"Early on Sunday morning, as the new day was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went out to visit the tomb." (Matthew 28:1 NLT)
My friend and I got it in our heads to rise before dawn and hike a hill to meet the sun on Easter morning. She and I are a little extra when it comes to all things biblical, and I knew if anyone would take an Easter morning expedition with me, she’d be game. We set our alarms and awoke to inky darkness. We drove across town to a lookout park and picked our way up the trail in shadows. The magnificent sunrise we had hoped for never came, but the experience was still profound.
Right away, we remembered the women grappling in grief and darkness. We had headlights and iPhones, they would have made their way through the dark garden with handheld oil lamps. We had the testimony of four gospels declaring Jesus as alive, they had the testimony of His hours of anguish and collapse into death.
The early morning garden-goers surely crawled slowly under the weight of their sorrow. I read just last week how all forms of mourning are suspended during Shabbat and I can’t help but wonder how the women of Jesus groped their way through Silent Saturday. When evening finally came and Shabbat concluded, did they mourn through the midnight hours, as I would have? The private chamber is where loss is the loudest; no distraction, no deterrent, just alone in angst. Had these women up before dawn actually been up with their anguish all through the night?
A few hundred feet into our climb, I noticed the birdsong abounding. Birds are quite loud in the last hour before dawn. Turns out they are testing their lungs in the moist morning air. Their sound travels farther in fog and the utilize the extra mileage to attract their mates. While my friend and I enjoyed their fanfare, it occurred to me the that Marys may have resented it. How could the birds still sing when the Savior had died? Didn’t they know their Creator was fatally crushed and crammed in a garden grave?
As we continued to climb our pre-dawn path. the world was washed in shades of grey. The sidewalk and sky were light and everything else was shaded. We made our way to the lookout and found a break in the trees to peer out over the still-sleeping city. In 2023, buildings glowed against the foggy morning air. but lamps and torches would have had far lesser effects in 33 AD. The women wouldn’t have been able to see much until morning came.
Our sun never rose; not in a a way we could appreciate, anyway. The appointed time and and went and the sky only got less grey. The morning’s heavy cloud cover lasted most of the day, but we did appreciate how the world went from shades of grey to tinges of color. The black branches and boughs became beautiful bursts of green.
On the way down, my friend and I considered the difference between Old Testament and New, between law and grace. It would seem that the old Garden served as the spine between Testaments. We readily agreed, we were both glad to be living on this side of grace.
"And as they went Jesus met them and greeted them. And they ran to Him, grasped His feet, and worshiped Him." (Matthew 28:9 NLT)
Lord, today we recognize anew the miraculous nature of Your resurrection and everything it purchased for us. You met our mourning with morning and filled our world with color. You defeated death and invite us to live in light of Your victory. Like the Marys, we make our way to meet You, picking through shadows and tears, just sure that Your presence will altar everything. Amen.