We don’t really know how long all the events took, but maybe we can hazard a guess. Like any book or movie, the real-life action always takes longer than it takes to read or watch. So, imagine that before us on the screen is a video of just over an hour’s length. If we start at the beginning and click the play button, it’s difficult to make out what’s happening. It’s dark, and the camera is focused on a tomb whose stone has been rolled away from its entrance.
A woman walks in from stage right. She’s not walking fast. She’s leaning forward a bit, as if the weight of the world is resting on her shoulders. At ten seconds, we see her pause, bring her hands to her face, and then suddenly, she darts off the screen in the direction from which she came. For thirty minutes, the camera remains focused on the empty tomb. There is no other movement. All is silent. All is still.
And then, just after thirty minutes into this video, we can hear the rustle of movement from stage right. One individual darts into the picture view. Shortly afterwards, a second figure appears, running as well. And then we see a third figure, which we recognize as the woman whom we first saw.
The first running figure bends down at the tomb entrance but doesn’t go in. But his competitor in the race to the tomb does go into the tomb. We hear something, although we can’t make out what he’s saying. He clearly sees something significant. Now, his running companion also goes into the tomb. We hear muffled voices, but they are distorted by the cavernous reverberation of the tomb. After they emerge from the tomb, these two individuals depart. It’s about thirty-two minutes into the video.
All we see now is the woman, her back to us. She is standing outside the tomb. We see her shoulders moving up and down. She is crying. We can hear the muffled sobbing. Occasionally, she brings a hand to her face, presumably to wipe away tears. It’s painful to watch. There’s no other action except this woman, staring at the entrance to the tomb, wiping away tears, shoulders trembling.
We watch and hear her crying, and it’s a long time. Not until the video has been playing for an hour do we see a different kind of movement. The woman seems to have a thought. We can read it in her body language. She stoops down and freezes. Then we hear two voices echoing in unison from inside the cave of the tomb. Woman, why are you weeping? The woman responds, through her tears, They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.
Then, it happens. Someone else, whose back is also to us, appears. We don’t even notice how he appears. We’re just suddenly aware that he’s there. Of course, we know who he is. We’ve watched this video before. At this moment, we see the woman, as if she were instinctively aware of another presence behind her, abruptly turning. He says to her, Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?
We’ve heard the story before, so we know how she answers. We know what happens now. But this climactic moment of the story we rewatch every year is at one hour and three minutes. It’s at this moment that we finally learn her name. It’s Mary. The man has called her by name. And the rest is history. We and the world have never been the same since.
And here we are this Easter Day, rewatching that video. Or at least that’s what we say we’re doing. In truth, the events we think we’re rewatching are taking place in human time. They are being truly re-presented to us in the salvation of liturgical time because God’s time knows no bounds. We are participating in those saving events. But for simplicity’s sake, let’s imagine we are rewatching this video for the sixth, thirty-first, or eightieth time. What are we rewatching? And what moments of this rather long video are we focusing on?
What has brought you here today? What moment in the video have you come for? Is it the moment when Mary first appears on the scene, sees the stone rolled away, and runs off? Or is it thirty minutes in when the three figures come racing onto the scene to make their further discoveries at the tomb? Or is it an hour into the video, when Mary peers into the tomb, sees the angels, and finally meets the Risen Christ. Which moment is it?
If I had to guess, I would surmise that you, I, and countless Christians across the world in this very moment are watching one of those moments and holding onto it for dear life. Maybe it’s why you got up early today and put on your Sunday best. Maybe it was inspiration enough to get your kids up, too, for an Easter egg hunt and then to stay for church.
But what about those other moments of the video, the ones we like to forget or ignore. As we’re imagining this story, there’s nearly an hour’s worth of footage that we rarely talk about. It’s probably not the footage you would choose to watch and rewatch. It’s probably not the footage that brought you here today. Why wouldn’t you watch and rewatch it? Is it because it's boring or because it’s too painful to watch? But let’s do something different this Easter. Let’s rewatch those long, difficult moments. No, let’s do something more. Let’s participate in them.
First, there’s the thirty minutes of silence and suspense, staring at the empty tomb, after Mary leaves the scene to find Peter and the Beloved Disciple. Think it’s not important to you or to me? Think again. Look again.
Ah, do you see them now? There are characters in this part of the video, but we must go deep into our hearts to find them. When we look at the footage again, we see the long, painful confusion of a former Christian who lost his faith. He once was convinced he knew it all. Jesus was his Lord and Savior, and he was stirred up inside every time he thought of Jesus. But one day, after he was betrayed by his own church, he lost the faith he thought he had. And now, here he stands, in an awkward, disturbing silence of waiting between knowing Jesus and feeling like Jesus is gone from his life.
We also see the woman, across the world in Ukraine, whose son went to fight in the war. He left six months ago, and she hasn’t heard from him. She’s still waiting. The silence is long and hard, but she’s grasping for something in the emptiness and hoping that the story isn’t quite over yet. Maybe one day he will appear from stage right, too.
Or should we fast forward to thirty-two minutes into the video? Yes, we see Mary weeping, shoulders shaking, and we hear her gentle sobbing. But there are others, too. Do you see them now? I see the woman weeping by the bed of her spouse who is daily losing strength. I see the youth crying in her room because she is bullied at school and ignored when she tries to speak up to school officials. Whom do you see? Do you see the family gathered on the street block now cordoned off with police tape? Do you see the hardworking father that can’t afford to feed his children? Do you see the elderly woman who has no family or friends and is eating alone? Which others do you see?
What has brought us here today, I suspect, are not these moments. We have come for the dramatic moments of finding the empty tomb and Jesus calling Mary’s name. But the best news of all this day lies in the moments of the video that we’d prefer not to watch. And yet, God is showing us something in them. We can’t have resurrection glory without that hour of the video that is so hard to watch. Resurrection glory has its meaning in them. And it’s the best news we could possibly imagine because not one of us will ever be removed from that hour of the video. We will be there one day. We have been there. Maybe we are there now. And here’s the meaning of today: despite all that, we have hope.
We have hope because the tomb was empty. The body was gone. And only because of that historical reality can we fully trust that God has done something that will always be so unbelievable that we must believe. This story is hope for anyone who struggles, who doubts, who weeps, or is confused. The resurrection in its full glory and truth is not a neatly packaged event to be tidily consumed by those without blemish or doubt. It’s a truth that finds its full meaning especially when we are wandering in the dark, when we are deep in the tomb and can’t find our way out, and when we are weeping for sorrow. It greets us not to affirm our righteousness or pat us on the back. It greets us with the incredible news that truth and love come to find us when we don’t know where to look. The Risen Christ is here to give us eternal life because his love is stronger than death.
I don’t know where you are in the video this day, but wherever you are, rejoice. Whether you are weeping, whether you are confused, whether you have lost your faith, whether you don’t understand anything at all, rejoice that the one whom God raised from the dead is right behind you, always. Turn around like Mary. Look. The Good Shepherd, the innocent Lamb slain for the other sheep, is calling your name. You are his beloved child. You are his lost sheep. You have been looking for love, and love has found you.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Sunday of the Resurrection
April 9, 2023