Victorious

John 20:1-18

April 20, 2025 (Easter) • Mount Pleasant UMC

The Sabbath had been over for only a few hours. Jesus had been buried on Friday before sundown, and that began the long wait. By the time sunrise on Sunday came, Mary was desperate to get out of the house and over to the tomb. The burial had been left unfinished, and she and the other women needed to complete it. The men were still snoring—typical! But this morning, the women didn’t care. They had a job to finish. In the early morning hours, while it was still dark, they made their way to the tomb.

Not too long after the sunrise, Mary will be standing in the garden, weeping, alone. She has lost literally everything at this point (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 206). Jesus had changed her life; he had removed seven demons from her (Luke 8:2) and she had given her life to his service. She was one of several women who had followed Jesus for some time now, all the way to the cross. She had watched his burial (Mark 15:40), and then had waited the long hours through Friday night, all day Saturday and Saturday night until she could go and finish what they started. I say this every year, but let me say it as clearly as I can again: Mary does not go to the grave looking for a resurrection. No one expected a resurrection (cf. Card 204). If they had, if they had really listened to what Jesus had said to them and believed it, wouldn’t they have been camped out in the garden, waiting for it to happen? I would have. That would have been quite the sight to see! If they had believed Jesus, wouldn’t the men have at least gotten out of bed early to see if what he promised had really come true?

But no one was out there. No one saw how it happened. No one was there when his heart started beating again. One thump, then another. Blood starting pumping through his veins again. Then his eyes opened and his lungs expanded. No one was there to witness his first breath. Did he breathe deeply? Did the air taste different? Was there a flash of light or did it happen suddenly? Did the wounds heal, at least most of them? And who unwrapped the grave clothes? Or did his body dissolve right out of them (cf. Card 205)? That’s what the Gospels seem to indicate, because when people arrive at the tomb, they find the grave clothes laying in their place, with the head covering folded up and off by itself (cf. McKnight, John, pg. 311; 20:6-7). Anyone who thought that the body had been stolen wasn’t thinking about it deeply enough; a grave robber wouldn’t leave the clothes behind. They would have been in a hurry and taken the body and the clothes and everything. They certainly wouldn’t leave the head covering folded up. But no one was there when it happened, which left them (and us) to wonder.

And I wonder if Mary, and eventually the others, was remembering what happened to Lazarus. In John’s Gospel, the death of Lazarus causes Jesus to perform his final public sign, and it is the act that galvanizes the Jewish leaders into killing him. Lazarus died, and four days later, after everyone knew there was no hope of a resuscitation, Jesus showed up and brought him back to life. Now, I often say that I’m not sure Jesus did Lazarus any favors because him being raised meant he had to die again. And he thought he’d gotten that out of the way! It gets a lot of attention, so the Jewish leaders plot to not only kill Jesus but also Lazarus. Get rid of the evidence, right (John 11:1-53; 12:10-11)? But there were differences between what happened this day and with Lazarus. For one, Lazarus came out with his grave clothes still tightly wrapped around his body. Jesus had to tell them to remove the wrappings (11:44). Seems like it would have been obvious that they needed to do that, but whatever. When Jesus came out of the tomb, he left his grave wrappings behind—which does beg the question where he got his clothing, but that’s a question for another day. Also, in order for Lazarus to get out, the stone had to be removed (11:39), but in Jesus’ case, the stone was already removed when the women show up (20:1; cf. Mark 16:3). Who opened the tomb? And why? I don’t think it was so Jesus could get out; anyone who could leave their grave clothes behind probably wouldn’t be stopped by a stone. So why was it rolled back? I think it was so that his followers could get in and see that the body was gone. Anyway, here’s my point: Lazarus was resuscitated, but something entirely different (and new) happened to Jesus (cf. McKnight 312-313; Wright, John for Everyone—Part Two, pg. 143).

Mary, weeping in the garden, knows something has happened. It’s like that thing with Lazarus, but it’s not. The only thing that sort of makes sense is that someone moved his body. And that breaks her heart because if the body is gone she can’t finish the burial. So she had run back to where they all were staying and told the men: “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” (20:2). It’s another way of saying, again, Mary has lost everything, even the dead body of her friend and Lord. He’s got to be somewhere, but where? Now, doing some math leaves me asking more questions. Two of the men disciples take off for the grave—Peter and John. There were twelve disciples, minus Judas who by this point has taken his own life, which leaves nine men who aren’t interested enough to get up and check things out. Now, granted, a woman brought the news and in that culture, the testimony of women was not accepted in court. It wasn’t considered valid. So did the nine not believe Mary’s word while Peter and John did? Or did the nine actually believe her without checking while Peter and John felt the need to verify it? Or were the nine just too lazy or tired or grief-stricken to get out of bed while Peter and John both needed to do something? We don’t know their motives. We do know that Peter and John ran to the tomb and that John outran Peter (20:4). Don’t you imagine that John enjoyed telling that part of the story in the years to come (cf. Card 205)? John gets there first and stops at the tomb, not wanting to go in because to come in contact with a dead body would make him ritually unclean. Peter, true to character, doesn’t care about that and runs right into the tomb. We’re told that John “believed” but that Peter just took notice of what was there. They both then went back to where they were staying to report to the rest of the disciples—you know, the ones still sleeping in.

And that’s when we find Mary, who at some point has made her way back to the garden. Perhaps Peter and John ran past her as they headed back. But they leave Mary alone in the garden, crying, confused. She has lost everything. When those nails pierced his wrists and ankles on Friday, when he was lifted up and left to hang between heaven and earth for six hours, when he cried out, “It is finished!” and when the soldier thrust a spear into his side, her world had ended. And now the tomb was empty and his body was gone; Mary saw nothing to keep living for. She had no idea what to do next, so she simply stood there in the garden and cried. And not just a quiet cry; she wailed aloud. Anyone around would have heard and noticed.

And they did. First, the angels. They hadn’t been in the tomb a moment ago but when she looked again there they were. She told them the same thing she had told the disciples: “Jesus’ body is missing and I don’t know where they’ve taken him.” But she didn’t give them a chance to answer before she turned around and saw a man standing outside the tomb. He must be the gardener, getting an early start on the day’s work. Maybe he saw something. He’s surely heard her crying; maybe he knows something. Maybe he can point her to where Jesus’ body is. Well, he can, of course, but not in the way she thinks. Because the “gardener” is Jesus, in the flesh. There is a lot of speculation about why Mary didn’t recognize him at first. Was she crying so hard that her tears blurred her vision? Did he not look the same as he once did? Was his body changed in some way? Was his voice different or did her grief not allow her to hear it? Was he, as he often is in the movies, hiding behind some of the plants in the garden? We don’t know; John doesn’t say. He simply tells us it isn’t until Jesus speaks her name that she recognizes him. I imagine it was the way he said it, the way he had said it hundreds of times before. “Mary.” Maybe it was also the warmth in his eyes that she saw and she knew. In an instant, she knew.

“Rabboni!” she says. John translates that as “Teacher,” but the word more frequently meant “My Greatness” or “My Great One.” Certainly there is the possessive element there, so it could be “My Teacher” or “My Great Teacher” (McKnight 318; Card 207). Whatever she exactly meant, it’s a very intimate address, someone who she is close to, and I think you can also hear in that an expression of relief. He is back. He is risen. Her friend, teacher d Lord is back. I doubt she is thinking much beyond this moment. But later, probably when she is gathered back with the other disciples, she had to have wondered: what does it mean?

The first thing the resurrection means is that death is no longer a threat. Jesus’ resurrection holds within it the promise of our own. Paul even says it that way in one of his letters to the Corinthians: “Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (15:20). A lot of times, even today, we sort of poke fun at the disciples for “not getting it,” that even though Jesus told them over and over again he was going to be killed and rise again, they didn’t understand. As I said, on that first Easter they weren’t waiting on a resurrection; they were waiting to finish a burial. But we’ve got to understand that they weren’t any different than anyone else around them. Everyone in the ancient world knew resurrection didn’t happen. They didn’t believe it could happen. I think about Lazarus’ sister Martha, when Jesus tells her he is going to raise her brother, she says, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day” (11:24). Some—not all—Jews believed in a life after death, a resurrection of all the faithful at the end of time. So there was that hope. But no one thought it would or could happen to one person in the middle of time. As N. T. Wright puts it, “That would be an odd, outlandish event, unimagined, unheard-of” (142). But here is Jesus, standing in front of Mary Magdalene, flesh and bone, not a ghost or a spirit, proof that death was not the all-powerful foe they thought it was. And if death has been defeated, if death is no longer a threat, then what do we have to be afraid of?

We’ve had a run around here since about December, not only in the church but among family members of staff and friends and relatives, of deaths and funerals and obituaries and memorial services and gravesides. And it’s a bit exhausting, not physically but spiritually, emotionally and mentally. It’s hard to say goodbye so often to people you love. But every time I officiate or participate in a funeral service, I am so thankful when we get to pronounce these words over the loved one who has died: “In sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life.” Sure and certain hope! Not hope like we hope our team wins the game or we hope we have pie for lunch today. Sure and certain hope. Grounded, rooted, 100% guaranteed hope. That is the kind of hope that will not disappoint (cf. Romans 5:5).

From time to time I get asked about the timing of our resurrection. In other words, if we die before Jesus returns, where will we go? What happens to us? Most of our theology of the afterlife, as I’ve said often, is drawn more from medieval literature and movies than it is from the Scriptures, and the Bible isn’t always clear about the timing of our arrival in eternity. There are indications that as soon as we die, we are with Jesus; Paul seems to say that to be absent from the body is to be with the Lord (cf. 2 Corinthians 5:8). But the Scriptures also say our resurrection body waits for the end of time and that there are saints protected under the altar right now in heaven awaiting the resurrection (cf. Revelation 6:9). So here’s what I know for sure: when I die and leave this world, the very next thing I know will be that I am with Jesus. Whether that is in an instant or a thousand years from now as the world measures time doesn’t matter. The very next thing I know will be that I am with Jesus. He defeated death and offered resurrection to everyone. Because Jesus was raised, death is no longer a threat. 

And because he was raised, Jesus is king over the world. He is the one who is victorious over the worst the world had to throw at him. And make no mistake—we did throw the worst we had at him. Hated, arrested, beaten to within an inch of his life, put through a mockery of a trial, made to drag a hundred-pound beam about a mile or so through the streets of Jerusalem, taken to a hill called “place of the skull,” stripped and nailed by the arms and legs to a Roman cross and then put on display so that all could see: “This is how Rome punishes those who get on its bad side.” Except Jesus hadn’t done anything. He was the victim of the worst injustice in the history of the world. But victim is not the right word because he chose this path. He knew what was coming. And so, that cross, meant to be a shaming and brutalizing instrument, became the throne from which Jesus reigns over the world. One author puts it this way: “The crucifixion of Jesus Christ was the true coronation of the King of kings. His crown was a thorny one and his throne was the tree upon which he hung” (cf. Zahnd, The Wood Between the Worlds, pg. 176). And while the world sees a victim on the tree, what we see when we look at the cross is a victorious king.

In large part, we can see that because we know the cross is not the end of the story. If the cross were the end of the story, we wouldn’t be here this morning. N. T. Wright says, “Without Jesus being raised from the dead, there is no Christianity.” When Mary Magdalene realizes who it is standing in front of her, when she hears him say her name, she instinctively turns toward him and, apparently, reaches out for him. It seems she means to—or maybe she does—hug him. And Jesus tells her, “Do not hold onto me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father” (20:17). Now, I’ve heard all sorts of explanations of this statement, especially based on the older King James translation, where Jesus says, “Touch me not.” One of the most memorable explanations I remember is the idea that Mary was’t allowed to touch him because his body wasn’t finished yet. He was still “cooking,” you might say, and his resurrection body was only partially finished. It’s a little crazy to think that the one who created the whole universe in a moment needs more time to finish making his new body. And besides, he invites others to touch him. No, what Jesus says here is more like, “I know you’re glad to see me, and maybe you want to stay right here in this moment, but we can’t. We’ve got things to do.” And then he sends her to go tell the rest of the disciples what has happened. There’s no time to sit around now. Jesus is king over the world and everything has changed. It’s time to get moving and to go tell others! And these disciples, from that moment on, will not stop moving. They will spend the rest of their lives telling everyone about Jesus and his death and resurrection. Jesus is the victorious king!

And the third thing the resurrection tells me is something I remind you of every Easter and a lot of Sundays in between. Resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing. God’s final word in any situation is never death; it is always life. It’s not the cross, it is resurrection. We’ve talked throughout Lent how the cross is the most recognized symbol in the world, and that people decorate their homes with crosses and wear them around the neck as jewelry. That’s all well and good, and the cross is certainly an important symbol, but I almost wish we had some sort of symbol for the empty tomb, for a stone rolled away and hope unleashed into the world. Because the cross is not the end. The worst thing is never the last thing.

I don’t know what your situation is today, or what difficult position you find yourself in. Some of you today might be facing cancer or you’ve lost a dear loved one in the past few weeks. Some of you may have financial struggles you’ve kept hidden even from your family, and others of you may be uncertain if your marriage can make it even one more day. Maybe you came here this morning with struggles and challenges in your life that seem insurmountable and maybe you’re about ready to give up. I don’t know what your situation is today, and I’m sure there are a lot of them that I can’t understand or relate to. I’m not here this morning with a three-step plan for a victorious life, or a list of five things you can do to unleash God’s power in your life. You can probably find those things online. I’m just here this morning to tell you this: the worst thing is never the last thing. No matter what you are facing today, God has something better for you. I hear people talk about the “victorious Christian life,” as if everything is supposed to be smooth sailing from the moment you put your faith in Jesus. But I want to tell you that is a lie. It’s not true. Even if you read it online, it’s still a lie. Oh, not that the Christian life is not victorious. It is. But it’s not easy. Jesus said we would have trouble (John 16:33), and then he told us that if we trust him, that trouble will not be the last word. As our kids’ choir reminded us last Sunday, Jesus has overcome the world. He has defeated death. He stepped out of the grave, and the promise (the guarantee) is this: “He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you” (Romans 8:11). The worst thing is never the last thing. Life is hard, but God is good, and he will be with you through every battle you face.

Just like Mary in the garden, we find ourselves living between two worlds—the world that is, the world we can see and taste and touch and smell, the world of politics and finances and disease and death, and the world that is to come, the world described in the Bible as having “no more death or mourning or crying or pain” (Revelation 21:4; cf. Zahnd 190). And until that world comes, we trust in the one in whom, Scripture says, all things hold together (Colossians 1:17). The risen one is the one who holds us, even in the midst of the worst that can happen. The empty tomb gives us the hope that one day all will be as it should be. Jesus redeems all things and by his death and resurrection makes all things new.

Pastor Brian Zahnd has a poem that, I think, is an appropriate way to close this morning and to end this series. Here are his words: 

On the third day of new creation

the stone was rolled away.

On the third day the gardener walked again in the garden.

On the third day the firstborn emerged from a cocoon called death.

On the third day a new world was born.

There is the world that was and the world to come,

and between those two worlds

is the wood upon which the Son of God was hung.

Three trillion trees.

One became the wood between the worlds

(Zahnd 199).

Amen.