. Through the cultural overlay of bunnies and chocolate is found the shocking assertion that death is not the end. In a world where death is treated as the final sanction, the ultimate finish, this crazy notion asserts itself once again.
Today there are "glad songs of victory" (v. 15) as an open-mouthed and amazed people stand at the door to an empty tomb. Today this group rises with shouts and gasps as the voice of the holy says, "I shall not die, but I shall live!" (v. 17). Today we flaunt a world that wallows in death and insist that life wins in the end. Even though the "stone" was rejected by the builders of this world, we claim it now as the "cornerstone of a new reality."
In this psalm we see the seeds of a new reality planted, awaiting germination on this resurrection day. It is a new reality in which the definition and use of power have been completely up-ended. "Death," as we read in Revelation, "is no more." It is a reality where the "proud and mighty are scattered" (Luke 1:51), and where the first are now to be last. It is a reality where the dividing walls (Galatians 3:27) erected to keep people apart and alienated from one another have come down in an avalanche of love and compassion. It is a reality where the fear that is used to manipulate and manage is cast out by the "perfect love" (1 John 4:18) of this resurrected Lord.
It's Easter Sunday.
Today, an invitation has been issued to enter into this new reality as a community of faith. It is an invitation that comes with an RSVP. How is it that the church will respond? Will the faithful take the lilies, plant them in the backyard and get on with business as usual? Will the church simply send back the card saying that we are unable to attend?
No. This new reality, this shining new life is "the Lord's doing," and the call comes to the church to embrace it anew. The call comes to the people gathered to rise up and say the closing words of this psalm with a slight twist. "This is the reality that God has made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it! Let us rejoice and choose to live together in it!"
