Christ is Risen

This is my retelling of John 20:1-18. I used this at our Easter Sunrise Service (4/5/2015). You are welcome to use or reprint, but please give credit.

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As she ran, her thoughts raced faster than her feet. Maybe she was mistaken. It was so dark. Maybe her eyes had deceived her. The tears in her eyes did cloud her vision. She could be wrong. Still the blood ran cold through her veins as she fled the garden. The grief of the previous two days gave way to rage. Her cold blood began to boil as the reality of what she saw set in.

The stone moved. Who would move the stone? It could only be the Romans. No one else would venture outside the city before sunrise as she had. But why? Was the body gone? She ran before she looked to be sure. The shock of what she saw moved her legs before her thoughts could process the scene.

As she reached her destination, she could not find words. She could only scream – a desperate, haunting scream – as she collapsed to the ground.

He couldn’t sleep. Neither of them could. How long had they been in this dark house? Crouched, silent. Gripped by grief, frozen in place by fear. John replayed the last meal over and over in his head trying desperately to remember what he saw; what he heard.

Peter wept. Shame surpassed grief days ago. The contempt he felt for Judas Iscariot on that dark night was quickly eclipsed by his self-loathing. “No,” how could he say, “No”? “I don’t know him.” The words rang in his ears. His own words shouted again and again in his head. “I don’t know him.”

Then a scream. Both men bolted to their feet. Had the Romans found them? Had they too been betrayed? They strained to listen to the dark morning. The scream gave way to loud sobs. Sobs known to John’s ears. Mary.

The two men burst through the door into the lightening morning.

Through her sobs, Mary heard motion. A door opened. Hands gripped her arms. Lifted her. Then the familiar voices. “Mary! Mary, what’s wrong?”

“They’ve taken our Lord out of the tomb.”

Peter felt the words hit him in the gut. “Taken?” As his mind reeled, his hands fell from Mary’s arms. After  a moment of frozen shock, he turned to John, but only saw his back as he sped away.

John ran. He’d never run faster. What could it mean? Could Mary be mistaken? He reached the garden and saw the stone pushed aside. At the sight of the dark opening, his feet ceased their movement. He stood frozen in place. He stared. Could do no more than stare.

Peter ran behind John, trying his best to catch him. To arrive at the tomb first. The shame of the previous days seemed to drift, if only slightly, from his mind – replaced by uncertainty, confusion, anger, and… a slight, an ever-so-slight ray of unexpected hope. 

When Mary reached the garden, John stood outside of the tomb. Stuck in place by shock or anger or simply disbelief. Peter came out holding the linen that should cover the body of their master. Their friend. John entered the tomb. He quickly exited and joined Peter as they silently stumbled toward home.

Mary could not enter the tomb. She saw the confusion, the distress, in Peter’s eyes as he passed. She heard John’s halting breath as he tried to speak to her but could not find words. She knew now that she was not mistaken. She stood in the garden, the sound of her sobs drowning out the singing birds. She could not enter, but she felt she must look. She must see for herself – Jesus is gone.

She leaned toward the opening, eyes clinched tightly, hoping against hope that she was wrong; that they all were wrong. She leaned toward the opening hoping to see his broken body, to perform the ritual cleaning and anointing she came to perform. She opened her eyes but could not keep them open. The light was blinding. She looked again. Two figures draped in white sat inside the tomb. Together they asked, “Why are you weeping?”

Her voice answered before her mind could comprehend the question. “They’ve taken my Lord. I do not know where they have laid him.” Saying the words aloud brought renewed grief. She could not look at this empty cavern any longer.

She turned to leave, but there was a man. She thought Peter or John had returned or the other disciples upon learning the news had begun to arrive. She was wrong. She did not know him. As he stepped toward her, he spoke, his voice seemed oddly comforting – at once familiar and unrecognizable.

“Woman, why are you crying? Whom are you looking for?”

 He must be the gardener. He will know where Jesus’ body was taken. She wanted to grab him, to demand to know. She wanted to fall at his feet to beg him to return the body – to help her find her friend. With an unknown strength, her calm, firm voice spoke.

“Sir, if you carried him away, tell me where you laid him. I will take him away.”

At that moment, her world changed. With one word, her grief, her anger, her uncertainty burst into uncontainable joy.

“Mary.” Spoken with a love and recognition she did not expect – could not expect. “Mary.” Her name. Spoken by a voice she’d heard a hundred times. Spoken by a voice she knew she should not hear – would never hear again. But she did hear it. “Mary.”

That simple word meant so much, but at that moment in her mind it meant only one thing. She found her master and her friend. She found Jesus and he was alive. She turned and sputtered the only word that would leave her tongue in that moment. “Rabbouni” – Teacher, Lord.

Jesus said more to her, but she barely heard any of it. She could only look at him. Basking in his risen glory. Jesus is alive. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to never leave. To never again be out of Jesus’ presence. “Go tell my friends” he told her.

Peter and John found some of the other disciples. They told them about Mary’s report. About the empty tomb. They sat in silent uncertainty. A sudden rap on the door startled them from their thoughts. The door burst open. Mary stood in the entryway, her tear-streaked face beaming with excitement.

She shouted, “I have seen the Lord!”

In that moment all uncertainty, all thoughts were replaced with one. “Christ is risen!”

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen indeed!

©2015 – Scott Coats