FIFTH SUNDAY OF EASTER, YEAR A

May 3, 2026

Saints Matthew & Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Acts 7:55-60                        

John 14:1-14

 

Our Lord makes a bold claim in today’s Gospel: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” This verse requires some unpacking to appreciate its full meaning and significance.

 

The first point to note is that this is one of seven places in John’s Gospel where Jesus begins a statement about himself using the phrase, “I am.” The other six are:

 

         I am the bread of life.

         I am the light of the world.

         I am the gate of the sheep.

         I am the good shepherd.

         I am the resurrection and the life.

         I am the true vine.

 

New Testament scholars generally think that these “I am” statements refer intentionally to God’s Name, as revealed to Moses at the burning bush: “I am who I am.” There, God instructs Moses that when the Israelites ask who has sent him to them, he’s to answer: “I AM has sent me to you.”

 

Elsewhere in John’s Gospel, Jesus uses the divine name even more boldly. In chapter 8, for example: “Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am.” So, when Jesus declares in today’s Gospel, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” he’s first of all identifying himself with the One whose very name is “I AM.”

 

What, then, does he mean by the three predicates, “the way, the truth, and the life”? Let’s look at them in turn.

 

First, the way. Here, John uses a Greek word meaning road, path, or journey. In the background is a Hebrew word meaning "manner of life" or "way of walking." The equivalent Aramaic word that Jesus may have used here also suggests a reliable means of reaching a destination and sometimes describes a religion or spiritual system for reaching God. Indeed, the earliest name for Christianity, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, was simply “the Way.”

 

Second, the truth. Here, John uses a Greek word that literally means “unconcealed or unhidden,” the opposite of a lie or a misleading appearance. More generally, it signifies truth in the sense of not just what is factually accurate but of what is real and unchanging. The associated Hebrew word conveys stability: a firm and reliable foundation. And the Aramaic word that Jesus may have used carries the additional sense of faithfulness and commitment. As two married people are ideally true to each other, so God is faithful and true to us. As Jesus says elsewhere in John’s Gospel, “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

 

Third, the life. Here, John uses the Greek word zoe, which refers specifically to spiritual or eternal life (as distinct from bios, which means physical or animal life). The underlying Hebrew word is chayim, which signifies true and full life lived in union with God and with others. Attending Jewish weddings and dinners, or even just watching Fiddler on the Roof, we’ve probably all heard the classic Hebrew toast, l’chaim, “to life!” However, the equivalent Aramaic word often carried a definite article, so it’s likely that what Jesus said was not just “I am life,” but “I am the life”—exactly as John translated it into Greek. This life is not an abstract principle but a powerful personal force: not one life among many, but the source, sustainer, and ground of all life.

 

Now, notice that Jesus does not say just that he shows the way, or that he teaches the truth, or that he points to eternal life. Instead, he says that he is himself the way, the truth, and the life. 

 

To drive that point home, he adds: “No one comes to the Father except through me.” Some readers become understandably distressed at what they see as this text’s exclusionary implications. If Jesus is the only way to God, does that mean that those who don’t know Jesus are thereby condemned to hell? I don’t think that necessarily follows at all. 

 

Some Christian theologians argue that other religions offer their members partial snippets of the way, the truth, and the life that Jesus has fully revealed in his Church. Adherents of other religions are thus able to catch glimpses of Jesus and possibly even to be saved by him, even if they don’t know his name—or indeed even if they think they’ve rejected him. It’s not up to us to judge whether or how God will bring them to heaven in the end. Our calling is to share the good news of Christ with those who can receive it. What happens to the rest is God’s concern, not ours. 

 

No, this Gospel reading neither asks nor answers the question of what ultimately happens to those who don’t know Christ. Instead, Jesus is comforting his disciples as they grieve his impending departure. And he reassures them that because they know him, they know the Father.  

 

So, for us who believe, Jesus is the way to the Father. And when we’re united with him as members of his Body, hearing his Word and partaking of his Sacraments in faith and repentance, we discover that we’ve already begun to follow his way, to know his truth, and to share his life.

 

Here at Saints Matthew and Mark, we’ve started a Friday noon Eucharist, which, among other things, allows us to commemorate the saints in a way that’s not possible on Sundays alone. One reason to pay attention to the lives of the saints is that, in their many and varied ways, they show us what life in Christ looks like.

 

Today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles recounts the death of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr. Stephen clearly walks in the way of Christ. Filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazes into heaven and sees the risen and ascended Jesus at God’s right hand in glory. He speaks the truth that he sees: “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”

 

When his persecutors drag him outside the city and begin stoning him, Stephen repeats almost verbatim the Lord’s words from the cross: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” and “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” So, when Stephen dies, we can be sure that he enters into the fullness of eternal life. For Stephen, then, Christ is indeed the way, the truth, and the life.

 

So, we have grounds for rejoicing and celebration. Jesus reassures us, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.” Having committed ourselves to Christ, we have no need to find the way because we’re already on the way. We have no need to search high and low for the truth because we already know him who is the fullness of truth. And we have no need to struggle to attain eternal life, because we’ve already begun to share in that life—through him who is the way, the truth, and the life.

SAINT PHILIP AND SAINT JAMES

Friday, May 1, 2026

 

Saints Philip and James are two of the twelve apostles, commemorated in the Episcopal Calendar on May 1st (in the Roman calendar on May 3rd—I’m not sure why the discrepancy).

 

Philip the Apostle is not to be confused with Philip the Deacon, one of the seven original deacons described in the Acts of the Apostles. Instead, he’s numbered among the twelve apostles in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, as well as in the Acts of the Apostles. And John’s Gospel mentions Philip in four places. 

 

First, Philip is one of two disciples of John the Baptist who spend the day listening to Jesus after John calls him “the Lamb of God.” The next day Philip tells his friend Nathanael, “We have found him of whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, son of Joseph.” When Nathanael asks: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip responds: “Come and see.” Then, along with Simon and Andrew, they both follow Jesus back to Galilee. 

 

Second, just before the Feeding of the Five Thousand, Jesus asks Philip, “Where are we to buy bread to feed these people?” Philip answers, “It would take more than a year’s wages to buy each of them a mouthful,” thus setting the stage for the Lord’s miraculous sign of the multiplication of five loaves and two fish.

 

Third, after Jesus has entered Jerusalem, some Greeks approach Philip desiring to see Jesus. Philip and Andrew together report this to the Lord, who responds, “The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified.”

 

And fourth, at the last supper, Philip says to Jesus, “Lord, show us the Father, and we shall be satisfied,” and Jesus responds, “He who has seen me has seen the Father.”

 

Clearly, Philip figures prominently in John’s Gospel as the catalyst for some of the Lord’s memorable sayings. And in the Episcopal Church calendar, he’s commemorated together with James the Son of Alphaeus on May 1st.

 

The Episcopal Church calendar designates feast days for three separate figures named James. First is James, the son of Zebedee, also known as James the Greater, commemorated on July 25th. The second is James the Just, the kinsman of the Lord, the first bishop of the Jerusalem Church, whose feast day is October 24th. And the third is James, the Son of Alpheus, also known as James the Less, whom we commemorate together with Philip today. We really know nothing about James the Less other than that he appears in the various lists of the Twelve.

 

In English, the name James is a variant of Jacob. In Hebrew the name is Ya’akov, and in Greek Iakōbos. So, the three James’s in the New Testament share the name of the Old Testament patriarch Jacob, ancestor of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.

 

Now, why are Philip and James commemorated on the same day? The answer is that it’s the anniversary of the arrival of their earthly remains in Rome in the sixth century. At that time, the relics of both apostles were interred together under the high altar of the newly constructed Church of the Holy Apostles. To this day, you can see the sarcophagus in which they’re interred. 

 

So, the commemoration of these two apostles on the same day reminds us that the saints often remain present in the Church’s life not only in Scripture and Tradition, but also in their shrines and relics, and in the church communities gathered around them. 

 

So, Philip and James rest together, awaiting the Resurrection on the last day. And just as they share an earthly resting place and a day in the Church’s calendar, so we trust that they also share a place in heaven, where they pray for us who honor them today.

THIRD SUNDAY OF EASTER, YEAR A

April 19, 2026

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Luke 24:13-35

 

Today’s Gospel reading is possibly one of the best-loved stories in the New Testament. The Evangelist Luke narrates this episode with amazing skill, subtlety, attention to detail, and psychological insight.

 

The two disciples on the road are probably returning home by way of Emmaus after having gone up to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. So, when another traveler overtakes them and starts walking with them, they most likely assume that he’s another pilgrim like themselves.

 

Then something curious happens. Their eyes are kept from recognizing him. We, the readers, know who he is, but the two disciples do not. The stranger walking with them is Christ incognito. And so the dramatic tension builds around his concealed identity until the climactic moment when their eyes are opened, and they recognize him in the Breaking of the Bread.

 

If we pause and reflect at this initial moment when they’re kept from recognizing him, the question presents itself with considerable force: Why this charade? What purpose is served by this concealment of the risen Christ’s identity? Why doesn’t he just step out in all his glory at the very beginning and announce himself: Hey, it’s me! See my hands and my feet and my side! I’ve risen from the dead! Let’s go back to Jerusalem and tell the others! 

 

If only he’d done that, he’d have saved them the time and trouble of the round trip to Emmaus and the unfinished meal. His not doing so suggests that something important is happening as the two disciples make their way along the road with their anonymous companion – something that can only occur while his identity remains hidden from them.

 

The key to what’s happening lies, I suspect, in his very first words to them: “What are you discussing with each other as you walk along?” He wants to hear their version of the events of the past few days. They respond with amazement: “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” The irony is that, unbeknownst to them, this stranger is indeed the one person who knows better than anyone else everything that has happened. But instead of saying so, he calmly persists in prompting them to tell him: “What things?”

 

In other words, he’s asking them to put their experiences into words for him, to tell their story. This move strikes me as deeply significant, for several reasons.

 

Every once in a while, someone comes into my office to talk about some issue or problem, and I actually know a lot more about their situation than they think I do. But I’ve learned that it’s almost always a bad move to say, “Yes, I know exactly what you’ve come to see me about.” Much better to ask an open-ended question like, “Please tell me what’s on your mind,” and then sit back and let them tell me the story in their own words.

 

This telling of the story is often a necessary first step in dealing with the situation, and it shouldn’t be short-circuited. Sometimes at the end of the conversation, the person will thank me just for listening. Quite apart from anything I may have said in response, simply talking about it has been helpful in itself. Also, once the story has been told, it becomes easier for me to respond and offer advice— and indeed for that advice to be heard.

 

Something similar may be happening on the road to Emmaus. The two disciples are sad, confused, and full of questions. The crucifixion has crushed their hopes for the deliverance of Israel. And they haven’t a clue what to make of these reports of the women finding his tomb empty.

 

But before our Lord can interpret the meaning of his death and resurrection for these disciples, they must tell him the story that requires interpretation. Before he can offer any answers, they must articulate their questions. Only then can he show them how the story they’ve told fits into the larger story God has been telling all along, beginning with Moses and the Prophets.

 

The concealment of the Risen Christ’s identity thus serves the purpose of setting in motion the telling of the Christian story. Our Lord knows that in the future the Church’s life and mission will forever depend upon the ability of its members to tell and retell this very same story—especially to strangers on the road. So the two disciples may as well get started now.

 

The Risen Christ’s anonymity serves one further purpose. When the two disciples arrive at their lodgings in Emmaus, the stranger makes as if he’s continuing further. In this way, he gives them the option of whether to invite him in. They could just as easily tell him that it was nice talking to him, they hope they’ll meet again someday, and bid him farewell. Instead, their generous hospitality to a stranger provides the occasion for him to reveal himself in the Breaking of the Bread. In this way, the disciples will know that this is where they can expect to encounter him from now on.

 

What does all this mean for us today? New Testament scholar Marcus Borg suggests that, for Christians, the road to Emmaus symbolizes every road we travel, accompanied by a risen Christ whose presence remains unseen and often unrecognized. (While I disagree with much of what Borg says, on this point I think he’s on to something.)

 

From the Church’s earliest centuries, many commentators have noted parallels between the road to Emmaus and the Holy Eucharist. Here, after all, we first read and interpret the Scriptures concerning Christ; and then we proceed to the Eucharistic meal, in which we encounter that same Christ really and truly present among us.

 

But, again, today's Gospel points to a necessary prior step. Before we can expect to hear Christ speaking in the Scriptures, we need to tell him our stories. We need to bring our confusions, doubts, and questions to him. Only thus do we give him something to work with so that he can set our hearts on fire. And before we can expect him to reveal his presence in our midst, we need first to invite him in. 

WEDNESDAY IN EASTER 2

April 15, 2026

Parish of All Saints, Ashmont, Boston

 

John 3:16-21

 

 “And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light …”

 

The word “judgment” in this verse translates the Greek krisis, from which we get the English word “crisis.” In contemporary English, the word crisis generally signifies a period of instability or danger; a time when the circumstances of personal, social, economic, or political life are in upheaval, and the future is uncertain.

 

However, the more precise etymological meaning of crisis is a situation calling for a decision, in which the possible courses of action chosen will shape the future in profoundly different ways. For example, there came a day in my twenties when I had to choose between staying in my job and going to seminary. That was a moment of crisis—an occasion of unavoidable decision when I had to choose between alternative paths that would lead irrevocably in very different directions.

 

In a Greek lexicon, krisis is variously translated as separation, sundering, trial, contest, selection, or judgment. And so our Lord says in today’s Gospel: “This is the krisis, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness more than light …”

 

The point is that, as our Lord also says in today’s Gospel, he came into the world not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. But his coming into the world nevertheless creates a moment of crisis, krisis, for all who encounter him.

 

Confronted with the reality of the risen Lord, and the claim he makes upon our lives, we cannot escape the decision to accept or reject him, to follow him or to go our own way, to come into the light or to retreat into the darkness. This is the crisis: not that he judges us, but that, in our responses to him, we judge ourselves. When we stand before the divine tribunal on the Last Day, no new judgment will be rendered. The divine judge will simply ratify the choices that we’ve already made for ourselves during our earthly lives.

 

We all experience moments of crisis in our lives—and we tend to think of crises as unpleasant events. An old cliché holds that in the Chinese system of writing, the symbol for crisis combines the symbols for danger and opportunity. Apparently, that’s not entirely accurate and oversimplifies the matter. (I wouldn’t know.) Nonetheless, the good news is that every new day, every new situation we encounter, every new person we meet, presents an opportunity to say yes to God and to come into the light. And if we ask him, God will grant us the grace to make the right choices in precisely those moments.

SECOND SUNDAY OF EASTER

April 12, 2026

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

John 20:19-31

 

The key feature in the story of Doubting Thomas is not so much his initial skepticism on hearing the disciples’ report—“We have seen the Lord”—as his profound transformation when he does see for himself. What is truly remarkable is the contrast between before and after: between his initial expression of defiance—"Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."—and his subsequent confession of faith—“My Lord and my God!”

 

It would be a mistake, however, to regard Thomas as all that different from the other disciples. The Gospels of Mark and Luke tell us that when the women came back from the tomb and reported that they had seen the Lord risen from the dead, the apostles did not believe them. Luke even comments that the women’s testimony seemed to them an idle tale.

For the rest of the apostles, as for Thomas, it took an actual appearance of the Risen Jesus to transform their skepticism and despair into faith and hope. For them, as for Thomas, seeing was believing. Luke even mentions that Jesus showed them his hands and side to convince them that it was really him. The only real difference between Thomas and the others was that Thomas was a week late. In this sense, the detailed report of Thomas’s experience in the Gospel of John is emblematic of that of all the disciples.

 

Their initial response, their default position, was to disbelieve the previous eyewitness testimony until they saw for themselves. Their subsequent proclamation of the Lord’s Resurrection was thus in no way the product of some sort of wishful thinking. Instead, it was the result of an experience so overwhelming that it changed everything. Their worldview was completely reordered. They gained a new sense of identity and mission, empowering them to travel to the ends of the known world to proclaim what they had seen, heard, and touched. According to reliable tradition, Thomas ended up preaching the Gospel on the Malabar Coast of southwest India, where he died as a martyr. There, to this day, local Christian communities trace their descent from the Church he founded in the first century.

 

In response to Thomas’s confession, “My Lord and my God,” Jesus replies, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." But those words might raise a bit of a problem for us. If neither Thomas nor the other disciples were able to believe in the Lord’s Resurrection without seeing for themselves, then how can we, who live two thousand years later, be expected to believe without seeing?

 

Part of the answer is that we believe on the strength of the apostles’ testimony, and the way that the Lord’s Resurrection transformed their lives. The apostolic preaching is the foundation of the Church’s faith and life, handed down from one generation to the next even to our own day. That is after all the root meaning of the word “tradition”—from the Latin traditio, to hand down. The Resurrection narratives in the New Testament record the initial experience that got the whole process going to begin with. As John writes in the conclusion of today’s Gospel: “these [things] are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

 

But that’s only part of the answer. For us today, believing without seeing is not the same thing as uncritically accepting Christian dogma solely on the external authority of Scripture and tradition in the absence of any other confirming evidence. For my part, I think that faith is a gift that only God can give. It comes when we hear the Gospel being preached or the faith being taught, and we mysteriously receive an inner assurance and certainty that confirms the truth of what we’re hearing. And again, that experience changes everything. Our lives can never be the same again.

 

In this sense, we’re not that different from Doubting Thomas and the other disciples. They couldn’t believe in the Lord’s Resurrection until the Risen Jesus manifested himself to them personally. And neither can we. Even though he doesn’t appear to us in the flesh as he did to them, and even though we’re unable to travel back in time to the First Century to see for ourselves, nonetheless, he still comes among us in his Word and Sacraments—and in the community of his Body, the Church. By this gift, we’re able to recognize his presence in our midst. So, believing without seeing is not the same thing as blind faith. On the contrary, Jesus comes to us and enlightens our minds so that we may know him as he really is. And when that happens, we inherit the blessing that Jesus pronounces in today’s Gospel: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

 

 

 

 

WEDNESDAY IN EASTER WEEK

 April 8, 2026

All Saints, Ashmont, Boston

Luke 24:13-35

 

One question that’s occurred to me over the years about the two disciples on the road to Emmaus is this: Why does the risen Christ conceal his identity until the end of the story? Why doesn’t he just reveal himself in all his glory at the outset?

 

The answer, I think, is that something crucially important is happening as they walk along the road. Namely, he’s explaining the Scriptures to them:

 

“And he said to them, ‘O foolish men, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?’ And beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.”

 

These words hark back to what Jesus said earlier in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone should rise from the dead.” 

 

In other words, to understand the Lord’s Resurrection, we need first to listen to Moses and the Prophets. As the Nicene Creed puts it, “And the third day he rose again, according to the scriptures.” That is, the Lord’s death and Resurrection were not only foretold, but are also integral to the story God has been telling all along. Only in the context of Moses and the Prophets can the two disciples even begin to understand the full meaning of what's happening now.

 

At the Easter Vigil on Saturday, we listened to a service of Old Testament readings. How many Old Testament readings did you have here? (Five.) At my church, we had three. But if we’d done it the traditional way, according to the old rite, there would’ve been twelve. And, in the old rite, these readings—like Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac in Genesis, the Hebrews crossing the Red Sea in Exodus, the valley of dry bones in Ezekiel, and the three young men in the burning fiery furnace in Daniel—were known as the Prophecies, because the Church understood them as allegorically anticipating and foreshadowing Christ’s own death and Resurrection. 

 

The point is that before we can truly and fully receive the good news of Easter, we need to know the story of which it is the culmination. We need to understand how it fulfills God’s purpose of redeeming the world and inaugurating his kingdom. Otherwise, we lack the only narrative context in which Christ’s death and resurrection make sense. Without that context, a dead man rising to new and glorious life would be a wondrous feat, but we wouldn’t know what it meant. “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone should rise from the dead.”

 

Now, it’s true that in his Resurrection appearances, the risen Christ doesn’t usually follow this sequence of first appearing incognito, then explaining the Scriptures, and finally revealing himself. But what is clear is that during the forty days between his Resurrection and Ascension, he takes great care to interpret the Scriptures to his disciples. In this way, he prepares them to proclaim the Good News of his death and Resurrection as the fulfillment of all that God has been doing for his people all along. 

 

Notice how the Christian liturgy follows the structural sequence of the Road to Emmaus story. At Mass, we first listen to readings from the Scriptures. We preachers then do our best to interpret their meaning in reference to Christ. Finally, we come to the Liturgy of the Eucharist, where the risen Lord gives himself to us under the forms of bread and wine.

 

Word and Sacrament go together. Close attention to the scriptural witness is essential preparation for recognizing and receiving Christ in the Sacrament. As the two disciples exclaim, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the scriptures?” With that preparation, we’re able to join the two disciples in testifying that the Risen Christ has made himself known to us in the breaking of the bread. 

EASTER DAY

Sunday 5 April 2026

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

John 20:1-18

 

The Church’s faith in Jesus Christ’s bodily Resurrection from the dead hinges upon two pieces of evidence. Both are attested in the Gospels. The first item is the empty tomb. The second is the series of appearances by the Risen Christ to the women and disciples beginning on the first Easter Day.

 

Notice that these Gospel accounts are remarkably spare and restrained. Nowhere do they attempt to describe what happened inside the tomb when Jesus came back to life. They confine themselves simply to reporting the eyewitness testimony of those who were there that morning of the first day of the week, and in the days and weeks following. And that eyewitness testimony consists, once again, of two parts: the empty tomb and the Risen One’s appearances.

 

Neither signifies that much on its own. An empty tomb by itself could result from the body being stolen or hidden, just as Mary Magdalene supposes. And appearances of the spirit of a recently deceased person to the living were not all that uncommon in the ancient world, just as some would argue that they’re not all that uncommon today either. Over the years, a number of people have told me of a departed loved one appearing and speaking with them in the days following the death and burial. Ghosts, spirits, hallucinations, deceptions, or overactive imaginations? You decide. But the Risen Christ belongs to a completely different category. He’s not a disembodied spirit but a whole person raised bodily from the dead to new and glorious life.

 

So, it’s the combination of the two, the empty tomb and the bodily resurrection appearances, that affords the strongest evidence that something utterly unique happened that first Easter morning. And the Gospel reading from John, traditionally appointed for the principal Mass of Easter Day, explicitly brings out both these elements in wonderful detail: the tomb is found empty; the Risen Lord appears to Mary Magdalene.

 

Part of the beauty of John’s account is the way he describes the responses of the three principal characters: Peter, the Beloved Disciple, and Mary Magdalene. Before dawn, while it’s still dark, Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, finds the stone rolled away, and the interior empty. She runs to tell Peter and the other disciple, whom Jesus loved. This other disciple is generally identified with John, the author of this Gospel, so this account really does present itself as eyewitness testimony. 

 

Peter and the Beloved Disciple run to the tomb. John is younger and in better physical shape than Peter, so he gets there first, but he doesn’t go in – perhaps out of deference to Peter’s age and position of leadership. When Peter arrives, they both go in. At this point, John’s description really does suggest eyewitness testimony: the linen cloths are lying there, and the linen napkin which had covered the Lord’s head is rolled up separately in a place by itself: the sorts of precise details that are unlikely to be made up.

 

John does not explicitly tell us what Peter’s reaction is. Peter seems to take it all in, not knowing what to think. By contrast, the Beloved Disciple sees and believes. Neither of them yet knows the scriptural prophecies foretelling that the Messiah must die and rise again. But the Beloved Disciple—that is, John himself—has an almost mystical intuition that if Jesus isn’t here, he must be alive. Then, having seen all that there is to see, the two disciples return to their homes.

 

I’ll wager that some of us here today are more like Peter, and others are more like John. Some of us come to church, listen to the biblical stories, take them all in, and don’t know what to think. The jury is still out. Others have no difficulty hearing and believing. John doesn’t say that either response is better than the other. He simply notes them both and moves on with the story.

 

Mary Magdalene doesn’t return home, but remains outside the tomb, weeping. Unlike Peter and the Beloved Disciple, she’s sure she knows exactly what’s happened. Even when she encounters two angels who ask her why she’s weeping, she explains: “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” And when Jesus himself appears and asks why she’s weeping and whom she seeks, she doesn’t recognize him. Supposing that he’s the gardener, she pleads, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

 

It’s only when Jesus addresses her by name that the realization dawns. The penny drops. We can only imagine her joy as she exclaims, “Rabbouni! Teacher!” 

 

Down through the centuries, commentators have spilled much ink trying to decipher the mysterious words that the Lord utters next: “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father …” But at least part of their meaning must be that the Jesus Mary Magdalene has been seeking is Jesus as he was, the Jesus who died, the corpse for whom she wanted to complete the rites of burial. He exhorts her to let go of all that. Instead of holding on to the past, her mission is now in the future: go and tell the disciples what she’s seen and heard; bear witness to the Lord’s Resurrection.

 

And again, I’ll wager that Mary’s experience exemplifies a pattern for many of us. We may search for God’s truth all we want, but ultimately our quest ends not when we find God but when God finds us, calls us by name, and gives us some task or mission. This was certainly my experience when I came to faith in Christ: not finding God, but being found by him. It’s unnerving when one realizes that one isn’t nearly as much in control of one’s life as one thought.

 

And so, the third piece of evidence supporting the Church’s faith in the Resurrection is the difference it makes in our own lives here and now. I believe in the Resurrection of Christ not only because I find the scriptural testimony persuasive, which I do, but also because I have encountered the Risen Jesus here, in his Church, in his Word and Sacraments, and not least, in the faces of his faithful people. The Church’s Easter proclamation is that Christ is alive. And if we seek him, he will certainly find us.