John gives us another one of his timestamps in the first verse of Chapter 20: “Now early on the first day of the Sabbath-week, while it is still dark, Mary the Magdalene comes to the tomb … ”
It is the day after the day of rest, our equivalent of Monday morning, when work starts again. Mary arrives early for the work of mourning – she intends to finish the work that Mary sister of Martha began with the perfume in John 12 — but this Mary is not ready for what she finds. The tomb is disturbed, the heavy stone rolled aside.
What follows is not joy and peace, not yet, but rather confusion, a lot of breathless running, turning this way and that, and tears – so many tears. It’s adrenaline and worry and premature sorrow. There’s no time to process except to blame it on a “they” who took the body away – was it grave robbers? Romans spitefully removing a memorial spot for rebels? – but she turns to Peter and “the disciple Jesus loved.” (Let’s just call him “John,” OK?)
John is younger, which may explain why he’s faster but also more fearful. He got there first yet couldn’t bear to do more than stand at the door and gawk. Peter’s more headstrong, and steps into the grave to see “winding sheets lying there” and the head-kerchief “folded up in a place of its own.” (20:7)
Once John entered, “he saw and had faith.” (20:8b) This feels like a core memory, one he would hold onto for the rest of his life, poring over the details, which he would much later write down in his gospel. Like the memorial stones in ancient Israel, John set this memory in place and would return to it when he needed reminding.
I imagine John and Peter would spend the next few weeks finding promises of life written down in Scripture. They found passages like Psalm 16, which reads “my flesh also shall rest in hope, for Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption. Thou wilt show me the path of life.” (9b-11a)
Forty days later, Peter quotes this exact verse in his extemporaneous Pentecost speech (Acts 2:27) and says David was speaking about this Easter day, like when Jesus said Abraham saw His day and rejoiced. (John 8:56) Peter is still thinking about David’s “path of life” a few days later, when he calls Jesus “the leader on the Way of Life,” (Acts 3:15) and this line of thinking may have inspired the Christians to call their movement simply “The Way.” (Acts 9:2) A path of verses runs forward through Acts that follows up on Jesus’s statement in John that He is The Way, The Truth, and The Life (John 14:6), and leads to us today. This path goes backwards in time, through Psalm 16, and back to creation itself.
Later the disciples would work out their salvation with fear and trembling by searching the scriptures, seeing how they speak of Jesus, as the Spirit unfolded their meaning. On that first Easter Sunday morning, there was only an empty space and a tomb that too small to hold the life that grew inside it. That life would grow exponentially, and that light would illuminate every page of the Bible.
But none of that had happened yet, nor could it happen in one morning. Human souls can only hold so much. Peter and John, overwhelmed and exhilarated, didn’t know what else to do, so they went home.
Mary didn’t, couldn’t, or wouldn’t go home yet. All she could do was cry and pace, restlessly looking into the tomb again from time to time. Then she saw she was not alone, and the tomb was no longer empty. Suddenly there are angels, as unexpected as they were with the shepherds at Christmas.
Epiphanius in 403 AD drew these parallels: “An angel announced to Mary Christ’s maternal birth, and an angel announced to Mary of Magdala His awesome rebirth from the grave. At night Christ is born in Bethlehem, and at night in Sion He is reborn.”
One angel is at the head of the empty space that had held Jesus, one at the foot. Together they took like the angels on the Ark of the Covenant, but they don’t enclose holy relics. Rather, they enclose an empty grave, open to new creation.
The angels ask Mary why she weeps, and she repeats that “they” have taken “my Lord.” (20:13) She turned back around, running from the pain of saying this again, and saw the gardener. (20:15) He asks her the same question. She asks if he’s one of those who took her Lord away, the third time she refers to her imagined antagonists, like the third time Peter denied his Lord.
But no one has taken her Lord away. In her grief, he is right there and has been right there, even when she couldn’t see how. The person she thinks is her enemy is the One she seeks. He only needs to speak one word to show her the truth, because he is the truth.
“Mary,” he says. She starts and turns one more time to Him, turning for good. All at once, like recognizing a loved one in a crowd, all the jumbled pieces fall into perfect place. Mary sees Jesus, really sees him, through the tears. As Jesus had said earlier, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.” (10:14) This flash of recognition is Mary’s moment of turning.
Mary replies in Hebrew, “Rabbouni.” (20:16) This is an intensification of “Rabbi” meaning “High-Rabbi,” such as the president of the Sanhedrin. It is a term of honor, respect, and love. Mary of Magdalene’s soul proclaimed the Lord’s greatness, and her spirit rejoiced.
There is one more “angel” in this passage. Mary served as an angel, a messenger, to the disciples. This is the second time John uses the word “angeling” (as he did in John 16:25 — see the 12-17 essay). As angels announced the birth of the Lord, Mary announced “I have seen the Lord” to the disciples, the first of the first to see the risen body of Jesus. Her mourning was turned to proclamation, and no one ever took Him away from her again.
QUOTE: Epiphanius Holy Saturday homily p. 36.
IMAGE: Empty Tomb by Gary Smith
