Hope in Fear, Sorrow, and in the flesh
Hope in Fear
Fear is all around us. Some of us are afraid of the impending presidential election. Others are anxious about our next meal––namely, residents of Palestine and migrants in Chicago. Others still are worried about naming the internal wounds caused by a family member. We're a profoundly anxious people. W.H. Auden won the Pulitzer Prize in 1947 for his poem The Age of Anxiety. Many find his title and words just as true in our age.
Fear is a feeling of vulnerability. It's the reminder of our mortality, limits, and inability to protect ourselves and those we love. One of Auden's characters says, “The world needs a wash and a week's rest" (The Complete Works of W. H. Auden: Poems, Volume II, 274).
Mary's physical and spiritual feebleness first gripped her soul with fear. Though she had money, seven demons exposed her fragility. And now the one who put her life back together was missing. On that first Easter morning, Mary's fear is captured in a single sentence. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him” (John 20:2) She collects all the data at the graveyard. The stone is rolled away. The tomb is empty. She may or may not, at this point, have noticed the grave clothes. But to her, as perhaps for many of you, all the information pointed to a natural conclusion: someone had stolen Jesus' body. And she's scared. However, Mary's response to fear is instructive to us. She names it and brings it to her community.
You see, while it might seem as if all the anxiety from her former life had come rushing back when Jesus died, in actuality, Jesus had shaped something new in Mary that wasn't there before. While fear may have previously led her to shame and isolation, now she steps into the light. Friendship with Jesus had given her power amidst her fear. Arthur Brooks thinks that's the critical ingredient to hope. When talking with Dr. Peter Attia a few months ago, Brooks explained that the difference between hope and, say, optimism is empowerment (Peter Attai M.D. Podcast, December 30, 2023). While optimism is just a shiny prediction (despite legitimate fears), hope says there's something to be done. Hope believes someone can show up and bring change right in the middle of our worst nightmares.
Mary names her fear and brings her fear to her community.
That's really hopeful.
Fear hates to be named. It loves the shadows of anonymity. Because that's where its powers lie. Fear gets big in the dark. Fear gets overblown in the dark. Fear spreads lies in the dark. This is why elsewhere, the Apostle John says that God is light ... and if we walk in the light, we have fellowship with him and others (see 1 John 1:5,7). This is what Jesus had taught Mary. And so, when her anxieties went from bad to worse, Mary pushed her fear into the light.
But Mary wasn't just scared; she was sad.
Hope in Sorrow
John and Peter went home. Likely, they started telling everyone else what they had experienced. But Mary came back and stayed by the tomb. “But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him” (John 20:11-13). What first showed up as fear is now surfacing as sadness. When she encounters two angels, they ask her why she's crying. Similar to the logic of her fear, Mary is sad because she believes someone has taken Jesus' body.
While it might seem like all her sadness is back, these tears are different. In her previous life, she wept over her social isolation, physical pain, and spiritual torment. But at the cross and tomb, she wept over the death of her Lord and friend. Her tears are personal.
As she continues to weep, she sees someone else. “Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away” (John 20:14-15). This is a wild experience. It reminds us of the couple who unknowingly met Jesus on their way home on Resurrection Sunday (see Luke 24:13-35). They didn't recognize Jesus either. However, in their case, they were kept from seeing Jesus (see Luke 24:16). Mary, though, just didn't know it was him. Why didn't she recognize him?
Well, notice Mary's sorrow turns to accusation (our tears often turn to blame). Jesus asks her why she's crying and who she's looking for; in response, Mary suggests Jesus has taken the body of Jesus. Which, of course, is hilarious. But it's also accusatory. It's almost angry, another emotion closely associated with sadness. The best way to describe what's happening is that Mary is feeling her feelings. This is at least part of the reason she doesn't know she's speaking to Jesus. She's so overcome with emotion.
In the same way Jesus draws out the couple on the road to Emmaus, he asks Mary a question. Which, of course, is also funny. Because Jesus knows everything. He knows why she's crying. He knows who she's looking for. Jesus never asks a question because he's ignorant or unsure. So what's he doing? Well, questions draw us out. Questions draw us close. For Jesus, then, a question is never about information. It's always about intimacy. This is all deeply counterintuitive, isn't it? I mean, isn't it frustrating? Why do the angels bury the lead? Why does Jesus play coy? In our own sadness, don't we just want God to swoop in and make it all go away?
We don't want to feel our dark emotions; we want sorrow to go away. Or perhaps, as Auden's poem suggests, we may want our sorrow to take us away. “We would rather be ruined than changed / We would rather die in our dread / Than climb the cross of the moment / And let our illusions die" (335). Jesus asks Mary a question not to get her out of sadness but to meet her in it. The hope of the resurrection is better than modern psychology. Jesus dignifies Mary's sorrow by showing up in her sorrow. By not hurrying her tears. By not criticizing her lack of faith. But he also knows what Mary really needs isn't consolation ... it's him. And this, too, is something he had been teaching Mary all along.
Hope in the Flesh
Jesus is ready to make it all plain. “Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her” (John 20:16-18). With her fear and sorrow at the point of overwhelm, Mary meets hope. It's Jesus. Her eyes of faith are opened, and she sees. She clings to him. Why? Because he's everything she's been searching for. Jesus is her hope. That's the story of Christianity from the beginning to a new beginning. Hope isn't just a feeling or agency. Hope isn't comfort and consolation. Hope is a person. Hope is the person who meets us in the middle of our fears and sorrow––Jesus Christ.
Hope like this can't be found. It's instructive that Jesus speaks her name first before she recognizes him. He reveals himself to her (see John 1:14-18). The Scriptures are clear: God is never discovered. God makes himself known to humanity. It's only when Jesus says, I see you ... that we can respond … I have seen the Lord. This is why Jesus invited Mary to push her fears into the light. Because that's where Jesus is. This is why Jesus invited Mary to feel her feelings at the level of the heart. Because that's where Jesus is. This is why Jesus shows up in the flesh because real hope isn't found ... real hope finds us.
For many people, the resurrection is a practical problem. Despite the historical evidence that suggests the reasonable nature of Jesus' resurrection, for many of us, believing a man died and came back to life is categorically illogical. But for Mary, this wasn't a practical issue. Her fear and sadness tell us this was personal. I think ours do, too. We can easily resist the resurrection story because we've determined it doesn't make sense. But have you ever wondered if Jesus' resurrection makes sense out of your fears and sorrow? In other words, have you ever wondered if the resurrection is the only reality that heals the human heart and mind riddled with anxiety and sadness? You see, I think we all agree that living with vulnerability and emotional health is good. But why are we so fragile and broken? Why is it so hard? Why does it feel impossible to do? Mary had learned to name her fears and feel her feelings. But she also knew her healing was only complete once hope showed up in the flesh. Until she could say, I have seen the Lord.
Auden brings anxiety to a hopeful conclusion, "It is where we are wounded that is when He speaks / Our creaturely cry, concluding His children In their / mad unbelief to have mercy on them all / As they wait unawares for His World to come" (338).
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*Adapted from the sermon A World of Hope, preached on Easter Sunday 2024
