Teacher

This was (and I hope always will be) my message for Easter this year. Can you hear Him speaking your name?

Easter, 2019 (April 21); John 20:1 – 16 - TEACHER

Robert L. Withers, Prince George, VA

            Her life has been shattered – her hopes dashed – her joy turned to sorrow.  The light of her life

has gone out – her heart is broken.  From darkness to light she had come but now back to darkness.  

From despair to hope she had been borne, but now she’s collapsed back to despair.

            All those years in prison she had lived.  Not a prison of walls and bars but a prison of inner torment.  Not jailers of flesh and blood, but unmerciful captors who took their orders from none other than the warden himself, Satan.

            We don’t know the details of her captivity, we don’t know the specifics of her torment and despair – but we do know who rescued her from prison, we do know who opened the windows of her soul to see – after so many years in the dungeon of darkness - the light of life.

            For years the only voices she had known were those of her seven captors.  From morning till night and then through the night their voices were the ones that filled her ears, her heart, her mind.  Their voices drove her to do things that repelled her, things that she loathed to do, things that caused the citizens of her village to reel in revulsion.

            The chains of her tormentors did not bind her hands and feet; they bound her heart, they bound her mind.  The food she was given to subsist on in her confinement was not bread and water but self-accusation, hopelessness, self-loathing and perpetual despair.

            Oh but then that day – which began as just another night, for all days were as night and all nights were as if the sun, moon and stars had been blotted off the heavenly canvass – yes, but then there was that day that began as just another night.

            The crowds were gathering, gathering to hear the One known as the new Teacher.  It was said that anyone could come and see and hear Him. 

“Anyone?  Could this be true?” she asked, “but I am not allowed in the synagogue because I am an outcast.  And no respectable scribe or Pharisee, no accepted religious leader would allow me to be in his audience.”

            “Oh but,” she was told, “this Teacher is not a scribe, He is not a Pharisee, and He carries no certificate of authenticity nor license to preach from the religious authorities.  Truly all are welcomed by Him…come…come and see…come and hear.”

            And so even though confined within the walls of her prison she makes her way with the crowd and approaches the Teacher.  Her seven captors raise their voices, “No! No!  Not this way, you’re going the wrong way!  You vile despicable woman, who would want you!  Who would love you!  You’ll stay in this prison all your life, you have no hope of escape.  This will be your home forever!!! You have no hope, no hope, no hope!!!”

            As these frenzied voices reach a high-pitched crescendo in their attempt to drown out all other voices – she hears one word – one word amidst the cacophony of confusion within her heart and mind – one word that pierces the darkness, one word that brings her heart to life, one word that fills her lungs with pure fresh clean air  –

“Mary.”

          And the vile stench of her prison leaves her, her broken heart is healed, a life of despair is transformed into a life of joy, a life starved for love, starved for care and starved for acceptance finds itself enveloped in the love of God, the love of the Teacher – Jesus of Nazareth.

            We don’t know the horrific details of Mary’s imprisonment – Luke the physician, in writing his Gospel, clinically pens these words:

            “Now it came to pass afterward, that He [Jesus] went through every city and village, preaching and bringing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God.  And the twelve were with Him, and certain women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities – Mary called Magdalene, out of whom had come seven demons…” Luke 8:1-2.

            In the weeks and months that followed, the voice of Jesus conducted a symphony of joy within Mary’s soul.  It was as if thousands of flowers sprang to life in full bloom in her mind and heart.  The days were warm and sunny and even when there were clouds and storms in the sky there was Spring in Mary’s life for she was with Jesus.

            When Jesus looked at her, when He spoke to her, when He cared for her…He didn’t see her as one who had been held captive by seven demons, he didn’t view her as an outcast of society, He didn’t recoil from her as if she were an untouchable – He treated her as if she was a jewel created by her heavenly Father, as if she was precious and loved in the sight of God.  Every day, every day – was a day to cherish.

            That is…every day was a day to cherish until this past Friday…

“Oh how could it have happened,” Mary thought, “how could it have happened?  How could the week have happened…and how could it have ended with…with…with His death?  How could this be?”

            There she stands on the hill…she has followed Him all this way…ever since He had first spoken her name…penetrating her prison and setting her free…ever since that day she has followed Him and she will not abandon Him now.  So she stands on the hill…and with every pound of the hammer…nailing the spikes into the body of Jesus…with every blow of the hammer her heart breaks.  As the spikes tear through the flesh of Jesus they tear her soul – shredding it to pieces.

            She holds tight to Joanna, Salome and Mary the mother of Jesus, other women who have followed Jesus from Galilee – but there is no consolation, there can be no consolation – the light of her life is being snuffed out before her very eyes…Jesus is dying.

            “I will never hear Him call my name again and I will never again know the joy of looking 

into His eyes and calling Him Teacher.”

            The darkness that covers the land from noon until 3:00 on this Friday is merciful for Mary 

Magdalene – merciful for it hides from her eyes the unfathomable agony that Jesus is enduring.  At 

3:00, as the sun breaks through the darkness, she hears the voice of her Beloved yet again –

“It is finished.  Father into your hands I commit My spirit.” 

            Then it is over. 

“Over?  It can’t be…can it?   Over?  At least they’re leaving Him alone now…the

priests, the scribes, the Pharisees, the soldiers…at least they’re leaving Him alone now.”

“I will never hear Him call my name again”

            She and the other women sit and wait.  They can’t leave Him…so they sit and wait.

            A Roman solider approaches one of the two thieves crucified with Jesus…the man is still alive…this is not good…a holy day is approaching and they mustn’t have people lingering on a cross on a holy day…so the soldier breaks the man’s legs to expedite his death.  The other thief is also holding onto life…with a few cracks of a staff the Roman breaks two more legs.

            Then the hardened legionnaire inspects Jesus.  Is Jesus dead?  Yes, He’s dead.  No need to break his legs. 

            Mary breathes a sigh of relief…”No need to break the legs of my Beloved, of my Teacher.”

            The solider lays the staff on the ground…but then grabs a spear and pierces the side of Jesus…blood and water flow out from Christ and the women moan…”Oh why can’t they just leave Him alone?” they cry through unabated tears.

            The last Roman solider walks away.

            As evening approaches Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus come to the Cross and the dead body of Jesus.  The women watch as these two clandestine followers of Christ gently take His body down, wrap it in linen and tenderly carry it to a nearby tomb.  The body is placed in the tomb, the mammoth stone is rolled over the entrance…and as night descends the women make their way back to their small rented room in Jerusalem.

            “Oh Jesus, Jesus, the light of my life.  Where have you gone?  Why have you gone?  Will I never hear your voice again my dear beloved Teacher?”

            Friday night, Saturday and Saturday night is unrelieved agony for Mary Magdalene.  Shadowy images dance in and out of her mind – some consoling her, as when she thinks of times past with Jesus, but most tormenting her – as she replays that horrid Friday over and over again.  It is as if the priests, scribes and Pharisees have invaded her own mind and heart, they are throwing accusations at her just as they did to her Beloved.

            “If your Jesus is go great then why didn’t He come down from the Cross?  If your Jesus is so great, if He really is the Son of God, why has God rejected Him, why didn’t God save Him?  If your Jesus is so great…where is He now?  Ha ha ha Mary Magdalene, ha ha ha…where is your precious beloved Teacher now?”

            Mary struggles to get through Friday night, Saturday and Saturday night – for once the Sabbath is over on Saturday night she has one more thing to do – one mission in life – to properly care for the body of Jesus.  She’ll get up early Sunday morning, before the break of dawn, and she will go to the tomb and care for the body of Jesus.  After that what will she do?  Where will she go?  She can’t see that far ahead…and it really doesn’t matter anyway…for her Beloved, her Jesus, her Teacher…is dead.

            Saturday night is spent in a half-sleep.  One eye sleeps and the other eye watches for the first hint of morning.  Her ears strain to hear the sounds of a city coming to life so that she’ll know it’s time to go – time to go to the body of Jesus.

            As dawn approaches, Mary Magdalene and the other women make their way out of the city.  It is a walk of sorrow for they pass over the same streets that Jesus walked on Friday – they pass through the same gate through which Jesus was driven on Friday – and they hear the jeers and cheers in their minds – minds now numbed with pain at the loss of their friend – the crowds are jeering Jesus and cheering His executioners.

            The women enter the garden adjacent to the hill of execution, making their way to the tomb – its location indelibly etched into their memories.  As the sun’s first rays light their way they blink their eyes, they blink again, their pace quickens…they run, they run to the tomb – they gasp - for the stone has been rolled away– “Oh no, oh no, oh no. They’ve come and taken Him away.  What have they done with Jesus?”

            Back to Jerusalem they run, they run, they run – their hearts breaking, blinded with tears they run – “Could they not have had the dignity to leave His body in peace?  Why did they take Him away?”

            The eleven disciples are just waking up when they hear footsteps scurrying up the staircase to the upper room where they are staying.

            “Footsteps.  Are the Romans and Temple police here to arrest us too?” Peter questions.

            John reassures him, “No, wait, I don’t hear the clanging of arms, nor the pounding of heavy feet, these are not soldiers coming up the stairs.” 

            The apostles open the door to find the distraught women crying, “They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb and we do not know where they have laid Him.”

            Peter and John grab their cloaks and rush out – yelling to their companions, “We’ll be back as soon as we can and let you know what’s going on.” 

Mary Magdalene follows as fast as she can – her legs ache, her heart breaks – with every stride she questions, “Where oh where have they taken my Lord, my Jesus, my Teacher?”

John gets to the tomb before Peter, looks inside and sees it empty with the exception of the linens used to wrap the body of Jesus.  The full-length linen is neatly folded on one end of the slab and the head covering is folded with precision at the other end.  Once Peter arrives they go into the tomb together and come to the same conclusion – “Mary was right, the women were right after all, the body of Jesus isn’t here.”  They depart to take their conclusion back to their associates.

But Mary, Mary Magdalene, stands outside the tomb drenched in tears, tears that continue to flow – her weeping having long since burst any dam of constraint there might have been.  She stoops down, she will have yet one more look inside the tomb – and this time she sees a bit more than neatly folded linen – this time she sees two angels – one at the head of the slab where the body of Jesus had laid, the other at the foot.

Throughout the Scriptures people encounter angels, throughout history people encounter angels, God’s messengers.  The typical response of a man or woman encountering an angel is awe and often fear.  Mary has neither, no awe, no fear – angels mean nothing to her – she is not seeking angels – she is yearning for her Jesus, her Lord, her Teacher.

The angelic duet says to Mary, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

Mary replies, “Because they have taken away my Lord and I do not know where they have laid Him.”

As these words are uttered Mary senses someone behind her…straightening up and turning around she sees a man through her veil of tears…the person asks, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

Mary, supposing him to be the caretaker of the garden responds, “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.  Please sir, give me the body of my Beloved, give me the Body of my Jesus, please give me the body of my Teacher.”

Mary turns her face away from the man, bursting into uncontrolled sobbing.

Jesus says to her…“Mary.”

Mary turns, looks into His eyes…and responds…

”Teacher.”

HE IS RISEN!