At least three things are necessary in a mystery novel. The first, of course, is a crime. The second is a detective. And the third is a slate of possible suspects. But what makes a great mystery novel is a crime that is vexing and impenetrable. Add to this a detective who is brilliant, insightful, and persistent, and the mystery genre is taken to a whole new level. If you ask me, the best mysteries are those in which the evidence has been staring you right in the face from the beginning, but identifying the culprit is essentially impossible until just enough suspects are eliminated. And the astute detective is the one who saves the day.
Mystery novels are not really designed to be read twice, and if they are read more than once, the experience is completely different. The challenge of trying to identify the culprit has lost its verve. A second reading is more about seeing how you missed all the right clues the first time around.
John’s Gospel account of the discovery of the empty tomb is rather like this. There is no mystery to be solved, but once the ending of the story is known, it takes a lot of imagination to identify with the confusion of Mary Magdalene, Peter, and the Beloved Disciple.
First of all, why would Mary not have peered into the tomb when she saw the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. Why did the Beloved Disciple not enter the tomb? And when Peter went in and discovered the curious state of the burial shrouds, what did the Beloved Disciple finally believe? Because we’re told that neither he nor Peter understood the Scriptural predictions of Jesus’s eventual resurrection from the dead. But perhaps the most bewildering part of this story is that after finding an empty tomb and abandoned grave clothes, Peter and the Beloved Disciple returned home.
Let’s just pause right there. They did what? They went back home? Something does not add up here. With the advantage of hindsight and knowing the real end of the story, it’s very difficult for us to understand how Peter and the Beloved Disciple could not comprehend what had happened. Jesus had already given a long discourse on going to a place where they could not themselves go. And hadn’t Jesus revealed enough clues for people, especially two of his closest disciples, to put two and two together?
They ran to the empty tomb to corroborate Mary’s story. They found it empty with discarded grave wrappings, and then they went to their homes. This is very odd. Something does not quite pass the smell test here.
Which is why Mary stays. This is the amazing moment in story. It’s a crucial moment indeed. Mary is like the classic detective in a mystery novel. You know the type, don’t you? The master detective who is pitted against every local yokel small town sheriff who finds the quickest way to identify a culprit, even if that culprit is not really the culprit at all. The master detective stays around with the scene of the crime, pressing every corner until the most vital clues reveal themselves. The master detective doesn’t look for the easiest way to a solution; the master detective sticks with the case until the truth is found.
But Mary is hardly a detective here, and there is no murder mystery in today’s story. Mary is not looking to solve a crime. Mary is seeking the truth. After Peter and the Beloved Disciple have gone home from the empty tomb, we find Mary still there at the entrance to the cave. She doesn’t know what has happened. But something doesn’t add up.
In fact, it’s not entirely clear that Mary even knows what she hopes to find or discover. Does she even know what she’s looking for? But in her mind and heart, some truth is waiting to be revealed, and she waits for it, beside an empty tomb and discarded grave clothes. This is different from what happened to Lazarus. At the very least, maybe Mary could find Jesus’s body and return it to its place of burial. These are all practical things she must have considered.
But I suspect that there was something more. We don’t know what encounters Mary had had with Jesus before, but we must assume they were transformative. She was at the foot of the cross. She saw Jesus take his last breath. And now, at the empty tomb, she is sticking it out until the bitter end, longing to find her Lord’s body, whatever the cost.
It’s because Mary stays with this perplexing situation until the end that she has the first real definitive encounter with the risen Christ. In her confusion, she is looking and probing. She is weeping. She is there, fully human, truly befuddled, and yet unable to move. And there, her Lord comes to her. When the Good Shepherd, now risen, calls her name, she finally discovers who he is. This is the clue she has needed. It’s the clue that neither Peter nor the Beloved Disciple wait long enough to find. Mary, who has remained with Jesus until this very moment, can now go and proclaim the true meaning of the resurrection.
It is Mary who can bring the real good news: I have seen the Lord. This is far richer than reporting that you have seen an empty tomb. This is on a wholly different level than announcing that grave clothes were abandoned, and the body was gone. Mary’s proclamation attests to the real presence of a Lord whom death could not bind and who is fully alive. This proclamation announces that even after death, the Good Shepherd lives to call us each by name and to continue to be in relationship with us. All of this is revealed because Mary stuck with it. She stayed to the end.
It’s difficult for many in our modern world to imagine such a commitment, where allegiances are so often shallow. It’s hard to imagine sticking with a crucified Lord after the tomb is empty and no answers are in sight. In such a world, it’s not easy to stay with a Lord whose presence is revealed in absence. It’s not easy to persist with some sense of faith when life hands you a bad hand or when your deepest loves are taken away. It’s a challenge for many to recognize Jesus calling their names when the world strives viciously to take their names away. How do we persevere, searching for our Lord, amid our weeping? Could we dare to think that if we stay at the tomb long enough our Lord will find us, too? Maybe staying there and waiting is our way of finding him.
The easier road is to see the empty tomb and then go home. It all ends there, so we think. The resurrection has been established as fact. And we can go home with this knowledge, certified in our faith. This is the path of religion that offers easy answers. This is the temptation to a simplistic faith with only a head nod to Jesus’ resurrection but no underlying commitment of discipleship. The easier road is simply to go home rather than stick with it.
But Mary couldn’t simply go home. Something about that empty tomb didn’t add up. She had known her Lord, and she had been changed. This Lord, who had taught and healed and preached and claimed astounding things about himself couldn’t just be gone. The evidence was in his life. So, Mary waited at the tomb, not rejoicing in some triumphalist assertion of life over death, but weeping, distraught in her grief. There had to be more to this story. That’s why she stuck with it.
And so, year after year, even with all our questions, we return to the empty tomb. We might say that we have been here all along. We have been waiting all this time. At times, perhaps in the past, perhaps now, we have been weeping. We have been weeping at the cruelty of a world that hasn’t stuck with the message proclaimed over two thousand years ago. We sit at the entrance to the tomb, bringing the confusions of the past year: the lost loved ones, the lost jobs, the financial challenges, the never-ending pandemic, the war. Whatever it is, we bring it all to the empty tomb. And I suspect that because we are here today, we have wanted to stick with it. We have sensed that there was something more to this story all along. There was an empty tomb and an absent body, for sure, but there was something else as well.
If we have stuck with it this long, then we are sure to discover the real meaning of what is happening today. He is risen, that is certain. But something else is also certain. He is alive. He is with us. He meets us weeping, or laughing, or even numb with pain, as we keep vigil at the door to the tomb. Listen. He is calling our names, the names of every one of us. He has gotten our attention. So, we turn, and we see that he is there. He is still with us. And now, we must run, not home, but into the world with this good news to proclaim. The tomb was empty. Our Lord is risen. He is still alive, calling our names. We have seen the Lord!
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Sunday of the Resurrection: Easter Day
April 17, 2022