Soon, But Not Just Yet
by Marcus Dip Silas
The Holy Weekend is celebrated by Catholics, Orthodox Christians, and Protestants alike. Each year, followers of Jesus commemorate his death on Good Friday, and celebrate his resurrection on Easter Sunday. Churches are usually crowded with people and entire city blocks are cordoned off for the celebration in many Catholic-majority nations. Last year during Easter, I was in Malaga, where multitudes of people paraded through cobblestone streets singing songs of celebration and filled amphitheaters all over Spain as they listened to homilies delivered by priests and bishops.
This year, none of the typical fanfare will be taking place due to the Coronavirus global pandemic that has overtaken our world. In fact, most countries are in some sort of lockdown or quarantine – you might even be reading this from one of those countries. Many of us are probably safe and healthy while others may personally know someone who has contracted Covid-19. Some of us may have even lost a loved one to the complications of the virus.
On a global scale, economies are crumbling. The systems humans have built and trusted to serve us are failing. Food insecurities and the lack of basic necessities are becoming apparent in our communities. It is a time of crisis. In times like these when the feelings of lethargy and hopelessness seem to take center stage, we have even more to hope for in Jesus’ resurrection as recorded for us in the Gospels. In this time of uncertainty, I offer two personal revelations I draw from my reading of the resurrection account in John 20:11-17 (The Passion Translation):
Mary arrived back at the tomb, broken and sobbing. She stooped to peer inside, and through her tears she saw two angels in dazzling white robes, sitting where Jesus’ body had been laid—one at the head and one at the feet! “Dear woman, why are you crying?” they asked. Mary answered, “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they’ve laid him.”
Then she turned around to leave, and there was Jesus standing in front of her, but she didn’t realize that it was him! He said to her, “Dear woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?” Mary answered, thinking he was only the gardener, “Sir, if you have taken his body somewhere else, tell me, and I will go and . . .”
“Mary,” Jesus interrupted her. Turning to face him, she said, “Rabboni!” (Aramaic for “my teacher”)
Jesus cautioned her, “Mary, don’t hold on to me now, for I haven’t yet ascended to God, my Father. And he’s not only my Father and God, but now he’s your Father and your God! Now go to my brothers and tell them what I’ve told you, that I am ascending to my Father—and your Father, to my God—and your God!”
While the resurrection is recorded in all four Gospels, I find myself turning to the Gospel of John for a devotional reflection of the passage. The tone of voice by which Jesus speaks to Mary offers comfort in a time of grief, especially in this paraphrase translation.
If you have ever attended an Easter Sunday service, you may be familiar with the story – Mary Magdalene arrives at the tomb of Jesus only to discover the giant stone that once covered the entrance had been rolled away; the guards are nowhere in sight! For any ordinary spectator this would be a strange sighting, and even more so for Mary who was probably there when Jesus’ body was laid inside the tomb.
Mary goes running as fast as she can to inform the other disciples of the alarming predicament she has just discovered. John arrives first at the tomb, followed by Peter, where they both find the linen cloth of Jesus lying there, with the head cloth neatly folded separately. They leave bewildered and puzzled.
However, Mary stays. As she arrives back at the tomb, she is in deep mourning. Her encounter with the angels, and even with Jesus, indicates that she is confused and in a lot of emotional pain; she is broken. In the midst of her brokenness, Jesus appears.
Christ is Close
This is where I draw the first revelation of the risen Christ made known to humankind: He is close to the broken.
Truthfully, I am often not satisfied with this revelation. The triumphalist in me wants Jesus to appear gloriously. This is not the hero’s welcome I would expect out of a triumphant king. Why would Jesus go through such a horrendous experience only to botch the reveal with such indignity? Why not appear in front of Pontius Pilate, or Caiaphas? Why not appear before Herod and gloat his miraculous resurrection? The humility of my resurrected Lord unmasks my need for approval and vindication; my ugly cravings for vengeance. No, Jesus has not the insecurity of identity that we humans attempt to fill with the approval of the ones we deem significant. On the contrary, Jesus appears solitarily to a woman who cannot even recognize his face through the tears that cloud her eyes.
God is close to the brokenhearted and contrite in spirit (Psa. 34:18). He comforts those who mourn (Matt. 5:4). He gives the broken a crown of beauty for their ashes, joy for their mourning, and a garment of praise in place of despair (Isa. 61:3). He beckons the weary into his presence where rest is found (Matt. 11:28). He has said that we will not be swept over by raging waters or set ablaze by fierce flames (Isa. 43:2). To the weak, he will give strength (Psa. 29:11) and to those who weep, he will wipe away every tear from their eyes (Rev. 21:4).
So much of our expression of Christianity is built around how to avoid suffering and be blessed; Peter says that if we share in his sufferings, we will also share in his glory (1 Peter 4:13). We want to be favored over others – to be the head and not the tail; Jesus says the last shall be made first (Matt. 20:16). Indeed, Christ is with and is closest to those caught up in turmoil from which they find no earthly respite.
In Bible school, a dear professor of mine once said to me, “When humans attempt to encounter pain at their own convenience, they often become disillusioned and end up despaired. If we will encounter pain on his terms [and not ours], we will come to the end of ourselves and discover that Jesus is there, because He is always already in the midst of the pain.”
When we abandon our personal need for triumphalism and vindication, we will discover that the risen Christ is close. When we lay down our coping and defense mechanisms that we have constructed to keep ourselves safe from the vulnerability we perceive as weakness, we will see that he is close.
Christ is close to the most painful parts of my being.
Christ is Personal
Verse 16 presents us the climax of the the beloved disciple's resurrection account.
In the middle of Mary's breakdown, Jesus speaks her name.
“Mary.”
It is as though the clouds, gloom and grey, are suddenly pierced through with a corridor of light as Mary recognizes the way in which an all too familiar voice says her name.
There are two things that strike me here: Jesus' personal calling, and Mary's immediate breakthrough. It is as though Mary is given a foretaste of the "in the twinkling of an eye" moment that Paul wrote about in 1 Corinthians 15:52 of being caught up in a rapturous ascension. All because of the gentle, yet strong voice that bids her to look up and above what her physical, teary eyes cannot see.
Here, sight is sound; the call of Jesus becomes the vehicle to behold him even as Mary's very own eyes fails her. When the scripture tells us that faith comes by hearing, I would like to imagine this scene in John 20 as one of the instances it is referring to.
What deep intimacy must have been cultivated by Jesus and Mary before his crucifixion that all it took for her to see him as he truly is, was for him to say her name! O, for the longing of our hearts to be so fulfilled by the sound of his voice that even a single word summons every part of our being into perfect attention.
The risen Christ lifts us up from the tumultuous internal spiral that the human soul constantly finds itself caught up with, providing a relief akin to a freediver breaking through the surface of the sea as her lungs are filled with the oxygen she has so craved each and every second she was underwater.
"Rabboni!"
Recognition erupts from Mary's lips. Misty-eyed, she sees him once more: the one she longs for, mourns for, standing right in front of her. As she attempts to reach out to him, he draws back. Confused, she probably queries why he would withhold himself from her touch after revealing himself to her.
Soon, but not just yet - Jesus again comforts her. His mission is not yet complete; he has yet to ascend to his father.
Soon, but not just yet. What a wonderful and confusing paradox. When I proposed to my wife, she was a visiting student at Oxford. Between our engagement and our marriage, we would spend 6 months apart. Later, she told me that the ring on her finger reminded her of the promise of myself no video calls or text messages of "I love you" could provide. Every time she felt the ring, looked down and saw the ring, the promise of "soon, but not just yet" gave her hope in anticipation for the day we would be reunited and finally wed.
So dear are his beloved to him that he would delay his ascent to the Father with whom he is One. For the sake of his beloved, he would appear to his select few before all else, as a sign and promise that he would be back to whisk them away to a glorious reunion – soon, but not just yet.
The risen Christ is personal in his approach to us. He knows the storms that rage within and he knows his appearance will be all it takes to restore us - mind, body, and soul.
Christ is personal, and his sheep will know his voice. This is his promise to us that those who really love him will not be caught off guard and unaware when he returns.
He Lives, So We Live
In this period of personal and shared human suffering, we have a hope to look forward to - the Risen Christ will return to us. On the day he appears, all will be made right again. The winter of the soul will end as the warmth of his face will shine as the noon day sun. He will nourish again the blooming fields of our rejoicing as he fulfills his promise to his bride.
Such a day is only made possible through his death and resurrection. The redemption of humanity from her sins by his precious blood, spurred by the sacrifice of a loving Father, sealed by the presence of his Holy Spirit. This is our hope as we celebrate the risen Christ and the transitive power of his resurrection that he shares willingly with us.
Yes, the circumstances around us seem bleak. The road ahead feels long and laborious – and it will be so. Still we have a promise to us that the risen Christ who is close and personal makes available his peace and his presence for such times as these. His resurrection gives us hope that even in death he is victorious, so we are victorious.
Because he lives, so we live.