Easter Sunday: Recognizing Resurrection

He Is Risen!  He is Risen Indeed!

The long season of Lent is over.  Creation is reborn, and so are we.  

It's a time for hope, and a season of renewal as we dare to believe that the world can be made new, and us along with it.  

Today, we will focus on the Resurrection account in John’s Gospel and a moment when the Resurrection becomes personal.  

We all share a universal longing to know and be known, especially when it feels like all is lost and we feel absolutely alone in the universe.  

WHEN WE ARE KNOWN AND NAMED, EVERYTHING CHANGES

John 20:1-18

• John’s account is dramatic and vivid—the women are still first to the scene.
• Mary Magdalene brings the news, and Peter and John get in a footrace. 
• Mary is lost and confused, caught up in grief—then things start to happen. 

11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb, 12 and she saw two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. 13 They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 14 When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir,[b] if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). 

Let me pause for a moment so we can think more deeply about the gravity of this moment.  Mary Magdalene was one of the inner circle of Jesus' followers.  She was given purpose and hope by Jesus, who counted her among his disciples.  And then he is gone.  Executed. The loss of the promise she felt must have been devastating.  

And then she believes that on top of everything that has happened, his body has been stolen.  Desecrated. Her grief is more than she can bear.  Her tears blind her to clear sight. 

And then he calls her name.  "Mary."  The sound of his voice speaking her name breaks through all of the grief, all of her tears.  She hears her name coming from the voice of the one who knows her best. 

And then, she responds... "Rabbouni," It means "teacher," but it's an affectionate, personal kind of name.  

17 Jesus said to her, “Do not touch me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” 18 Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and she told them that he had said these things to her.

• The personal nature of this scene is what makes it poignant.  We imagine ourselves being known and named.  

We might struggle with the facts, but we know when we have been called by name out of grief, out of confusion, out of the graveyards, and into new life.  

Where do you need to hear your name spoken by the Risen Christ?

What is getting in the way of you experiencing a new life? How can Christ speak your name, so you feel known?

I can't say for sure that I have ever heard the voice of Christ speak to me out loud.  I say I'm not sure because it might have happened once, but it could have just been an impression so strong it sounded like something.  

But I have had moments when Christ spoke to me in other ways.  

Perhaps the most vivid of those moments happened twenty-five years ago.  I was at a crossroads in my life.  Everything that I thought I was going to do was falling apart.  I was on track to begin my PhD in British History, but I was absolutely miserable doing it. 

I had decided that I might pursue a career in ministry, so I had applied to several PCUSA seminaries and had sent inquiries into the status of my applications before going on a trip to the UK.  

At one point during that trip, I found myself in St. Paul's Cathedral on a Sunday evening, arriving at the service right as it had begun.  I remember feeling lost and uncertain.  I had no idea what I was going to do.  

The preacher for that evening was the Rev. Dr. Patience Purchase, who was the director of vocation for the Anglican Church for southern England.  Which meant she was in charge of helping people discern whether to become pastors. 

At some point in her sermon, she paused and said, "I believe there is someone here today who is trying to discern whether God is calling them into a life of ministry." 

In that moment, I felt like I was alone with her in that massive cathedral.  She spoke words of encouragement to me.  She said I needed to listen for the voice of Christ speaking to me.  She had no idea that we were alone, and that I was sitting there with tears streaming down my face.  

When I returned home, I decided to go to my office to check my email.  I was certain that there was something there that would give me direction.  It was 6 PM when I opened my email, and found nothing.  

I was crushed.  I had been certain of what I heard in St. Paul's.  I had felt like I'd found purpose at last, that the way would unfold before me and that I would no longer feel lost and alone.  

And then the phone rang.  I let it ring a few times, not sure whether to answer it, but finally did.  A woman's voice on the other side said, "Is this Leon?"  "Yes," I replied. "This is Lynn Wigand from McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago.  I just wanted to find out if you might be ready to attend seminary this Fall."  

I imagined how I must have sounded to her when, choking back tears, I said to her, "Yes. Yes, I am."   

WHEN WE ARE KNOWN AND NAMED, EVERYTHING CHANGES