Easter

The gospel text for Easter is: John John 20:1-18. This is the homily for it:

The Gospel makes it quite plain that Jesus did not remain hidden after he had risen from the grave. Rather, Jesus continues to be near and shows himself, even if not in such a way that we’re allowed to see him with our own eyes and hear him with our own ears. Nevertheless, we can feel how near he is.

Take Mary of Magdala for example. She wasn’t just seeking what she’d lost—she was also weeping. She was beside herself in tears. And because of her tears, Jesus was moved to make himself known to her. Jesus sees Mary weeping and looks into her deeply troubled heart. He cannot look on any longer, and so, quickly, he reveals himself to her.

We can perhaps imagine Mary’s pain. It was great. Here she was thinking she’d found the one she was looking for and then felt deceived in her hope. It was bitterly hard for Mary. She could do nothing but weep. But then Jesus comes and says, “Why do you weep? Whom are you seeking?” Mary’s initial response offered her little help. So Jesus brings her to himself and does so with the single word, “Mary!” Yes, she hears her name. And then her eyes are opened. All at once everything is changed. She is met.

The Gospel tells us that Jesus comes close to those who weep, especially if their tears stem from higher longings, if they are tears of the spirit, tears for peace of heart because one can’t find inward calm, or because one feels so oppressed and is without a comforter, without a helper.

Jesus always comes close to those who weep. For this reason, we can be certain that where we see someone weeping, Jesus is not far away. Because of this we should be glad to be with those who weep, for in so doing we immediately come into the company of Christ. He is there too. We harm only ourselves if we run away from those who are sad, oppressed, grieved, and weeping. When we’re afraid of being moved by people’s pain, when we avoid those who are hurting and in despair, we’re afraid of Jesus himself. We actually deny him instead of finding him right where he is.

When we come along side those who weep, it often happens that we bring Jesus to them, even if we aren’t feeling him ourselves. Sometimes all we can do is empathise, and in so doing feel our own spiritual poverty, or at least our own inability to offer comfort. But it’s precisely here that Jesus comes. When we are moved, when we dare to weep with those who cry out for comfort, it is then we bring Jesus along. His calming, comforting powers show themselves imperceptibly.

It’s amazing how, after one has been together for a little while with someone who is troubled, eyes are dried, the heart lightens, and one feels something good and right—a deep, mutual understanding that takes away the sting. We sense that the Risen One is present, calling by their own name those who weep. We have not been forgotten.

It is wonderful how, when two people weep together, their very tears bring comfort and healing. Jesus is certainly near. He has risen, and for whom? Clearly for us—we who feel desperately alone. Why shouldn’t we believe that he is there when we merely cast a glance toward him and have a longing for him? For certainly Jesus knows our names. He knows our thoughts, our troubles, our weaknesses. He doesn’t merely say “Brother” or “Sister,” but calls us by name: “Mary!” He knows us through and through, down to the counting of hairs.

How comforting it is to know that the very highest One, he who ascended from the Cross to the throne of God, is closest of all to those of us who despair of comfort. We are not too small, too weak or too sinful for him. He is our brother and loves us. And when such a brother watches over us, who can still despair? If we believe it, we will have the Risen One with us with all his love, mercy, and power.