A Reckless Easter

I was desperate. Money was tight. Then on a slippery drive home, I wasn’t focused on the car in front of me and slid into his rear end. His car had no damage. My 1996 Honda Civic, though? For what the car was worth, a bird dropping would have totaled it, but I couldn’t afford to replace the car, I was going to have a hard time replacing the parts that needed replacing.

I was desperate. I had already fallen for her. She was the one. But after about a month of dating, I had dropped the ball. Three times. I had not been grateful, not kind, and pretty self-absorbed. On my way out to see her for our usual Saturday morning, I bought the biggest, nicest, most carmel-ly coffee drink I could find. I was sure I’d be headed home before my coffee had a chance to cool.

I was desperate. As I held her, I marveled at her tiny, perfect little hands. The way her toes seemed impossibly small. She had a beautiful head of hair and the sweetest little nose. But she was purple, not pink. I wouldn’t ever hear her cry, let alone celebrate her first birthday. I would never teach her to walk or take pictures on her first day of school. We wouldn’t have firsts to celebrate or lasts to mourn. I was desperate.

Are you? Maybe you’ve had to say goodbye this last year. Maybe you didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. Maybe you’ve looked at an online bank account that’s got zeros in the wrong places. Maybe a close relationship has crumbled around you, even despite your best efforts. Maybe you found out what people say about you when your back is turned. Maybe a friend has moved away, a report card isn’t what you think it is, you’ve had trolls posting on your videos.

And you're desperate. You’d do anything to avoid the hurt, fix the broken, get past the obstacle. Why wouldn’t you be? You aren’t alone. Would you read with me the easter account as recorded by the eyewitness, John?

11 Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb 12 and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

13 They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” (John 20:11-13)

It’s not hard to understand what was happening in John 20. Mary was crushed. She was desperate. Jesus was more than someone to follow. He had saved her. She had been possessed by 7 demons. Jesus had freed her. He had raise the dead. He had worked miracles. He had preached in a way that she had never heard before. He was the way, the truth and the life. For her, life was wrapped up around Jesus and the kingdom of God he talked about. All of that came crashing down around her. Jesus who healed the sick, dead. Jesus who had raised the dead, dead. Jesus who had pushed back against the abuses of the clergy, dead. And there she knelt outside the tomb where she should have found his body. The only thing worse than tending to his decaying body? Finding that someone would sink to the level of stealing his body. A slap in the face to this man. She was desperate.

For those of you who love someone going through grief, there’s a little encouragement for you here. Did you notice who DIDN’T help Mary in her grief? Yeah, angels! If angels couldn’t make her desperation go away, maybe that’s not what you bring to your friend in grief.

Something more showed up. Someone more.

14 At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

15 He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

16 Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). (John 20:14-16)

What a relief! But not at first. It takes her a minute. Jesus showed up, but it wasn’t what she expected. In her desperation, she had looked for something too small. An address, an explanation, a reason. What she got was a miracle. It was more real, it was better than anything she could have hoped for.

What have you been desperate to get? Validation? An explanation? A reason? Whatever is next? The resurrected Jesus brings something so much more. This is the miracle. Death, the destination of every human being, the curse that weighs down our every day, it is defeated. Its power is gone. The fear of it has disintegrated. For the first time, you know someone who has come out the other side of death. And because he did, what Paul says in 1 Corinthians is true, “But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man.” (1 Corinthians 15:20-21)

His victory is your victory. His miracle is your miracle. We’re going to be talking in coming weeks about the mechanics of how that miracle becomes yours, let’s just say that God thought it all the way through. But you hear the miracle dawn on Mary “Rabboni!” This was her teacher, her Savior, her miracle. And in that moment everything changed for her. Desperation gone, Jesus calls her to something new.

17 Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ”

18 Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her. (John 20:17-18)

Desperation would have had her hold on to Jesus. To play it safe. Never let him out of her sight. But Jesus calls her to something different. Do you realize that in that culture, in that time, Mary would have been considered an unreliable witness. Who would believe her? “Maybe the demons are back…” they might have thought. Or, “she’s only a hysterical woman…” Or, “She’s speaking nonsense.” When Jesus said impossible things, they asked if he was demon possessed. What would they say to - or more likely, about - Mary?

But Jesus calls her to push through that. “Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” (John 20:17) She had every reason to not, she was desperate to not. This was reckless! Go to the disciples? Which of them would believe her? Her credibility was on the line. Her reputation, her progress. This is crazy! But he gave her a message, “Go and tell…”

Don’t cling. Not to safety, not to comfort, not to the known. Clinging is an act of desperation. You aren’t desperate anymore. He’s called you off the bench and into the game. Where is he telling you to not hold on? Maybe it’s letting go of the need to understand “why” you got cancer, and instead be the most joy-filled cancer patient the oncology nurse has ever seen. Maybe it’s letting go of your need to be right, or seen the right way, or control the opinions of others. And being yourself, warts and all. Maybe it’s letting go of the need to be seen as the family with the “awesome vacations” or “cool cars” or “who’s got your stuff together.” And displaying the love of Jesus in the places of imperfection. Maybe it’s letting go of the idea of the perfect relationship and finding your way in alone-ness.

I don’t know what it is for you. But I know what it looks like. It looks reckless, dangerous, like risk-taking. But why wouldn’t you if you weren’t desperate for a miracle anymore. You knew your miracle had already shown up. Death is defeated. Your friend’s death, your mother’s death. The emptiness you feel because of lack, because of unfulfilled hopes, or unmet expectations. It’s all gone. Be free of desperation. Live reckless. Your miracle has shown up.