God waits for those without hope, Christ lingers among those plagued with death and fear.

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed.—John 20:1

It was still dark. The dark night of Good Friday lingered into Easter morning. The Gospel of John does not say why Mary went to the tomb before dawn. Perhaps she couldn’t sleep that night and had to take a walk. Her dreams were plagued with images of torture, remembrances of lost friendship, the trauma of extinguished hope. Perhaps she could do nothing else but return to the tomb.

Her life didn’t make sense anymore; she was not able to forget this man who embodied unimaginable love; Mary could not pull off the psychological acrobatics that are required to move on; to forget would be to kill Jesus again, to erase him from memory.

At the crucifixion of Jesus, they also crucified Mary Magdalene’s soul. When the soldier ripped open Jesus’ side, his spear also pierced her heart. Her love lies dead, buried in a tomb. Part of Mary died with Jesus. But something woke her up—the whispers of her risen lover?

Despite being a poor historian and textual scholar, Dan Brown, in his book The Da Vinci Code, has shocked us into seeing the profound love shared between Jesus and Mary. Yes, the story of Jesus is a love affair. But like most modern males, Brown can only imagine a man’s love for a woman as sexual. Just like all the other trashy publications you can buy at the grocery store, Brown’s book turns a woman into an object of sexual desire. Why else would Jesus care about a woman like Mary, if not for sex? Brown lacks the imagination to consider such divine mysteries.

The love of God drives the story of Jesus. This intimate love doesn’t need to turn Mary Magdalene into an object of sexual gratification for her life to matter to Jesus. The Gospel of John tells a different kind of love story: Jesus is God’s love made flesh, God’s love setting hearts aflame. Jesus is the alluring grace of God, which draws all people into an intimate embrace. “For God so loved the world,” John says. The pulse of God’s heart sets the rhythm of the story. Mary drew near the rapturous love at the heart of God as she walked with Jesus.
How could she go on after God’s heart stopped beating? Mary’s life drained out of her as she watched the last of Jesus’ blood drip from his side.

Mary Magdalene: a shadow in the night. She heads for the tomb where she can mourn. When she weeps, she feels alive. With tears Mary convinces herself that somewhere deep inside something still lives.

As she feels her way through the darkness to the tomb, shock like electricity runs through her spine. The stone is rolled away and the cave is empty. She runs to the disciples and shares the seemingly horrifying news: “They have taken the Lord out of the Tomb” (20:2). Someone has stolen the body. Then Mary returns to the tomb. She sees angels. “They have taken my Lord away,” Mary says to them (v. 13). Not even the appearance of angels awakens the thought of something miraculous. Resurrection is completely unimaginable. The empty tomb is nothing but a sign of theft.

The darkness, in her soul and in the tomb, is so blinding that Mary can’t even recognize the resurrected Jesus when he appears. “She turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus” (v. 14). Resurrection isn’t obvious. Even while speaking with Jesus, Mary can’t really see him. Jesus is incognito, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said in a sermon.

Then “Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!'” (v. 16). Mary. He calls her by name and the darkness is shattered. The light of Christ breaks through. Her love and Lover are returned. Everything can go back to how it was—those wonderful days with Jesus and the fellowship of love with the disciples. Mary will hold onto that precious life forever; nothing will separate her again from that love. But, strangely, Jesus refuses: “Do not hold on to me” (v. 17). Instead, Mary is sent on a mission: to share the good news of resurrection. She becomes the first preacher.

Christians are people who believe in the Lover’s return. We are the disciples who receive the gospel of resurrection from Mary Magdalene. And with Mary we learn that our faith is a love affair without an ending. The last pages of the story are left blank. There is no closure. The story does not end with a woman’s return to a graveside for another chance to mourn; resurrection refuses that version of the story. Nor does it end with the embrace of two lovers; Jesus doesn’t let Mary hold on to him. Instead, Mary is sent on a mission, a mission where Christ shows up in the midst of those with whom she shares the news: “Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you'” (v. 19).

Resurrection means that Christ is now a beckoning presence, saving us from ourselves by calling us into the places that overflow with divine love. The risen Jesus invites us into a pilgrimage of darkness, which is our stumbling journey to the heart of God. For in the Gospel of John we see how the resurrected Jesus waits at the site of death. We discover that God does not abandon those who wander in the darkness. In fact, that’s exactly where Christ shows up: “The light shines in the darkness,” John writes at the beginning of his story (1:5).

Resurrection is not a quick fix for our problems; tombs and crucifixions don’t end on Easter morning. The graveside account in John’s Gospel instead is a glimpse into the mysterious outpouring of divine love: God waits for those without hope, Christ lingers among those plagued with death and fear.

Our Lover always returns, and he whispers the words of life near a tomb under the cover of darkness. The divine love affair begins again where death and anguish seem to reign. When we are drawn to such places, our Lover finds us, although he appears as a stranger. We are like Mary, unable to recognize the signs of resurrection. Yet the allure of God’s grace sends us on our mission of waiting and listening and hoping—sometimes forever. For God’s love is flesh—a wounded body near a tomb, still bearing the marks of death, holes in his hands and side.

Our Easter faith means that we wait with those who bear a strange resemblance to this One. Voices from this present darkness echo with the accents of our Lover. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, Jesus wanders around “incognito, as a beggar among beggars, as an outcast among outcasts, as despairing among the despairing, as dying among the dying.” We linger with the hope that we may finally recognize our Lover among such as these.

The whispers of resurrection: His voice is a deep sigh, a groan, in the night.

“While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed.”