Acts 10:34-43; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; John 20:1-18
Have you ever had something happen in your life that was just devastating? When you were sure your life was over? When it didn’t seem like it was worth the effort to go on? Then only to have everything turn out all right afterward? In fact, maybe turn out better than you could ever have imagined? And not even because of anything you did! It seemed like a gift from heaven!
There is actually a word for this. J.R.R. Tolkien (yes, that Tolkien) coined the word eucatastrophe. It’s a complete turn from a situation that is completely hopeless to a sudden, unforeseen victory. That victory is usually brought about by grace, rather than heroic action. A eucatastrophe brings such joy that it may bring you to tears.
I think we can all feel this in our bones, especially this week. Just two days ago, on Good Friday, we saw Jesus tortured to death as a criminal, and buried. Yesterday morning, we paused in our devotions, focusing on hope. Then last night at the Great Vigil of Easter, we took a sudden turn, brought light back into the world out of darkness, and celebrated the Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead!
I can’t think of a better example of eucatastrophe than the resurrection. And Tolkien agreed.
Today’s gospel gives us a glimpse of what it must have been like. When I think of eucatastrophe I think of Mary Magdalene, the “apostle to the apostles,” going to the tomb before dawn on Sunday morning, probably to anoint Jesus’ body according to custom, and finding the stone rolled away. In my Good Friday sermon I made the point that when he was killed, Jesus’ followers must have thought the world had ended. Their dreams were shattered. Finding the tomb this way must have been devastating. Not only did they kill him, but his tomb had been vandalized! She goes back and brings Simon Peter and another disciple. They go into the tomb and find it empty except for the linen that Jesus’ body had been wrapped in.
This is the last straw. The disciples return to their homes. There’s nothing left to see here. Someone has stolen Christ’s body. The last thing they had to hold onto is gone. They have absolutely nothing left of him.
But Mary…Mary can’t leave. Mary is overcome with grief. She stays at the tomb, weeping, sobbing. She has nothing left. Even the appearance of two angels in the tomb doesn’t lessen her grief. Then she turns and sees someone she thinks is the gardener, the caretaker, and asks him where he’s taken the body, so she can attend to it. It’s understandable that she didn’t recognize him. He was dead. There is no way in human experience that she could be talking to Jesus. I can’t count the number of times I have failed to recognize someone that I ran into out of the usual context. Back when I was a Scouter, running into someone out of uniform is all it would take. So yes, it’s understandable.
She doesn’t recognize him, until he calls her by name.
I can only imagine the joy that swept through Mary when she realized that it was indeed Jesus who was standing in front of her. I’m sure that she ran to embrace him. I’m guessing that her tears of sorrow had changed to tears of joy. We react to intense sorrow and intense joy in similar ways. This is the joy that eucatastrophe brings. In some translations Jesus says “Touch me not” to her, but I prefer our translation: “Do not hold onto me,” because I can’t envision Mary not grabbing hold of Jesus and never wanting to let go. Jesus is saying “I can’t be held in one place anymore. I still have things to do.”
Mary is human, and probably would have preferred to stay there in the garden with Jesus forever. But that’s not how things work. Jesus had things to do. And Mary also had things to do. She had to announce to the disciples what had happened to her. I can’t picture her doing anything but running in her joy, running from house to house, announcing to the disciples the good news that Jesus was alive, the first person to carry that news to anyone. The first person to encounter the risen Christ, and the first evangelist, carrying the Good News.
On Easter Sunday, which is, by the way, the second feast in the season of Easter, we meet our risen Lord with Mary at the tomb in the Garden. How do we react to that? Will we want to stay there, basking in the joy of the resurrection? It feels good. It’s comfortable. But it’s also selfish. It’s too great! We can’t keep this to ourselves! We have things to do, and Jesus is still not someone who can be nailed down to one place. He’s not going to stay here. He will be out in the world, and he wants to do that through US.
We have been celebrating Easter for around 2,000 years, and I think through the long, long years we have lost some of the intense joy that the unexpected turnaround from disaster to victory brings.
We need to break out of our Easter routines. We need to recover something of what Mary Magdalen felt: The deep, deep sorrow that, in a sudden, victorious turn, becomes overwhelming joy. Joy that may bring us to tears. We need to take our joy out of this place, as comfortable and reassuring as it is, and spread that joy to the world. The world needs to know the joy that makes us shout
“ALLELUIA! CHRIST IS RISEN!
THE LORD IS RISEN INDEED! ALLELUIA”
Amen.
Becoming Dominican 