The Rev. Dayle Casey
The Chapel of Our Saviour
Colorado Springs, Colorado
March 23, 2008

Easter Day – A
Acts 10:34-43
Colossians 3:1-4
John 20:1-18

“Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed!” It’s the great song of Easter, and you’re going to get a chance to sing it again at the end of the sermon. That’s the main thing today. And, as we know, the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.

Still, there are other things to say. And questions to ask. Why, for example, was Mary Magdalene the very first person to meet the risen Christ? Of all the possible people, why was it she, Mary of Magdala, who was the first person ever to proclaim the good news that the tomb was empty and that she had seen the risen Lord?

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all tell it this way, either, as John reports this morning, that it was Mary Magdalene alone to whom the risen Christ appeared at the tomb, or, as the other evangelists have it, that Mary was the first among several women who found the tomb empty and then reported the Easter news to the disciples.

But it’s curious, isn’t it? Because, for one thing, in Judea in those days a woman’s witness didn’t count for anything. A woman’s witness had no standing for reporting truth. It took the word of two men to confirm truth, two men who agreed in their witness, so it’s no wonder that, in Luke's Gospel, the disciples dismissed the women’s report as silly women’s nonsense.

In any event, if the risen Christ was to appear first to a woman, why Mary Magdalene? Why not Jesus’ friend Martha, or her sister Mary, or one of the other women?

We know very little about Mary Magdalene. There are only four things for sure we know about her from the Gospels. One is that, along with some other women, she was a follower of Jesus. Apparently these women didn’t have the standing of disciple, because, after all, they were women. But they followed him, attracted for some reason to this man, Jesus of Nazareth. And according to Luke they “looked after Jesus’ and his companions’ comfort from their own substance and resources.”

The second thing we know about Mary of Magdala is that she was possessed, deranged, a woman from whom seven demons had fled.

The third thing we know was that Mary Magdalene was at the cross when Jesus died, walking with him even in his final suffering.

And the fourth and final thing we know for sure was that she was at the tomb on Easter Day.

Throughout history, however, many have also believed that Mary Magdalene was the woman we hear about at Simon the pharisee’s house one day. Simon, a good and righteous man, had invited Jesus for dinner, and while they were eating an unnamed woman burst in. She was a woman known to Simon, a woman with a bad reputation, a great sinner. And this woman – perhaps it was Mary Magdalene, although Luke does not say it was – came into Simon’s house, and she waited behind Jesus at his feet, weeping. And her tears fell on his feet, and she wiped them away with her hair. And then she covered Jesus’ feet with kisses and anointed them with expensive ointment.

Simon was shocked, scandalized! “Doesn’t Jesus know who this woman is?” he asked. “Doesn’t he know what a bad name she has, what a great sinner she is? If Jesus knew who this woman was, he wouldn’t let her touch him.”

And Jesus said to him, ”Simon, I have something to say to you. Once there was a man who had two men in his debt. One of them owed him fifty dollars, the other owed him a million dollars. Neither was able to repay him, so the man just canceled both debts. Which of the two would love the man more, Simon?” “The one who was forgiven more, I suppose,” said Simon. “You are right,” said Jesus.

“You see this woman, Simon,” Jesus added. “I came to your house, and you didn’t offer any of the courtesies of ordinary hospitality. You did not wash my feet, but she has washed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss of greeting, but she has not stopped covering my feet with kisses since the moment she arrived. You did not anoint me when I arrived, but she has anointed my feet with oil, and with her tears. For this reason, I tell you that her sins, many and great as they are, have been forgiven, because she has shown great love. Someone who is forgiven little, shows little love, Simon. But whoever has been forgiven much, loves much.”

In any event, tradition has insisted that this shameless woman who sat at the feet of Jesus in Simon’s house was Mary Magdalene, a prostitute. And we know that Mary was possessed by demons and that, along with other women, she followed Jesus and looked after him and his companions from her own substance and resources.

So then, why Mary Magdalene? Why was it she, and not one one of those cocky men who was the first to see the risen Christ, one of those who were always so sure that they would follow Jesus wherever he went, even, if necessary, to death? Why was it Mary Magdalene, and not one of them? Why was it not James or John, one of the Sons of Thunder? Why was it not Peter or Thomas, or Jesus’ friend Martha or her sister Mary, or one of the other Marys?

Perhaps it’s because Easter is about God’s raising the dead and, as Robert Capon reminds us, the only people God raises from the dead are dead people. Not cocksure people, not someone still flapping his own wings and gums as if he still has something to crow about. The only people the risen Christ can give new life to are people who have no old life still to live. And that was Mary Magdalene for sure, a three-time loser! Maybe a four-time loser!

Mary of Magdala was clearly among the the last, the lost, and the least of the world. Certainly among the least: a woman, a person without standing either in court or in society.

She was also among the last: not only a woman, but a sinful woman, perhaps a hooker.

She was clearly among the lost: a woman possessed by demons, deranged.

And – strike four! – all this made Mary of Magdala as good as dead to most people, just one of life’s castoffs to the likes of the righteous Simon. So why was it she to whom the risen Christ appeared first?

The reason is so obvious, so clear. She was there, and the others were not!

What we hear and what we say and what we do make a difference to us. What we hear and what we say and what we do make us who we are. And where we are makes a difference, too, as it did for Mary.

Mary had not run away after Jesus’ trial, as Peter and James and John and the other disciples had. Unlike them, Mary had followed Jesus all the way to the cross, sharing his suffering as he had shared hers, watching and waiting upon him in his death, just as she and the other women had comforted him all those years on the road.

The Law forbade mourning on the Sabbath, on Saturday, the day after Jesus died. But as early as possible on the next day, on the first day of the week, during the first watch, before daybreak, between three and six o'clock in the morning, Mary went to the tomb. Why?

Mary Magdalene, the only person in the Gospels with an unquestioned presence at both the Cross and the tomb, was there, and the others were not, certainly not the men. So the Easter question turns a bit. It turns from “Why did the risen Christ appear first to Mary Magdalene?” to “Why was Mary Magdalene there to be appeared to, while the others were not?”

It was because of her loss. It was simply because she had loved him. And now she had lost the only person who had ever loved her, and she was deep in grief!

Oh, she had known many men perhaps, but none like Jesus. None like Jesus, who saw her as a person and not as an object. None like Jesus, who loved her as a person, not as a someone to be used and then discarded. He had always called her by name: Mary. Her illness, and her demonic possession, and her sin – all that seemed to melt away in Jesus’ presence. Jesus had counted all that as nothing. He had looked beyond or beneath it to Mary. He had forgiven it, great as it was. And in his presence, she was just Mary.

All the others always just used her. As an object of pleasure, perhaps. Or as an object of ridicule. Or, what is worse, had used her as Simon the pharisee used her, as a foil, as a way to inflate his own ego and his sense of his own importance and righteousness.

But Jesus had always just seen her as Mary, and had called her by name, and had loved her. And she had loved him. He had overlooked so much that others did not. He had looked beyond her sin, had forgiven her much, least and last and lost though she was. So she had loved him much.

And so, at the Cross on Friday, there they both had been: God and the prostitute. God and the sinner, both of them discarded and abandoned by the Law and by the righteous. And he had died.

So Mary was now as least and as last and as lost as she could be, as good as dead herself, because the only one who had ever called her by name and loved her just as she was, was dead.

So in her grief, she went to the tomb as early as possible, to weep perhaps as much for herself as for him, for her loss was great. And there at the tomb, her tears were great, greater even than on that day at Simon’s house. Her tears were so great that she could not see clearly, so she did not recognize Jesus at first. She saw a man, but when he asked her, ”Why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?” she thought he was the gardener.

And she said, ”Sir, if you have taken him away, please tell me where you’ve put him, so that I might go to him and find him.” And Jesus said, ”Mary.” And when he called her by name, she recognized his voice and turned to him, and with tears of joy pouring down her cheeks she said, ”Master!”

The risen Christ appeared first to Mary Magdalene because she was there! She had followed him all the way to the cross and to the tomb, sharing his suffering as he had always shared hers.
And now, today, on this first day of the week, here they are again, Jesus and Mary Magdalene, both here again at the empty tomb, God and the sinner. And because Mary is here, she hears once again the voice of her beloved, who calls her by name. It is the recognition of love, a recognition of a presence and a truth that no logical argument can accomplish and no scientific “fact” establish. And with her recognition Mary of Magdala becomes the apostle to the apostles. She runs to those who are not here and reports with assurance, ”Alleluia! Christ is risen! He has called me! He has called me!”

Mary’s sin – her leastness, her lastness, her lostness, her sin and her love – were all Mary had to give to Jesus along the road. They were also all she had to bring to the cross on Friday. And her sin and her love are all she has to bring to the empty tomb this morning. She simply brings herself, one of the least and the lost whom Jesus loves. And he calls her by name, and her tears of grief turn to tears of joy.

And here we are this morning with Mary at the empty tomb, and with Jesus: God and the sinners, God and those with no way out of a world that is impressed with “hard facts.” We come to God’s empty tomb today as Mary Magdalene did on that first Easter Day, empty handed and broken hearted. We come as a world in the tight death grip of the “facts of life,” in the death grip of deadly war and dreary politics and timid, low-grade hopes. Face facts, we say. Everything that lives, dies. That’s a fact. Jesus has died. That’s a fact. Face facts: the good get it in the end. The “real world” of “facts” may be a rather somber and bitter world, but it is our world, a world we know, a world where things stay tied down the way we know them, and where there are no surprises. This is us.

This is us as we come with Mary to God’s empty tomb this Easter morning, with nothing more than Mary brought on that first Easter Day. We come with our leastness, our lastness, and our lostness, with our sin and with our grief. We come expecting “facts.” We come expecting no surprises. We come, in fact, expecting death, seeking to come to grips with Friday, expecting to come to terms with Jesus’ absence.

But Easter, we find, is not about “facts.” Easter is about God. And we are here with Mary Magdalene at Jesus’ tomb this morning. Your eyes, too, may be clouded, so listen carefully. Listen with Mary this morning. What do you hear? “Mary,” he whispers. “Jonathan, Henry, Margaret, Edna, Scott, Helen, Bill, Sue, Nick, and Louise,” and all through the list of saints.

“Mary, God loves you.”

It makes a difference what we hear, and it makes a difference where we are. And because we are here with Mary today, we find that Easter is not about deadly facts. It’s about God. We find that Easter is not a fact to be explained, but a truth to be experienced.

Because we are here, we find that the empty tomb of Easter is like the virgin womb of Christmas: it issues life, not death. Easter is about the One who makes a way where there is no way, about the One who raises the dead just to show us who’s in charge here.

So, least as you are, last though you may be, lost and sinful though we certainly are, we hear him call our names, and, with Mary, we find that he is not dead, but lives.

Mary, the apostle to the apostles, was blessed because she was there and met the risen Lord and believed. And we are blessed because we are here with Mary this resurrection morning. We, too, have ears, and with our own tongues and with joyful hearts this resurrection morning we sing with Mary the wonderful news of Easter:

Jesus loves me, this I know,
for the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to him belong;
they are weak but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
The Bible tells me so.

In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.