Dr. Ron Sumners
March 20, 2005
A party was the last thing Mary Magdalene expected as she approached the tomb on that Sunday morning. The last few days had brought nothing to celebrate. The Jews could celebrate; Jesus was out of their way. The soldiers could celebrate; their work was done. But Mary couldn't celebrate. To her, the last few days had brought nothing but tragedy.
Mary had been there. She had heard the leaders clamor for Jesus' blood. She had witnessed the Roman whip rip the skin off his back. She had winced as the thorns sliced his brow and wept as he struggled beneath the weight of the cross.
In the Louvre Museum, there is a painting of the scene of the cross. In the painting the stars are dead, and the world is wrapped in darkness. In the shadows there is a kneeling form. It is Mary. She is holding her hands and lips against the bleeding feet of the Christ.
We don't know if Mary did that, but we know that she could have. She was there. She was there to hold her arm around the shoulder of Mary, the mother of Jesus. She was there to close his eyes after death. She was there. So, it is not surprising that she wanted to be there again that Sunday morning.
In the early morning mist, she arises from her bed, takes her spices and aloes, and leaves her house, past the Gate of Gennath and up to the hillside. She anticipates a somber task. By now the body will be swollen. His face will be white; death's odor will be pungent.
A gray sky gives way to gold as she walks up the narrow trail. As she rounds the final bend, she gasps. The giant rock in front of the grave has been rolled away from the opening. "Someone has taken the body!" She runs to awaken Peter and John. They rush to see for themselves. She tries to keep up with them but cannot.
Peter comes out of the tomb bewildered and John comes out believing, but Mary just sits in front of it weeping. The two men go home and leave her alone with her grief.
But something tells her that she is not alone. Maybe she hears a noise. Maybe she hears a whisper. Or maybe she just hears her own heart tell her to take-a-look for herself.
Whatever the reason, she does. She stoops down, sticks her head into the hewn entrance and waits for her eyes to adjust to the dark.
"Why are you crying?" She sees what looks to be a man, but he is white; radiantly white. He is one of the two lights on either end of the vacant slab.
"Why are you crying?" It is an uncommon question to be asked in a cemetery. In fact, the question is rude. That is, unless the questioner knows something the questioned doesn't.
Mary answered, "They have taken my Lord away, and I don't know where they have put him.” She still calls him ''my Lord." As far as she knows his lips were silent. As far as she knows, his corpse has been carted off by grave robbers. But in spite of it all, He is still her Lord.
Such devotion moves Jesus. It moves him closer to her. So close, she hears him breathing. She turns and there he stands. She thinks it is the gardener.
Now, Jesus could have revealed himself at this point. He could have called for an angel to present him or a heavenly choir to announce his presence. But he didn't.
"Why are you crying?" "Who are you looking for?"
He doesn't leave her wondering long, just long enough to remind us that he loves to surprise us. He waits for us to despair of human strength and then intervenes with heavenly strength. God waits for us to get to the end of our strength and then, surprise!
Has it been a while since you let God surprise you? It is easy to reach the point where we think we have God figured out.
We know exactly what God knows; we think we have broken the code. God is a giant computer, we think, and if we push all the right buttons and insert the right data, God is exactly who we thought he was; we think. No variations. No alterations. God is a jukebox. Insert a tithe; push in the right numbers and - bam! - The divine music fills the room; we think.
I have had many broken people sit across my desk from me. They are in despair. They have stumbled through life with an aching in their heart like Mary walking to the tomb so long ago. They need a word of hope. For those of you who are hurting, get ready, God may have a surprise for you!
Do you think you have God figured out? Have you got God captured on the flowchart and frozen on a flannel board? If so, then be still and listen - like Mary in the garden. Listen to God's surprises.
Hear the rocks meant for the body of the adulterous woman drop to the ground - plop – plop – plop.
Listen as Jesus invites a convict to be his eternal companion in paradise.
Listen to the widow of Nain eating dinner with her son who was dead an hour earlier. And listen to the surprise as Mary's name is spoken by a man she loved; a man she had buried, "Mary."
God appears in the strangest of places, doing the strangest of things. Stretching smiles where there had only been frowns. Placing twinkles in eyes where there had only been tears.
"Mary," he said softly, "surprise!"
Mary was shocked. It is not often you hear your name spoken by an eternal tongue. But when she did, she responded correctly. She worshipped him.
The scene has all the elements of a surprise party - secrecy, wide eyes, amazement, gratitude. But this celebration is timid in comparison with the one that is being planned for the future. It will be similar to Mary's, but a lot bigger. Many more graves will open. Many more names will be called. Many more knees will bow. It is going to be some party. I have made plans to assure that my name is called. How about you?
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