Pascha I

Easter Sunday: The Resurrection of the Lord

_{Acts 10: 34a, 37-43; Psalm 118; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20: 1-9}

Three weeks ago, early in the morning on the first day of the week while it was still dark, my brother Mark died. That Sunday began like today, in silence and grief.

My story – our stories – play out every time someone we love dies, even if that love was a difficult love. When parents, sisters or brothers, sons and daughters, or friends die, they do not simply depart from us; they take a part of us with them. That is the nature of death.

In the Gospel of John, there is no angelic announcement that Jesus is risen from the dead. It would have no meaning for the disciples. In the light of the divisions and violence that are tearing at the fabric of our societies and church, I wonder if it has much meaning for us today. Understanding the full significance of a person or event often requires the passage of time. In the moment, the true meaning eludes us.

Today, there is only an empty grave and a repeated question, “Why are you weeping?” There are many reasons for each of us to weep. What is yours?

I was hard pressed to write my brother’s obituary. I did not know him well. I kept the obit brief with just a few impressions and experiences from his life that I gleaned rummaging through my thoughts and his books and photos when I went to his house, our home. What has profoundly moved me is how many people in their sympathy notes have identified him, because of what I wrote, as holy. A description I never thought of in relation to Mark. Understanding the full significance of a person or event often requires the passage of time and the insight of other people.

There is a second and more piercing question in John’s Gospel. “Whom are you looking for?” It is a question we may not always be able to answer. “Whom are you looking for?” is a question of longing, of encounter, of faith. It arises in the silences of our griefs.

When Jesus asks Martha whether she believes he is resurrection and life, she responds, “Yes, Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Christ”. “I have come to believe…” Faith is a journey, often a difficult and taxing journey. Martha makes her act of faith through her tears over the death of her brother, Lazarus. “Why are you weeping?”

Faith arises from within our silences and griefs, our questions and tears. Faith is not a blind, un-reflective assent but is birthed in the crucible of our lives. It is through the cross and not the empty grave that we encounter faith in Jesus Christ who is revealed to us as stronger than death. For Jesus is eternal life.

Early in the morning on the first day of the week while it was still dark, Mary went to the tomb. Early in the morning on the first day of the week while it was still dark, my brother Mark died. Over the millennia, it is through tears and grief that Mary and I seek the one our hearts long for.

Through your tears and silences, “Whom are YOU looking for?”