The Tomb Was Empty

I wonder what it was like to be Mary Magdalene on Easter morning. I imagine her not sleeping the night before- knowing that in the morning, she had to get up and go tend to Jesus' body. I imagine her, gathered with the other women, in the deep numbness that is fresh grief- going through the motions but not really registering what is happening. I can picture her making her way to the garden in the thin light of morning. A tenacity pulsing through her - propelling her to keep moving. She had a job to do. I imagine her holding it together on the outside but engaging in a litany of desolation in her heart- matching the rhythm of her steps. I can picture the women entering the garden- hesitant but determined, making their way to the tomb only to be met with nothingness.

Confusion, compounded grief- an empty tomb. It's that moment before hope arrives on the scene- before Jesus arrives, calling Mary by name. That moment when everything must have felt upside down, unexpectedly terrifying, confusing, and just plain wrong. I am feeling a little stuck in that moment right now. The world as we know it seems suspended in that moment- we haven't made it to the place of knowing Jesus lives, our grief feels cavernous. I fully admit, I am a little confounded this year by the hope of Easter morning.

I know deep in my heart that the story of our faith triumphs over all. That rulers and empires no longer have reign in a faith grounded in resurrection. I know that the resurrection tells us that love wins. But right now, I am stuck peering in at the empty tomb. I am waiting- waiting for someone to tell me He has risen and to hear Him call my name. I don't think there is going to be a big resurrection moment for awhile and so I wonder what it looks like to celebrate and notice the small and simple resurrections that we encounter each day.

Maybe you are in this place too- this place of knowing and not knowing, of peering into darkness. Maybe you are a little confounded by hope as well. I suspect there are a few of us. And you know what? It's okay. It's okay to not feel the exuberant hope of resurrection when we are living in a world that challenges it daily. It's okay to wonder and to question where God is in all of this and ask for God to show up and show out. What we can't do is to give up. This story that serves as the cornerstone of our faith IS a solid foundation. And so we notice the little daily resurrections. Sunshine and budding flowers. The cacaphony of red wing black birds singing in the trees. The long talk with a neighbor. The opportunity to stand on a street corner and protest. Shopping local. Supporting local farmers. Staging resistance in whatever big and small ways we can. Honoring our spiritual practices (praying ,fasting, journaling, reading scripture, setting aside time for devotions). Loving our neighbors and staying in love with God.

Mary went to the garden with her friends, the other women. They traveled together, grieved together, understood the task that lay before them. Together they stared into an empty tomb and together they encountered word of a risen savior. Let's be like the women. Let's do this work together. Let's remind each other that resurrection IS part of our story. That the emptiness of the tomb was only a moment in time- that the next moment brought jubilant hope. Christ is Risen. He is Risen in deed.