Easter in a Pandemic

Preacher: Jennifer Hosler

Scripture: John 20:1-18

It’s intense, the pressure of preaching an Easter sermon during a global pandemic.
How can I have the right words to say,
to point us to the divine solidarity of Jesus entering with us in our suffering,
to the existential hope of Jesus triumphing over betrayal, torture, and death,
to the future that God has for us,
doing the work of God in transforming our world to a more just and more loving place?
What are the right words for that? I don’t know that I have them, but my prayer is that the Holy Spirit would use them to encourage our hearts and show us the way.

A Reading Adapted from John 20:1-18
It was dark and cold, and I really didn’t want to be out that early. So much had happened, so much could still happen. It didn’t feel safe, but I felt I had to do it. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, I walked to the tomb to complete the anointing of the Teacher’s body.

I knew that it would be hard. Preparing a body is always hard but brings some closure. Anointing it, giving one last effort of love. I didn’t think I could have closure with something like this – I didn’t know what to think. The power of God was walking among us and now, I asked myself, “where is it? Is God gone from among us? What was the point of all that goodness, all that healing, all that love and mercy, if we are only left with pain?”

I shuffled forward in the dark to the garden and the tomb where Jesus’ body was placed on Friday, somewhat hastily before the Passover Sabbath. As I arrived, I stopped dead in my tracks, horrified at what could have happened. Instead of a stone covering the tomb entrance, the stone was pushed aside. No!

I turned and I ran to where brother Peter and brother John were staying. I told them, “They took the Teacher from the tomb and I don’t know where they put him.”
Peter and John looked at each other and took off running. I ran after them, back to the tomb. Out of breath, I stood back. Honestly, I didn’t want to go in, even if it really was empty. The weight of it all hit me again. He’s dead. He’s gone. His body’s even missing.

The brothers looked at the grave linens for a few minutes and left, bewildered. They didn’t really say anything—they just left me alone, with an empty tomb. I broke down and cried. I sat in that garden, tears streaming.

Sitting there, next to the tomb, I looked over at it and there were two people sitting right where the body should have been, in white clothing. One spoke to me, “Lady, why are you crying?” On another day, maybe I would have made some sarcastic comment about how that’s a dumb question to ask someone next to a tomb… but – not today. I just answered straightforwardly: “My Teacher was buried here, and someone took his body. I don’t know where he’s been moved to.”

At that moment, I saw another person nearby, standing close. He asked me too, “Lady, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” I wiped my eyes and said, “Sir, if you took the body, can you please tell me where it is? I just want to anoint it and care for it.”

The man replied, “Mary.”

The words hit me like a gut punch, a perplexing wave of disbelief and grief and joy – it was Jesus. “My Teacher?” I stood up. It was the Teacher. Alive. Breathing. I spoke to Jesus briefly and then went to find the others to tell them: “I have seen the Lord.”

Easter in a Pandemic
For me, I was struck by the loneliness and grief in this passage. A lonely morning walk, knowing that death and grief were waiting in a tomb. Still, Mary Magdalene goes to keep vigil, to tenderly care for the body of a trusted and loved friend and teacher. Can we laud Mary Magdalene here, who shows up after everyone has fled, to care and tend, to do immensely sad work of anointing a cor