Not Taken: Sunrise Homily on John 20 for Easter 2018

Throughout the quiet grotto, no birds were yet singing. The first rays of dawn had scarcely brushed their fingers across the landscape. The fragrance of morning dew was fresh. But the grotto's silence was broken first by delicate footsteps belabored by burdensome bags of herbs and spices. The grotto's silence was broken second by careless masculine footsteps, thundering helter-skelter over innocent flowers and then beating a slow retreat in perplexity. But the grotto's silence was broken third by the sobbing and wailing of one woman, this Mary of Magdala (John 20:11). She loved her Lord and Teacher intensely. Without him, she knew right where she'd be.

Before he came into her life, she'd been infested by a hellish septet, a demon squadron of seven foul spirits, dark and toxic (Luke 8:2). This Jesus had been the exterminator clearing house in her. He had shattered the chains by which her satanic puppet-masters had jerked her to and fro to all manner of wayward, spendthrift, and debased pursuits. He had showed her how to live as a free woman; he told her that if he was the one setting her free, then she was as free as free could be. He had given her life and love, had raised up her eyes from the dust.

And then she watched them beat and scar and bleed and suffocate him in front of her eyes, and her world was completely broken. At least, she had thought, at least she could pay her final respects. At least she could do one last thing in memory of the one good thing she'd had in her life, the one thing that made life worth living, but was dead and gone now. At least she could spend all she had and give him a king's treatment in death. But she found his body missing – carted off God-knows-where, disrespected even in death. And the situation was beyond her power to fix or remedy; his beloved body was lost, unrecoverable, unreclaimable (John 20:1-2).

So of course she wept and wailed. And hers was a grief, as it turns out, not even an angel could interrupt. Normally, in the Bible, people take notice when an angel drops in! When Lot saw a pair of angels, he quickly got up, bowed before them, and gave them his full attention (Genesis 19:1). When the angels of God crossed paths with Jacob, he changed his whole understanding of where he was (Genesis 32:1). When an angel appeared to Gideon, or to Samson's parents, they were overcome and fell on their faces in holy fear (Judges 13:3-20). The sight of an avenging angel made David and Jerusalem's elders collapse and Ornan's sons crawl under the nearest rock (1 Chronicles 20:16-20).

From Genesis to Zechariah and everywhere else in the Gospels, when an angel shows up, people take notice, people react profoundly. Mary Magdalene is the first person to walk away from an angel in mid-conversation and ignore all they said. A pair of them flanked the vacant slab of rock in Jesus' tomb like cherubim overshadowing the mercy-seat on the ark of the covenant, and this Mary Magdalene doesn't bat an eye at all. Hers really is a grief not even an angel could interrupt (John 20:12-14). And what grief is this? Look at her constant complaint, stated three times: “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him” (John 20:2); “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him” (John 20:13).

How often in life do we feel that way? How often do we get the impression, when we ask and can't see what's given, when we seek and don't seem to find, when we knock and nothing looks opened to us – how often do we sense that someone has taken away our Lord? That someone or something has deprived us of him? That what has happened is that our Lord, our Liberator, has been ferried off like some object, and stolen from out of our lived experience?

Maybe there's been a time in your life when grief cut you to the core. Someone dear to you suffered deeply, or someone you loved died. Maybe there's been a time in your life when you were hurting and scared. Maybe the way things were going wasn't what you'd expected at all. Maybe you were confused and distressed. Maybe you were lost and couldn't find your way. Maybe you were oppressed and couldn't find your freedom. Maybe – maybe – maybe a thousand things.

Mary felt all of that. She felt that in a way few of us can really understand. She knew exactly how it felt to be hurt to the utmost. She knew how it felt to feel homeless in the world, alone and forsaken, bereaved and lonely, robbed and cheated and kicked when she's down. She knew how it felt to feel forsaken by God.

And then, through bleary eyes in the dim light, she sees the cause of the rustling in the trees; she spies the caretaker of the place, begs him to settle the mystery, begs him to give her hope of peace after all. And with the mere mention of her name (John 20:16), his unmistakable voice teaches her the Easter lesson: that through it all, nothing can take away our Lord from us!

There is no one and nothing that can take away our Lord.

There is no circumstance that can take away our Lord.

There is no scheme that can take away our Lord.

There is no conspiracy that can take away our Lord.

There is no new insight that can take away our Lord.

There is no scientific discovery that can take away our Lord.

There is no technological advance that can take away our Lord.

There is no philosophical deliberation that can take away our Lord.

There is no cultural trend that can take away our Lord.

There is no congressional edict that can take away our Lord.

There is no executive order that can take away our Lord.

There is no court decision that can take away our Lord.

There is no foreclosure that can take away our Lord.

There is no bankruptcy that can take away our Lord.

There is no wealth nor poverty that can take away our Lord.

There is no ailment that can take away our Lord.

There is no crime that can take away our Lord.

There is no prison that can take away our Lord.

There is no war that can take away our Lord.

There is no burning heat that can take away our Lord

There is no freezing chill that can take away our Lord.

There is no day nor hour that can take away our Lord.

There is no relocation that can take away our Lord.

There is no shortfall that can take away our Lord.

There is no loss that can take away our Lord.

There is no hunger that can take away our Lord.

There is no deprivation that can take away our Lord.

There is no discomfort that can take away our Lord.

There is no pain that can take away our Lord.

There is no success nor failure that can take away our Lord.

There is no guilt nor shame that can take away our Lord.

There is no separation nor estrangement that can take away our Lord.

There is no death that can take away our Lord!

He is risen, he is alive! No one can cart him off; no one can discard him; no one can buy or sell him; no one can ship him to and fro; no one can hide him, confine him, sideline him. The Lord Jesus Christ is alive and well; he is risen this blessed morn, and nothing whatsoever has power over him. Weep no more – whatever the circumstances, whatever the facts on the ground, this one thing can never change: Yours is a Lord whom no one and nothing can ever take away from you. Hallelujah! The Lord lives! Sing and celebrate the risen Christ!