God’s “No”

John 20:1-18

There are some things God just cannot do. There are some things with which God cannot be associated.

When you woke up this morning, you likely didn’t think you would hear a sermon later about the things God cannot do. Easter doesn’t seem like the best time to talk about God’s limitations especially because this is the day that we celebrate God’s action in our world symbolized by an empty tomb.

We will get to the amazing things God can and is doing in our world in a moment, but we need to linger with Mary at the empty tomb. We need to hear her cries; we need to feel her breathlessness when she first sees the stone rolled away; we need to gasp with her as she hears her name with that familiar intonation that her friend Jesus uses.

What was going through her mind throughout all of this?

The stories we tell of the first Easter morning are often an amalgamation of all of the gospel stories. In today’s story, we read of Mary going early in the morning, while it was still dark. This detail is important as it reminds us of the mystery of this whole day.

Pastor and theologian Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us

By all accounts, a stone blocked the entrance to the cave so that there were no witnesses to the resurrection. Everyone who saw the risen Jesus saw him after. Whatever happened in the cave happened in the dark.

The darkness in this text is gloomy only because the grief was 1 heavy. But, the darkness of the tomb is mysterious and beautiful. The resurrection had already happened before Mary arrived as the stone had already been rolled away from the tomb.

When she arrived at the tomb, fear filled her being. And she ran. It was this fear that made her assume the worst. Rationally, she made sense. If the stone had been rolled away and the body not present, of course someone must have stolen Jesus’ dead body. She notified the other disciples, who by the way, were cowering in a room in fear that they would be met with the same fate as Jesus if someone found them out and about. Several of them ran to the tomb, though the writer of this Gospel—the one Jesus loved—ran the fastest.

When they arrived at the tomb, the men took a look. With very little dialogue, they left almost as fast as they arrived. But Mary remained. And wept. Through her tears, she encountered a man she assumed to be the gardener and when he called her name, she realized it was the one for whom she was crying.

When we think of the Easter celebration, we often think about lilies and trumpets. We think about joy and celebration. We think about flowering the cross and pastel colors. But as Ignatius of Antioch said, “Christ rose in the silence of God.” We don’t think about grief and exasperation. We don’t think about silence and darkness. Though we read this text or one similar to it every Easter Sunday, it is rare for us to consider the weight of the trauma these disciples experienced over the course of the weekend. That is until we experience trauma of our own.

The last several weeks have been traumatic for us. We’ve felt fear and uncertainty about our future. We’ve had events canceled and families have had to live separated. And it is through our own trauma and pain that the disciples’ feelings become ever so present to us. When they have finally begun to come to terms with Jesus’ death, with the end of this movement for which they risked their lives, with the end of their hopes for a new existence, with the end of this vision of a God whose love is bigger, grace is wider and compassion is deeper than anything they’ve experienced…when they finally came to terms with this end, they learn that God has said “no.”

On Easter morning, they learned that God just can’t put up with some things. They learned that there are some things that God just cannot do. They learned that there are some things with which God cannot be associated.

On Easter morning, alongside the disciples we learn of God’s no to systems that injure — emotionally, physically, spiritually. Through Mary’s tear-filled eyes, we learn of God’s no to patriarchy as Jesus entrusts her with the message of his resurrection. Through Jesus’ wounds he still bears all over his body, we learn of God’s no to the physical violence of the empire. Through the disciples’ fearful cowering in the room where they had been just days before celebrating Passover with their friend, we learn of God’s “no” to violent empires that oppress through fear, exclusion, terror, and spectacle.

There are some things that God just cannot do, and oppression is one of them. The resurrection is God’s no to systems that injure.

On Easter morning, alongside Mary, we learn of God’s “no” to abandonment. Her grief overwhelms her. She feels alone. When she arrived at the tomb to find it empty that morning, her first instinct was to go and get her friends. So she does. Once they observe it, once they take it in, they leave. They don’t even recognize their grieving friend just steps away from where they were. Mary misses Jesus. She remembers that he promised to never abandon them; to never leave them alone. Perhaps she begins resenting her friends who just left. Perhaps she even begins resenting Jesus who left her alone. But then the gardener shows up and calls her name. As the name reverberated in her ears, her heart was warmed. She was no longer alone. He kept his promise.

Theologian Jonathan Walton says, “Even when personal circumstances are far from ideal, and it is difficult to discern God’s presence, Jesus told his followers he wouldn’t leave them as orphans.”^[1] 

The sound of Mary’s name; the recognition that it was not the gardener after all showed that there are some things God cannot do and abandonment was one of them.

And finally, we learn as we run to and from the tomb with Mary and the other disciples of God’s “no” to understanding. No one was there to witness the resurrection and as a result no one has ever settled on an absolute account of what happened, why it happened, and what it meant. On Easter morning, we move into the realm of faith, a realm that is not verifiable despite our best efforts. It is a realm that is mysterious and ambiguous. It is a realm that asks more questions and receives few answers. It is a realm in which every time we return to it, we receive a new meaning. We find new depth. We hear a new Voice.

Theologian Serene Jones reminds us of the mystery here and of God’s resistance to understanding saying, “We are obsessively committed to telling and retelling this story…all the time hoping that if we repeat it often enough, we might succeed in unlocking its secret.”^[2] 

In the darkness of the tomb, we are reminded of God’s “no” to understanding. Though we—like the disciples at the tomb—have been traumatized by the death that surrounds us among other things, God’s “no” gives us hope for God’s “yes.”

Amen.

Katie Calloway

First Baptist Church, Savannah, GA