Sermon – I Have Seen the Lord

(I preached this sermon on Easter Sunday at Christ Lutheran Church in Harrisburg in response to John 20:1-18. You can listen to the audio here.)

It was still dark.

That is how John tells the story.

Not sunrise.
Not morning light.
Still dark.

And we need to be clear about what that means.

In the Gospel of John, darkness is about not seeing clearly.
It is about confusion and fear.
It is about lies that pass for truth.
It is about death-dealing ways that shape the world.

Light is about truth made visible.
It is about love that can be seen.
It is about God showing up and making things clear.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

That is how the Gospel begins.

And now here we are at the empty tomb. 

Still dark.

Which tells us something we cannot miss.

Resurrection does not wait for everything to make sense.
Resurrection does not wait for the world to get better.
Resurrection begins right in the middle of confusion and grief.

Mary comes to the tomb carrying loss.

Real loss.

She is not thinking about hope.
She is not expecting surprise.
She is trying to make sense of death.

And what she finds is that the stone is gone.

The barrier is moved.

The tomb is open.

But that does not mean she understands.

Peter and the other disciple run to the tomb.

They look in.

They see the cloths.

They notice details.

And then they leave.

They go back to what they know.

Because you can see something and still not see what it means.

But Mary stays.

She does not rush away.
She does not move on.

She weeps.

And she is asked a question.

“Why are you weeping?”

Not once. But twice.

Because grief takes time.

Because pain does not disappear just because something new is happening.

We know this kind of darkness.

We are living in it.

I was talking with a friend the other day about the events going on in the world and my friend said something that stuck with me.  He said – “I made the mistake of assuming that we have moved past all these tendencies.”  

There are parts of the church that still do not see clearly.

Parts that refuse to tell the truth about slavery and segregation and the ways Christianity was used to defend both.
Parts that wrap the cross in a flag and call it faith.
Parts that protect an arrangement of power while ignoring the people crushed underneath it.

There are parts of our country that are still in denial.

We see it when books are banned because they tell hard truths.
We see it when history is rewritten to make some segments of society more comfortable while plugging our ears, so we don’t have to listen to lived uncomfortable experiences of other segments of society.  
We see it when policies target immigrants and families live in fear of raids and separation.

That is darkness. A refusal to see what is real.

Mary turns and sees Jesus.

But she does not know it is him.

She thinks he is the gardener.

She is looking right at resurrection and cannot name it.

Then Jesus says her name.

“Mary.”

Just that.

And everything changes.

This is how resurrection breaks through.

Not as a lecture.
Not as an argument.
Not as something we earn.

It comes as a voice.

A voice that knows you.
A voice that calls you.
A voice that speaks your name and makes things clear.

Mary does not solve anything.

She is not more faithful than the others.

She is seen.

She is called.

She is met by Jesus.

And then she can really say,

“I have seen the Lord.”

That is invitation.

Not pressure.

Not a demand to get it right.

An opening.

A gift.

And when you start to notice it, you realize something.

This is still happening.

I have seen the Lord.

I have seen the Lord in this place.

At Christ Lutheran Church.

I have seen the Lord when people who have nothing left to give still show up for one another.

In a touch.
In a look.
In a moment that says you belong here.

I’ve seen the Lord in the sharing of the Peace during worship.  In the time of Communion.  In the singing.  

I have seen the Lord in the clinics.

In someone who has been written off being treated with dignity.

In a nurse who refuses to rush past pain.

In a patient who is called by name instead of by a number or a problem.

I have seen the Lord when this community refuses to look away from ICE raids.

When people share information.
When people open their homes.
When people choose courage even when it costs something.

I have seen the Lord in quilts sent to strangers.

In hands that take time to create something beautiful for someone they will never meet.

In the quiet message that says you are not forgotten.

I have seen the Lord at a truck stop diner.

At a table where stories are told without shame.

Where laughter breaks through hard lives.

Where people remember, even for a moment, that they are more than what the world says about them.

I have seen the Lord in unexpected financial support.

Resources showing up.  Some that we didn’t even know we had.  

Doors opening.

Possibility where there was none.

And I have seen the Lord out in the world.

I have seen the Lord in a person in recovery who refuses to give up.

Not in a perfect story.

In a hard one.

In a daily decision to keep going.

I have seen the Lord in peaceful protests.

Even now.

In movements where people gather and refuse to return hate for hate.

Where they stand, and march, and speak, without becoming what they are resisting.

I have seen the Lord when food and medicine continue to move through the Strait of Hormuz.

Even with threats of war.

Even with power struggles that could shut it down.

Life still finds a way through.

Care still reaches people.

The light shines in the darkness.

Truth shows up in places that resist it.

Love appears where it should not survive.

And it keeps going.

Mary does not stay at the tomb.

She is sent.

Not because she has it all figured out.

Not because she has the right words prepared.

Because she has seen.

Because Jesus made himself known.

So she goes and says,

“I have seen the Lord.”

And that is where we end.

Not with a task.

Not with pressure.

Not with something you have to force.

Back in the dark.

Back in the garden.

Back to a voice.

“Mary.”

He says her name.

And she sees.

This is what Jesus does.

He steps into confusion.
He meets people in grief.
He speaks in a way that can be heard.
He makes himself known.

And he is still doing it.

In places that feel forgotten.

In people the world overlooks.

In moments that are easy to miss.

In truth that breaks through denial.

In love that refuses to disappear.

And when it happens,

when he speaks,

when he calls,

when he makes himself known,

you do not have to force anything.

You do not have to pretend.

You do not have to prove it.

You simply find yourself saying,

“I have seen the Lord.”

Thanks be to God.