Colossians 3:1-4 and John 20:1-18
April 5, 2026
Christ is risen. May this glad, good news sink deep into your soul. May God’s emphatic
defeat of death become your Yes to life. Christ is Risen! Across the globe voices shout of
God’s victorious love. In Manila, they say “Maligayang Paskong Pagkabuhay” – Happy
Easter of the Resurrection. In Switzerland, it is Schoni Oschtere, – Beautiful Easter,
and in Puerto Rico, !Resucito! He is Risen. Alleluia.
The risen-ness of Christ, central to today’s celebration, is not spoken so quickly in
scripture’s telling of the first Easter morning. Here the dialogue sparked by an emptied
grave speaks of missing bodies, grave robbers, and dilemma that stirs fear. The words
exchanged are not Alleluia, but “Where is he?” “What have you done with him?” and “I
don’t know where to find my Lord.”
Mary Magdalene speaks first, having come to the tomb before dawn, while night still holds
its grip. In other tellings, Mary Magdalene is accompanied by additional women, but in
John’s gospel, she is alone, devoid of companions to bu]er the shock of Jesus’s death. She
comes without spices to anoint the body. She claims no final task to ready it for burial. She
is intent upon simply being there. The grave lies a short distance from Golgotha, so Jesus’s
execution site is visible as she arrives. The one who stood at the cross through the jeers,
nails, and wails, who watched as his body was taken down and wrapped for burial, now
resumes her vigil.
When she sees the stone has been removed, her first words assume the worst. “They have
taken him away. I know not where.” The Resurrection begins with misunderstanding, a
misinterpretation. Having witnessed the worst she assumes more bad news to come.
Upon hearing that Jesus’s body is missing, two disciples run toward the tomb. Peter has not
been seen since his denial of Jesus on the night of the Lord’s arrest. Absent from the trial,
cross or burial, Peter has been trapped by his own cowardice, the heartbreak of knowing he
failed in Jesus’s hour of need. If Mary represents our impulse to keep vigil, then Peter
symbolizes our contradictions, our impulse to love boldly mixed in with our failure to live up
to the challenge, our eagerness to follow marred by our fickleness to follow faithfully.
Alongside Peter is the disciple known not by his name but by the quality of Jesus’s love for
him: the beloved one. The endearment makes it sound like he has a favored status, the
recipient of a special love. Perhaps this third character possesses a unique understanding
of the love Jesus has for each of us, and a unique capacity to respond in kind. He has stood
at the cross, next to Jesus’s mother, accepting Jesus’s instruction to take her into his care. If
Mary keeps vigil and Peter holds our contradictions, then the third one embodies our need
for relationship, the hope contained in staying with each other as the awfulness of death
becomes an open grave.
Scripture does not record their dialogue at the tomb’s entrance. Maybe they stood there in
shocked silence; their mouths open as the world changes direction. Eventually Peter peers
inside. Then the beloved disciple takes a look. And surely, they spoke to one another.
Mary states her case: Someone has stolen his body. It is a robbery! Death can feel like a
robbery, a life we loved is snatched away from us. Something dies within us as we witness
another draw their last breath. Peter, some of his courage returning, has seen the linen
cloths laid aside. “It’s not a robbery,” he says. “It’s a mystery!” The beloved disciple, always
alert for the love whistling through the breeze, agrees. “Remember how he told us he would
have to go away. Maybe the grave’s emptiness is old dreams dying, new ones being born.”
After this exchange, Peter and the beloved disciple return home. Sometimes when the
world shifts you need time. You need moments to sit on the porch and watch the sunset,
space to feed the cat and walk the dog. You need time to continue the conversation in the
quiet of your heart, so that, as your mind empties, God can speak. Peter has to contend
with his failure. The beloved disciple has a new family member to settle into the household.
Even away from the garden, they continue the dialogue.
But Mary stands weeping outside the tomb. Her tears are her speech. Tears convey the
depth of our love and the completeness of death’s destruction. We cry at the important
moments in life: births, weddings, graduations. We cry in love, laughter, and in pain. Tears
tell us something is true. So the angel’s question, “Woman, why are you crying?” lands as a
foolish one. Mary is standing by the grave of the person who showed her the richest
possible life, whom she has watched die. Who wouldn’t be crying?
Jesus also asks about her tears. The same question comes a second time. “Woman, why
are you weeping?” Perhaps he asks to jolt her out of her mistaken conclusion, to shift her
focus from finding a body to encountering his risen life. Resurrection begins in
misunderstanding, in the stuck places where all we can see is death, all we can think is,
‘I’ve been robbed of life.’
Jesus probes a bit deeper. What are you looking for? This is his signature question, asked
years earlier of the first disciples, posed to each of us when we ponder what is possible.
What are you seeking? Mary might have formed an answer. I’m looking for the one who set
me free, who gave me purpose, who changed me from outcast to companion, who showed
me how God sees me and how to see the world drenched in God’s light. Before she can say
anything, Jesus calls her name. Mary. It is the name that changes the conversation; enables
her to know the gardener is Jesus, risen from the grave.
Resurrection begins by name. Your name, spoken in love, said to you through your tears,
spoken above misunderstandings and misinterpretations to declare again that God has
wrestled with death and won. When Jesus speaks, if we listen closely, we’ll know his voice.
We’ll hear him, cutting through the clamor, chaos, and the despair, redirecting us from vigil-
keeping at death’s door or guilty paralysis over our failures toward the newness of God,
resurrected each day. Resurrection is just the beginning of the dialogue, a conversation
continuing down through the centuries. Christ is Risen. Beautiful Easter. Where , O death,
is now thy sting? Resucito.
Our response, our piece of the Resurrection refrain, can come in many forms: the courage
to begin again, the strength to keep on going along a di]icult path, the trust to let go of the
ones we love who have died, knowing them alive in Christ, the risk of letting our own tears
speak to us of what is true. In this world, where too much speaks of death, and we contend
daily with cowardice, cruelty, and pain, Christ calls us by name away from the grave’s dead
ends and into life made new by his presence. He asks us to join the resurrection refrain,
telling others, I’ve heard his voice, I’ve witnessed his appearing, I’m learning how to rise in
him too. Amen.