From Darkness to Light

On Thursday, I walked over to the church a little before 10:00 because Diane and Tim Barton were delivering our Easter lilies, these beautiful symbols of new life. The Westside AA group was coming in for their weekly meeting at the same time. After the lilies had been brought inside, I feel into conversation with a lady who was carrying a plate of food for the AA meeting, I discovered that this was no normal potluck; they were in fact celebrating the anniversary of the founding of that particular meeting.
I knew this to be an old AA group; I recalled offering a prayer several years ago as they celebrated a significant anniversary. But neither I nor my conversation partner could recall exactly how old the group was. So, the lady called over Bill, who has been attended this particular meeting for decades. He told us that this was the 84th anniversary of the group’s first meeting, 84 years to the day in fact; they first met on April 17, 1941. Some of the original members had been mentored by AA co-founder Dr. Bob Smith. This is an exceptionally long time for a particular AA group to meet. Of course, all the original members have died and been welcomed into that eternal realm of health and wholeness where every addiction is at last fully overcome. And the group has meet in multiple locations over the years, at least eight, including here at St. Peter since 2017. But for 84 years, folks have been finding hope, help and healing through this AA meeting. 
Bill asked if I would again offer a prayer for the group on its anniversary as I had done when they celebrated 80 years. Of course, I agreed. Frankly, it was an honor to be asked. I offered an impromptu prayer of thanksgiving and blessing.  
    The prayer had an Easter theme. And as I thought about it later, the Easter connections became increasingly apparent to me. For 84 years, people who struggle with alcoholism have been helping one another in a fellowship of mutual aid, a community of love and care. For 84 years, alcoholics have met other alcoholics where they are on their life’s journey in order to help them move forward toward a healthier, sober future. For 84 years, a Higher Power—the God of resurrection—has worked through this group to usher people into a new, and more abundant life. For 84 years, people have been raised up from tombs of addiction, from the death in life of alcoholism, to newness of life. For 84 years, resurrections have happened. Easter has happened. 
On that first Easter, Mary too was meet where she was, in the middle of her struggle and pain.  The author of John tells us that Mary first came to the garden “when it was still dark.” Physically, she came in the pre-dawn darkness, in the waning hours of what must have been an interminable night. At the same time, emotionally and spiritually, she came to the garden in the darkness of grief and pain.
Her grief was only increased when she discovered that the tomb was empty. She didn’t know exactly what had happened—but she may have suspected grave robbers for she ran and found Peter and the Beloved Disciple and reported that “they have taken the Lord out of the tomb.” They ran back and confirmed that Jesus’ body was in fact gone, but they don’t seem to understand any better than Mary; the neatly folded grave clothes only deepened their confusion. So they just went home.
But when Mary looks in the tomb, she is confronted by two angels sitting where Jesus’ body had been. So profound is her grief that she doesn’t react to the angels—she does not fall to her knees, she doesn’t recoil in fear, she doesn’t even gasp. She simply tells her grief in response to their questions: “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 
The questions are only beginning, however. Mary, perhaps sensing a presence or hearing a noise, turns, and sees a man standing there. He asks her the same question the angels asked. “Why are you weeping?” And follows it with, “Who are you looking for?”   Assuming that he is the gardener and thus must have been the one who moved Jesus’ body, she begs him to tell her where he has taken it so that she can take his body. What she plans to do with it is unclear. She seems to be almost delirious with grief. 
But one word snaps her out of her delirium. The unknown man simply says her name, “Mary,” and she knows. This is the Good Shepherd who knows his sheep by name and whose sheep know his voice. [John 10.3 & 14; Francis Maloney, The Gospel of John, Sacra Pagina, Vol. 4, p. 526]      
The Good Shepherd has come out in search of Mary. When Jesus questions her, he is meeting her where she is, acknowledging the reality of her pain and struggle, her uncertainty and fear. “Woman, why are you weeping?” is not an accusatory question, as it is sometimes presented. Jesus is not criticizing her tears. He is asking a loving, compassionate question which invites Mary to speak her pain, to name her grief. She is being invited to discover for herself that Jesus lives. She is being invited to step into a new reality, into the life of God.
I don’t know that Mary really understood what was happening and who can blame her—the dead are supposed to stay dead. How can any of us wrap our mind around the Resurrection? And yet, Mary recognized Jesus when she heard him speak her name. She knew that he was alive; she didn’t know how, but there he was, standing before her, speaking to her as he had so often before. He was alive and everything was changed.     
When Mary entered the garden, it was for her, as for her modern namesake in Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising,” a “garden of a thousand sighs.” But in the light of the Risen Son, it becomes the garden of a thousand alleluias, the garden of a joy even more indescribable than had been the grief she felt. The impenetrable darkness through which she walked, has been banished and the fearful, formless shapes which once loomed menacingly over her have been resolved by the light into trees and flowers opening their heads to greet a glorious new day. Everything has changed.
She had entered the garden beneath a dark “sky of longing and emptiness.” Now she raises her gaze to the brightness of a “sky of fullness, [a] sky of blessed life,” a sky, a day, a world that is now illumined by the One who is the light of the world, the One who is the resurrection and the life. [Springsteen, “The Rising,” from the album, The Rising, released July 30, 2002]  Jesus came to her, called her name, and everything changed. Now everywhere she looks, she can see the glory of God shining forth from all things, illuminating all things, making all things new.
This is what Easter does: it changes everything. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it. 
Because Jesus is risen, we no longer need to fear death, for we know that God has the last word, and it is always a word of life.
Because Jesus is risen, we can live with courage, knowing that our small deeds of love and our halting efforts at justice really do matter, for God’s Kingdom is coming and no earthly power can stop it.
Because Jesus is risen, we can live with joy, even in the midst of struggle, pain and grief, for we know we are not alone. The Word who made all things, who died our death and was raised victorious walks beside us.
Because Jesus is risen, we can confront the challenges of life with hope, for Jesus has lived our human life and knows our pain and difficulty. He is the embodiment of the Higher Power who brings us healing and help.      
Jesus comes to us where we are—in the grip of addiction, in the pits of despair, in the midst of doubt, in the valley of fear, in the dark night of the soul. He who is the light of the world meets us in the darkness and illumines our way into newness of life. 
The resurrection of Jesus gives us hope for living this life and hope beyond death. So, let us heed the words of St. Augustine: “Do not abandon your selves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song!”