‘While it was still dark’ (John 20:1-18).
‘Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark’ (John 20.1).
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
We often think of Easter as a sunrise story - the moment the first light hits the garden, the stone is rolled away, and the darkness gone. Our reading this morning from John’s Gospel pulls us back into the hours before the dawn. The Resurrection began ‘early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark.’ (John 20.1)
Before the stone was moved, before the angels spoke, the work of God was already unfolding in the dark. This morning, we celebrate the darkness as the site of God’s glory, and the womb of resurrection life. God’s most essential work of resurrection happens in the depths of the earth, while the world is silent and still dark.
It sometimes feels like society conditions us to be impatient with the dark. We are taught to equate the light with progress and positivity, and the darkness as a space of absence or a delay to be overcome. Yet, for me darkness is also a place for the movement of the Spirit, knowing Jesus is with me.
In the ordinary life of the world, there is much that sustains our world while we sleep:
Last night, in hospitals around the country, nurses tended to those who struggled to sleep. In hospices, carers and loved ones will have held someone’s hand, letting them know they are not alone. Parents will have cradled their babies to sleep. This vigil of care is the work of remaining – of staying present in the quiet and the dark.
And the work that continues through the night – the emergency services standing ready; those fishing by night on the deep; the drivers and food producers ensuring the world is fed by morning. This is the invisible scaffolding of our common life. It reminds us that life does not pause when the sun goes down.
In these moments, darkness is a place of creativity and germination. Just as a seed, in Jesus’ own parable, must fall to the earth and die to produce a harvest, so the resurrection reminds us that God is at work in the quiet depths of the tomb. God does not wait for the sun to rise to begin the work of saving the world; the life-giving work is already at full strength in the darkness.
When Mary Magdalene arrives in the garden, she is grief-stricken. When the other disciples run away, she remains at the tomb seeking Jesus. There is a profound faithfulness in this. It reminds us that we do not need clear answers to be close to God. For Mary, seeking, weeping and peering into the mystery, is her act of worship.
St Gregory of Nyssa taught that our journey toward God is a journey into ‘dazzling darkness’. As the soul draws closer to the Divine, it leaves behind everything it thinks it knows. To truly see God is to know that God is invisible, unsearchable – to find God in the very place where our understanding stops.
Mary stands in exactly this ‘dazzling darkness.’ Her tears and her confusion are the space where her old ideas about Jesus are stripped away to make room for something new and beautiful.
Anyone who has experienced hurt or trauma will know that healing doesn't always resolve into a tidy, bright, ‘happy ever after’. Sometimes, the most honest kind of faith is found in the quiet, middle spaces where life and death overlap. Mary stands at the empty tomb with her heart in pieces.
Perhaps you are here today, standing in your own version of the dark, perhaps with your own heart shattered. Perhaps you are seeking something you cannot quite name or grieving a version of life that has changed. If you have been knocked off course by illness, bereavement, unemployment or any other human crisis – I pray you know that God walks you through that darkness.
And we know that violence, division and insecurity are affecting the lives of billions of people around the world. Many feel that their heart is in pieces. The bereft, the wounded, the refugee. This week our gaze and our prayers have been turned towards the land where Jesus was crucified and raised from the dead. Today, as we shout with joy that Christ is risen, let us pray and call with renewed urgency for an end to the violence and destruction in the Middle East and the Gulf. May our Christian sisters and brothers know and celebrate the hope of the empty tomb – and may all people of the region receive the peace, justice and freedom they long for.
The invitation of Easter is to a relationship. Jesus does not wait for Mary to be certain; he finds her in her grief and darkness and calls her into the light and hope of resurrection.
As Mary stands at the tomb, the mystery of the resurrection becomes personal. Jesus says one word: “Mary.” In that single word, the ‘dazzling darkness’ breaks open. Suddenly, the silence of the grave is shattered, and alleluias come tumbling out of the tomb. In the sound of her name, Mary discovers that she is known and loved at her deepest level. The darkness isn't banished, it is inhabited by the voice of the one who summons her.
Jesus doesn’t wait for us to have it all together. Jesus is with us in the darkness. Jesus calls us by name and invites us to be with him in the light of the resurrection, to trust that we are known and loved.
As the sun rises and the dawn breaks, Mary runs with the good news – the apostle to the apostles - proclaiming: ‘I have seen the Lord!’ This Easter, we are all invited to follow in Mary’s footsteps.
The Risen Christ stands beside you, calling your name and inviting you into the resurrection life.
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
