Walk the Way of Love

Sermon for Easter, March 31, 2024
John 20:1-18

If you were scrolling through Netflix looking for something to stream, and you came upon this chapter of the Easter story, the show’s summary might go something like this: Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb and meets Jesus, risen from the dead. 

Short and sweet – and pretty spectacular, actually, with Jesus vanquishing the power of death and walking out of his own tomb.  But there’s a lot more to the story than that.  In fact, I’d say, this is a complicated story, one with people straining to see in the dark, running away in fear, running forward in faith, and being sent somewhere they don’t really understand.  Sounds like my spiritual journey … maybe yours, too.

Mary Magdalene’s Easter journey starts in ancient darkness.  In our mind’s eye, we see paintings or movie scenes of Jesus stepping out of the tomb with sunlight streaming everywhere; but John’s Gospel sets the scene this way:  “While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb” (20:1).  So, Mary begins where most of us begin, unless we’re lucky enough to have some burning-bush moment of spiritual awakening.  She’s just trying to move forward, trying to find light in her deepest darkness.

So, what’s she doing there at the tomb in that darkest hour before the dawn?  Unlike Matthew, Mark, and Luke, John’s version of the story doesn’t say she was there with other women to attend to the body.  She’s not bringing burial spices or ointments; she’s bringing something far more valuable – herself, in her grief, simply aching for the love in which she’d invested everything.

As Mary offers herself this way, immediately she finds something deeply upsetting, the last thing she’d expect:  She sees that the stone sealing the tomb had been removed.  Life does that, doesn’t it? – springing surprises on us, usually ones we don’t want.  But God also does that, surprising us with blessings we’d have never imagined.  At this point, Mary doesn’t know which kind of surprise this is.

“So, she ran and went to … Peter and the other disciple … and said, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they’ve laid him’” (1:2).  For Mary, this surprise feels like salt in Good Friday’s wound.  Not only have the authorities killed her friend, spiritual leader, and messiah; but someone – the Romans or the religious authorities – someone has stolen the body.  God knows what they’ll do with it – drag it through the streets or dangle it from the city wall as a sign of what happens to people who stand up to entrenched power. 

So, Peter and John come running to the tomb.  They react like we might:  Whether the news is horrific or miraculous, they’ve got to see it for themselves.  John just looks into the tomb, poking in a torch to see if the desecrated body’s crumpled in the corner.  But Peter charges in, setting aside the creepiness (and ritual defilement) of exploring an occupied tomb.  Peter’s got extra skin in this game, given that he holds himself responsible after denying Jesus three times.  His grief tells him to experience this reality for himself. 

Peter and John don’t find answers, but they do find evidence – bloody linens tossed aside.  So, what to make of it?  Peter’s guilt keeps him from seeing anything but the physical evidence.  But John “went in, and he saw and believed” (20:8).  I’ve always envied people like John, folks who can let go of suspicion or trauma or guilt, and just open their hearts to hope.  

But then, the guys “returned to their homes” (John 20:10) – and we hear nothing more about them until later that night, where we’ll pick up the story next Sunday.  Even John, who’s blessed to believe, doesn’t yet know what to do with it.

Meanwhile, as the guys investigated, Mary was “weeping outside the tomb”; and now she looks in, too (20:11).  And she’s blessed with a vision the guys didn’t receive: two angels, sitting on the slab where the body had been.  Well, thank God, she’s thinking; now come the answers, right?  But instead, even the miraculous vision just offers more questions:  “Woman, why are you weeping?” the angels ask (20:13).  “Really?  Why do you think I’m weeping?”  Who knew heavenly messengers could be so obtuse?  Mary’s too upset to ponder deep questions; she just wants to know what happened to the one on whom she’d set her heart.  

Then she turns around and sees someone – not realizing, in the ancient darkness, that it’s Jesus.  She thinks it’s the maintenance man; and when he asks her what’s wrong, she does everything she can to keep from screaming at him.  But then – you know, like God does – the least likely person in the scene turns out to have been Jesus all the time.  And he gives Mary far more than she could’ve hoped – not just assurance that the body hasn’t been stolen; not just proof that God has raised Jesus from the dead; but conviction that the living God, as the risen Christ, knows her by name – and wants her to be his instrument.   

Talk about a spiritual journey.  And all because Mary answered the longing she felt and bravely headed into the darkness, seeking light she knew was out there somewhere.

What about us this morning?  We’ve come to the empty tomb for one reason or another.  Maybe we follow in the footsteps of Mary Magdalene.  Maybe we’re struggling through the dark, not knowing what we’ll find, because something’s calling us, and we can’t stay where we are.  Or, maybe we follow in the footsteps of Peter.  Maybe we’re carrying our own baggage but we want to check out what we’ve heard about this empty tomb.  So we step in, and we see signs of life, and we think, “Well, maybe rising from the dead can happen after all.”  Or, maybe we follow in the footsteps of John.  Maybe we want to check out this empty tomb but we hang back a bit before we take a step inside.  Then we see the signs of life, and something clicks inside; and we say to ourselves, “I can’t explain this, but I know death is not the end of my story.  So, now what?”

There’s no one way to make a journey of faith.  We each come to it with our own blessings and our own baggage.  For some of us here this morning, our path has been pretty straightforward, maybe even boring.  That’s my story.  I was baptized in an Episcopal congregation in Springfield at 1 month old, and I went to that same church all through my childhood.  There was no question what we were doing on Sunday mornings.  So, I went to church – over and over again.  But there was no urgency in my relationship with God; it was more like knowing your grandmother is out there somewhere, loving you from a distance. 

Now, I stepped closer to God discerning a call to be a priest, but honestly it felt more like a potential career change than an existential moment.  But then, in seminary, as many of you know, my wife, Ann, got very sick, and nearly died, and spent two months in the hospital.  And I can see myself standing in the hospital parking lot with our daughter, Kathryn, stumbling to explain why all this was happening.  You haven’t lived until you try to tell your second grader why bad things happen to good people, like her mom.  I wasn’t so happy with God at that moment.  And that was just one dark night; I guarantee you there’ve been others over the past 22 years.  But God and I have kept at it, and the partnership is pretty good now.

For others of us here this morning, the spiritual journey has taken more twists.  Maybe your path has looked more like Mary’s:  You’d found some light that chased away the darkness, but then the darkness closed back in, maybe even took the upper hand.  So, you took the risk to confront it, but that just added insult to injury.  You looked for answers, but the people you turned to just left you with more questions.  Then, when you felt like you just might scream in frustration, somehow you heard God calling your name – maybe in whispers, maybe with a bullhorn.  But you looked a second time, and you saw life made new.

Or maybe your path has been more like Peter’s or John’s.  You’ve heard someone or felt something telling you that you need to give God a look.  Maybe it’s a second look, or maybe it’s for the first time; but somehow, the reality you’ve been living has shifted, and the old answers aren’t working anymore.  So, you go and investigate; you explore; and you see evidence that points toward hope.  So, you give it a shot.  You step into the empty tomb and try on resurrection like a new suit of clothes. 

And after that?  Well, maybe you’re Peter, and you need to go home, and think about it, and gather more evidence.  Or maybe you’re John, and you go home knowing God’s real – but not knowing what to do next.

Well, let me offer a thought about what to do next – whether you’re John or Peter or Mary Magdalene, or whether your path to the empty tomb has been entirely different.  Whether you’re trying on resurrection to see how it fits, or whether you’re wondering what to do with your faith, or whether you’re walking a path with Jesus right beside you, here’s something to try.

Make your life a pilgrimage.  Walk the way of love to find resurrection – nothing less than heaven on earth.

Now, that may sound stupidly obvious.  I mean, what else is the priest going to say, right?  But if “resurrection” feels like religious code language, think of it like this:  Love is God’s weapon and God’s way, and Jesus has used it to conquer everything that is not Love.  This is the deep truth of Easter:  Blessing defeats cursing.  Compassion defeats anger.  Listening defeats shouting.  Service defeats self-interest.  Honesty defeats mendacity.  Integrity defeats corruption.  Respect defeats hate.  In the Easter story, the religious authorities and the imperial rulers had every worldly power working for them.  And yet, the power of Love rises victorious over their curses and anger and shouting and self-interest and mendacity and corruption and hate.  And that power of Love rises victorious still.

For Love to keep winning, what it takes is our choice to walk that path – millions of hearts turning, and millions of feet following Jesus’ way.  How do you do it?  Just like any other journey or any other movement:  It happens one step at a time.

So, over the next seven weeks here, we’re inviting you to walk the way of Love.¹  Your starting point doesn’t matter, and your path will be unique.  But like a dance, this way of Love includes steps we share, even as we make them our own.  You’ll find them on the front of the bulletin, and on the website, and as our preaching series over the next couple of months.  Here’s how to live in resurrection – seven steps you can take to walk in Love: 

1.      Turn.  In other words, pause, listen, and choose to follow Jesus. 

2.      Rest.  In other words, receive the gift of God’s grace, peace, and restoration.

3.      Bless.  In other words, share love by unselfishly giving and serving. 

4.      Learn.  In other words, reflect on Scripture each day, especially on Jesus’ life and teachings. 

5.      Worship.  In other words, gather in community to thank, praise, and dwell with God. 

6.      Pray.  In other words, dwell intentionally with God daily. 

7.      Go.  In other words, cross boundaries, listen deeply, and live like Jesus. 

As a guide, there’s an online assessment you can take, called “My Way of Love.”²  You can access it through the website or the Messenger.  It will help you gauge where you are in your spiritual journey, and you can sign up for weekly emails offering tips related to each step.

Whoever you are – Mary, Peter, John, or someone entirely different – just know this:  Resurrection means Love wins.  The battle’s already been fought, and Jesus came out on top.  And now, he’d be honored to have you walking alongside him.

1.      https://www.episcopalchurch.org/way-of-love/

2.      https://www.episcopalchurch.org/way-of-love/my-way-of-love/