Easter begins in darkness.     

It’s been that way from the first Easter. Did you catch the opening sentence of the Easter story from John’s gospel?

He said, “Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb.”

Now, I can think of at least a handful of reasons why Mary Magdalene should not have gone to the tomb in the dark.

In the darkness, you might trip over something; in the darkness, it’s harder to find your way; in the darkness, you can’t see the dangers that might be lurking around.

In the darkness, there are more dangers lurking around. Not to mention that it’s downright scary to think about going to a tomb when it’s dark. That’s the stuff of “Twilight Zone” and “Halloween” plots. Hey, why don’t you wait, Mary, until the sun comes up?       

Mary’s nocturnal trip didn’t make a bit of sense in any practical way, and yet - the darkness was the perfect, even essential backdrop for the story. While it was still dark, Mary went to the tomb.

Well, of course. Darkness was the best description of her world at that time. With Jesus’ crucifixion, all hope had died.    

And we’re no strangers to darkness. In the past year, the darkness of violence has been at an all time high.  Iraqis and Americans have been killed at an alarming rate.  The Middle East is no closer to a lasting peace.  Terrorism is still at the forefront of the news. It seems just when things start to calm down there is another national or world hot spot that spills over into chaos.

All this hovers like an angry gray cloud over more personal kinds of darkness. You know what I mean:  

The man who sits at the table, eating in silence, across from a permanently empty chair that was not so long ago occupied by his wife of forty years.      

The woman who is called into her supervisor’s office to hear that times are hard for the company and they have to let her go.

“I wish it were different,” the supervisor says. The woman cleans out her desk, packs away her hopes for getting ahead, and wonders what she will tell the kids. 

The man who goes to the doctor to have a little something checked out, and hears the words he dreads the most: “It’s malignant. I’m sorry, we caught it too late.” 

The child whose most beloved playmate says in a fit of spitefulness, “You’re not my friend anymore.”     

The death of unity and goodwill; the death of hopes and dreams; the death of relationship; the death of loved ones – as Easter begins, we stumble along with Mary Magdalene to the place of death.

We know, oh, a little something about her despair.

And if you and I were dramatizing her story, writing the stage instructions, surely we would keep the set plunged in darkness while Mary runs to get Peter and the disciple whom Jesus loved.

If you and I were in charge of the script, we’d have the two men carry lanterns to see the grave cloths and linen wrappings as they lean down to look into the tomb. 

If we were the lighting technicians, we’d keep that feeling of night going while Mary weeps and pours out her sorrow to the angels sitting inside the tomb.

In fact, only when Mary sees a man whom she thinks is the gardener – only then would dawn finally begin to break.

That’s when we would turn up the light little by little. And when Jesus says Mary’s name, the sun would rise.

And in the brightness Mary recognizes Jesus’ sweet face and realizes that -- the Lord is risen, the Lord is risen indeed!  

The Easter story’s message of life arising out of death is the ultimate proclamation of hope; the ultimate testimony that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” 

That statement, found in the first chapter of John’s gospel, is preceded by the words: “In him was life, and the life was the light of all people.”       

In other words, it is the job description of Jesus of Nazareth, of the risen Lord, of the Holy Spirit of Jesus Christ to bring us an experience of a light that cannot be extinguished.

Just pick a darkness, any darkness, and watch Jesus as he brings light into it. His light shines on an alternative path; his light opens minds and hearts; his light shines across traditional barriers; his light can be found wherever healing and love are experienced.    

Wasn’t that the spirit of Christ at work in the compassion of the Iraqi lawyer who found Jessica Lynch and wouldn’t walk away? You remember Jessica – one of the first American servicewomen POWs a couple of years ago.

As I understand it, that man’s desire to help Jessica led him to disregard any notions of “Us” and “Them.” He risked his own safety and that of his family when he alerted American soldiers to Jessica’s whereabouts, and twice he returned to the hospital where Jessica was being held to obtain information needed by our military.

When asked about the rescue, he said simply, “She would not have lived. It was very important.” The light shines in the darkness.

And I believe I detected the risen Christ’s presence in an incident I read about on the internet. An American journalist told about seeing an Iraqi civilian who was badly injured by a bomb blast.

This journalist was taking notes for a news story while an American army medic bound the Iraqi’s wounds and started an IV. Then the medic was called away.

He said to the journalist, “Could you hold this man’s IV bag? Do what you can to keep the man alert and awake. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”      

The journalist was somewhat reluctant, but he took hold of the IV bag. After a period of awkward silence, he began to talk to the Iraqi man who was terrified and in great physical pain.

In the radio interview, the journalist said, “I don’t think that man understood anything I was saying. But I kept telling him, ‘It will be all right. It’s O.K.’ Maybe it was my tone of voice, but I think I reassured him. I think I made a difference.” The light shines in the darkness.

And surely it was the risen Christ at work on a recent Sunday morning when a man walked into a church, agitated, emotional, clearly in distress. Within a short time, a couple of church members spotted him and took him to the church kitchen, where they fed him breakfast and listened to his story.

Another person in the church who had been in the mental health profession made some phone calls to find options for this man to get the help he was seeking. Another member took the man to the hospital. Another called his mother, offering additional support if needed.  

That should be us.  At least that is who I would like us to be if we were faced with that situation.

In 1640, John Donne preached:     

“[God] brought light out of darkness, not out of a  lesser light; he can bring thy Summer out of Winter, though thou have no Spring; though in the ways of fortune, or understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted ‘til now, wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied ‘til now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the Sun at noon…”

Light and life to all he brings! Risen with healing in his wings.      

In the gray, dark times of discouragement, remember the Easter story and its good news that God will not be defeated.

The loving Creator whose very first words in the Bible were, “Let there be light,” shall also have the last word.

The evidence may appear to the contrary, but God’s resurrection power will prevail over … the darkness of war, the darkness of pain, the darkness of despair, the darkness of hunger, the darkness of hatred, the darkness of division,   the darkness of injustice…

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot, will not, shall not overcome it.       

Christ the Lord is risen today! Alleluia!    Amen.