"Don't Just Have a 'Happy Easter' ... Have a Real Easter ... Have Mary's Easter" -- a sermon for the Sunday of the Resurrection

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Easter Sunday, April 20, 2014

O death, where is your sting?

O hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are cast down!
Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen!
Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is risen, and life is set free!
Christ is risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead. For Christ, having risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Christ be glory and power forever and ever. Amen!

I’m not going to wish you a happy Easter this morning.

Because I don’t want us to just have a happy Easter.

There's nothing wrong with a "Happy Easter." You've probably said it a hundred times already today. Happy Easter. Happy Easter

And every year, we wish people a Happy Easter, but this year I'm hoping we can set the bar a little higher than that.

Those words we just prayed are from the Easter Vigil homily of St. John Chrysostom. Those are not words about a "Happy Easter."

Those are words about an Easter where the joy starts at the tips of our toes and wells up through us and spills out ... not just out of our lips but shoots out the top of our head!

That's the kind of Easter I want us to have.

Not just a "Happy Easter."

I want us to have a real Easter.

Really, I want us to have Mary’s Easter.

Because Mary’s Easter is the Easter of which John Chrysostom sang.

Mary's Easter changes everything.

John’s Gospel tells us that three people went to the tomb that morning. Three people saw something unexpected, something amazing.

But only one person was changed.

Only one person didn’t just go back home.

Only one person had an encounter with Jesus that was so profound that she had to go and tell everyone about it.

That’s the Easter I want us to have. That’s the Easter that is worth having.

I want us to have Mary’s Easter.

Because Mary’s Easter changes everything.

We don’t know a lot about Mary Magdalene from John’s Gospel. Tradition identifies her as a prostitute, and whether that’s true or not, we can suppose she had a hard life of being scorned and used by others. But the only real truth John’s Gospel tells us about Mary Magdalene is that she loved Jesus deeply and she was faithful to him to the end and beyond.

On Good Friday, Mary Magdalene stood at the foot of the cross with Jesus’ mother and aunt when all the other disciples had fled in fear. And now on Sunday morning, it is Mary alone who comes to the tomb while it was even still dark, comes to perform her last act of loving devotion in preparing Jesus’ body for his final burial.

What we know about Mary is that she allows herself to love Jesus so deeply that she does not protect herself from the pain of his crucifixion or the pain of his death.

She allows herself to look pain and death square in the face … not fleeing or cowering … but feeling every agonizing ounce of it.

What we know about Mary is she allows herself to love—a love that leaves you wide open. That leaves you vulnerable. Vulnerable to the pain that happens even when love goes away.

Mary comes to the tomb this morning expecting to find the broken body of her beloved Jesus waiting for her tender care. But instead, she finds the stone rolled away and the body gone. And in her deep grief and confusion she runs and finds Peter and John.

And Peter and John race to the tomb and see what Mary reported. Yep, sure enough, the body is gone. Don’t know what it means … but the body is gone.

But here’s the thing. Neither of them. Neither Peter of John are changed. They see Jesus isn’t there. They believe he is gone. They turn and go back to their homes.

But not Mary.

Mary doesn’t leave.

Mary stays.

Mary stays … and weeps.

We don’t know what was going through Peter and John’s minds and hearts. They were back on the road too fast. But we do know about Mary. Because Mary doesn’t hide her pain. Mary lets it all out, and she doesn’t care who sees it.

Even when she sees two angels, she doesn’t even blink. She doesn’t say “Oh my God … angels! What’s going on here!” The only words she can speak are the lamentation of her heart. The only song on her lips is the Blues.

“They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”

All she can say is her pain. Because she is at the end of her rope. Her pain is all there is.

And it is at that moment that Jesus appears.

It is at that moment, with Mary at the end of her rope, weeping, in pain and not caring who knows or sees it. It is at that moment that Jesus calls her by name.

Mary.

Mary.

Mary.

And Easter happens.

And her joy is full. That joy that starts at the tip of your toes and wells up through your body and out your lips and the top of your head.

Easter happens.

And Mary’s Easter changes everything.

What changed Mary…. What caused her to leave that tomb and not just go back to her home with the other disciples but to go and tell, to go and tell everyone she could about this amazing thing she had seen and experienced, was Jesus meeting her at her most vulnerable, Jesus meeting her at the heart of her struggle, at the heart of her pain. Jesus taking her Blues and turning it to Gospel. Meeting her and touching her and calling her by name.

Mary.

I know you.

I know your pain.

I love you.

That's Easter.

There are a few things we all have in common here this morning. We have all chosen to get up out of bed and come to church on Easter morning. Some of us are here all the time. Some of us are here for our yearly pilgrimage. Some of us haven’t been here in a long, long time.

Yet, we have this in common: Each one of us has a story that brings us here. And that story is the most beautiful and precious thing about us.

The story of what we have lived, the story of what we have survived. The story of all our triumphs and tragedies. It is raw and it is real. Some of it shared, much of it is only known in the silence of our hearts.

And at the heart of each of our stories, I wager, there is a common theme that runs: a deep desire to be known and loved. There's also a shadow of that theme: that we fear that if we are known, we cannot be loved.

And this heart of the story is terrifyingly beautiful … because it is absolutely real.

In that real place, Mary truly encounters Jesus this morning. And that is the place where we encounter Jesus, too.

If we open ourselves up and allow ourselves to love, allow ourselves to be vulnerable with one another, Jesus will show up and call us by name, loving us more deeply and delighting in us more joyfully than we can possibly imagine.

Calling us by name.

Mary.

Jim.

Kate.

Celeste.

I know you.

I know your pain.

I love you.

And I’m not going anywhere. Not even death can tear me away from your side.

I’m not going to wish you a happy Easter this morning.

Because I don’t want you to have a happy Easter. I want us to have something so much more amazing than that.

I want us to have a real Easter.

Mary’s Easter.

Because Mary’s Easter changes everything.

And so what if, this Easter, we don’t just peek into the tomb and say “Yep … he’s gone. Don’t know what it means … but he’s gone.” And then just go back to our homes.

What if instead we open ourselves up to have an encounter with Jesus that is so profound that we have to go and tell everyone about it? What if we dare to be real with one another, to let loose our fears and our tears and our hopes and our dreams – trusting that when two are three are gathered in his name, Jesus is in the midst of us? .

If we open ourselves up and allow ourselves to love, if we allow ourselves to be vulnerable with one another, we can, like Mary, trust that Jesus will show up and call us by name and love us more deeply and delight in us more joyfully than we can possibly imagine.

That’s an Easter worth having. Alleluia! Amen.