Despair. It is an ugly word that describes an even uglier
predicament. It refers to the complete loss of all hope. Hope is the fuel of
life. Hope enables us to endure difficult days, prolonged pain, and sorrowful suffering.
When all hope is extinguished, despair sets in with all of its dark anguish.
Despair is set like a trapper’s snare before us, ready to lay hold of any who
wander the path of hopelessness. Its temptation is ever before us, and none of
us are immune to falling prey to it. In this fallen world, so infected and
corrupted by sin and the effects of its curse, it is no surprise that so many
find themselves in despair. It is, rather, surprising that more do not. Our
bodies are falling apart from the moment of conception. Our first step is a
step toward the grave. And along the way, we are surrounded by suffering. Were
it not for hope, despair would be our only alternative. And true hope is found
nowhere else but in Jesus Christ.
Mary Magdalene had found that hope, and it lifted her from
her despair. Luke 8:2 records it for us in a brief economy of words. “Mary who
was called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out.” That is how we are
introduced to her in Scripture. “Magdalene” refers to her hometown, Magdala. Prior
to meeting Jesus Christ, Mary’s entire existence was a literal hell on earth.
She was possessed, not by a demon, but by seven demons. All of her bodily
faculties were controlled and conducted by the forces of Satan. In John 10:10,
Jesus describes the work of Satan as “to steal, kill, and destroy.” Her life
had been stolen; her personality, emotions, and mind had been killed; her life
was being destroyed moment by moment, over and over again every day of her
life. But Jesus also said that He had come to give life, and that abundantly.
Mary met the Lord of life, and He delivered her from her hellish bondage and
gave her life, more abundant than she had ever known before. From that day on,
she began to follow and serve Him. She and a handful of others began supporting
the work of Jesus and his disciples from their own resources (Lk 8:3). She was
present at the cross when He died, and when His lifeless body was wrapped in
cloths and placed in the tomb (Mt 27:56, 61). It was her love for Jesus that
brought her to the tomb to help the others finish the burial preparations. It
was her love that gave flight to her feet to go and report to the disciples
that His body was missing. It was her love that kept her there when all the
others had gone. But love was all she had left. Jesus had been the object of
her faith, her hope, and her love. Faith had been put to death, and hope had
been sealed into a cold, dark grave. All that was left on that Sunday morning
was love. And, as William Cowper (the great hymnwriter who wrestled with
despair his entire life) once said, “Absence from whom we love is worse than
death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.”[1]
And so it is that we find Mary Magdalene in the garden. She
is in despair. But in her despair she is met by the risen Jesus and she moves
from despair to delight. I wonder if any here today are in despair? I need not
wonder if any have ever been, or may yet be. But if you find yourself there at
some point, or if someone you love is there, I suggest to you that (like Mary
Magdalene) the Living Lord Jesus is able to transform you from despair to
delight as you encounter Him. Let’s see how He does that for her, and how He
may do it for us, as we explore our text.
I. The Living Lord Jesus confronts us in the confusion of
despair (vv11-15).
We find Mary in our text standing outside the tomb weeping.
The Greek word used here for “weeping” indicates a loud and demonstrative
wailing of sorts, not the quiet tears of reserved mourning. It is the word used
to describe Peter’s bitter weeping after he denied the Lord (Mt 26:75). In
another passage, it is used to describe a scene surrounding the death of a
synagogue official’s daughter, where there was “a commotion, and people loudly
weeping and wailing” (Mk 5:38-39). These are the kinds of contexts in which we
find this word that here describes Mary’s weeping. Her grief is unrestrained.
If you have ever grieved, and who among us has not, you know
that grief can have a disorienting or stupefying effect on you. It did on Mary.
She looked into the tomb as she wept. Had she looked in before? Perhaps; we do
not know for sure. But when she looked in this time, she saw something other
than the burial cloths which Peter and John had seen. She saw two angels.[2]
But, I don’t think Mary understood what she was seeing. I say that because
almost always in Scripture, when humans encounter angels, their immediate
response is fear. That is why most angelic messages in Scripture begin with,
“Fear not,” or “Do not be afraid.” But in the confusion of her despair, Mary
apparently did not perceive that she was entertaining angels there in the tomb.
With a hint of tenderness, the angels ask, “Woman, why are
you weeping?” Have you ever noticed how often heavenly messages come in the
form of questions? It is not as though God or His angels have need of
information. Rather, the questions are invitations for the individuals in these
encounters to open their hearts and disclose themselves willingly. These angels
know full well why Mary is weeping. They know it is because of the compounded
hopelessness of the death of her Lord and the disappearance of His body. They
want her to say it. And she does: “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I
do not know where they have laid Him.” Either she was not present when Peter
and John inspected the tomb and concluded that the body was not stolen and that
Jesus had risen, or the despair was so deeply engulfing that she could not
believe it.
Something caused Mary to turn away from the angels at this
moment. Was it a shift in the direction of their gaze, the sound of footsteps
approaching, or that numinous sense that often arises when we feel that someone
is watching us? We do not know, but turning around, she saw someone else
standing there. John tells us that it was Jesus, but Mary did not know that.
She certainly did not expect to see Jesus there. Some have speculated that
tears had clouded her vision. That may be a bit too sentimental. Besides this,
we know that on multiple occasions He was not recognized by His disciples after
the resurrection. Certainly we can say that the confusion of her despair caused
her to be unaware of the Lord’s presence with her. Again He asks, “Woman, why
are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” And again, of course He already knew.
But He wants her to put words to her despair and say that her hopes have been
dashed, her faith has been shattered, and that above all else she wants once
more to set eyes upon her beloved Lord.
Mary supposed Him to be the gardener. Who else would be out
in the garden at this time of morning? Perhaps the gardener moved the body
somewhere for safekeeping. Whatever the case, Mary makes a preposterous offer.
“Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will
take Him away.” She gave no thought to the physical impossibility of
single-handedly carrying the body of Jesus along with the hundred pounds of
spices that had been bound into the linen wrappings. So strong was her love and
so deep was her despair that she was willing to do whatever it took to set
things right. Little did she know that things were already set more right than
they had been since Adam and Eve walked in the Garden. Did she suppose Him to
be the gardener? She was more right than she knew, for He had come to rid the
world of the curse of sin that had evicted mankind from the paradise of Eden .
When we find ourselves in the confusion of despair, we need
to remember Mary. She was not alone in her despair, though she felt alone.
Neither was she rebuked for her despair. Instead, the questions invited her to
open her heart and her mouth to disclose the secrets of her grief and sorrow.
There in that place of death, the Living Lord confronted her in the confusion
of despair. She did not recognize Him or the heavenly messengers He had sent.
The Psalmist said, “Where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven,
You are there. If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there” (Psa 139:7-8).
Mary had encamped in Sheol, the place of the dead, not knowing that the Living
Lord was right by her side. Friends, when we are in despair, it is hard to
remember that we are never alone. When we find ourselves weeping in life’s
desolate places, it is hard to recognize the messengers that God sends to us
for our encouragement. But even there we find the sandaled feet of the
Gardener, beckoning us to give voice to our pain and grief. He already knows.
He wants to be welcomed into it that He may lift us from the confusion of
despair.
Martin Luther is regarded as a spiritual giant and a hero of
the Christian faith. But Luther was often perplexed with depression and
despair. On one occasion, when he was particularly downcast, his wife put on a
black dress. Luther asked, “Are you going to a funeral?” His wife replied, “No,
but since you act like God is dead, I wanted to join you in your mourning.”[3]
Mary Magdalene was not acting. Her God had died! Is there a deeper despair than
that? But like Brother Martin, in despair we often act as though God had died,
and in that moment, we find a companion coming to join us in our mourning. It
is the Living Lord Himself who confronts us in the confusion of our despair. That
is what He did for Mary, and that is what He desires to do for each of us. And
when the Living Lord confronts us in the confusion of despair, if we will but
recognize His presence and open our hearts to Him, a transformation begins to
occur.
II. The Living Lord Jesus comes to us with the comfort of
delight (vv16-18).
Despair does not set in immediately. It is a long, slow, downward
spiral. But the journey out of despair does not always have to be equally long
and slow. It often is, but it doesn’t have to be. Mary Magdalene is an example
of that. Instantaneously, the darkness lifts and the joy of delight breaks
forth. Can it happen for us in our despair? And if so, how? We may discover it
as we examine how it happened for Mary in our text.
First comes the realization, not only that she is not alone,
but that the Lord whom she seeks, whose absence she dreads, is actually present
with her. He had been for some time, but she could not detect it. But then
comes this moment of tender intimacy when Jesus calls her by name. “Mary!” is
all that He said. There is no time spent wondering how in the world the
gardener knows her name. All it takes is the sound of her name crossing His
lips to make her realize that the One who was dead is alive again.
Jesus said in John 10:27, “My sheep hear My voice, and I
know them, and they follow Me.” He knows all those who are His by faith in a
special way. He knows us, and calls to us by name. At the hearing of her name,
Mary recognized a familiarity in His voice, and suddenly all is different in
her disposition! In our moments of despair, it helps us to know that the Lord
has not forgotten about us. The Lord says through Isaiah the prophet, “Can a
woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you
on the palms of My hands” (Isa 49:15-16). Those palms have been pierced with
nails out of love for you. The Lord Jesus endured all that was inflicted upon
Him as He laid down His life in a demonstration of His unparalleled love for
you. Look to the cross! Look to the empty tomb! Look to the Risen Lord and
behold His wounds! His wounds are ever before Him as tokens of His affection
for you. Open your Bible and read it as if it were written specifically for
you, because it was! Insert your name into all the precious promises of God’s
Word and hear those things spoken with a Galilean dialect as the Lord’s own
comforting assurance that He has never left you nor forsaken you.
Mary responds abruptly, “Rabboni!” It is a Hebrew and
Aramaic expression, and John translates it for us. It means “teacher.” But it
means something even more intimate than this. It means, “My Teacher!” This is
the One whom she had loved, in whom she had trusted, and in whom she had placed
all of her hopes for this life and the life to come! And she did more than just
speak His title, she became physically demonstrative. We may infer from the
text that she threw herself upon Him. Why else would Jesus need to say in verse
17, “Stop clinging to Me!” Before we attempt to understand that statement, we
need to pause long enough to consider what Mary has done here, that we may
emulate her example in our journey from despair to delight! She renewed her
faith and hope in Him, and she cast herself upon Him as the object of her
utmost joy! From the depths of despair, when all the things of this world have
been shaken beneath our feet, we must come to the place where we call upon Him
and cast ourselves upon Him. Surely the words of the Psalmist are coming to
life in her heart: “Whom have I in heaven but You? And besides You, I desire
nothing on earth” (Psa 73:25). When we come to that place where we realize that
all we have is Christ, it is a blessed place, for there we discover that all we
need is Christ. And we return to faith, hope, love and joy in Him knowing that
no matter how we have felt, the truth of the matter is that He has never left
us, never forsaken us, and never forgotten us!
Jesus says, “Stop clinging to Me, for I have not yet
ascended to the Father.” I have to confess, this has always been a very
puzzling statement for me to grasp. As I sat down to study in preparation for
this message, I turned to one of my most trustworthy commentaries for an
explanation and found these unsettling words: “This verse belongs to a handful
of the most difficult passages in the New Testament.”[4]
That was simultaneously both alarmingly uncomfortable and ironically
comforting. If the greatest Biblical scholars have had trouble with the
passage, no wonder that my mind cannot grasp it. And yet, I think I have come
to appreciate something of what the Lord means here. For Mary, clinging to
Jesus was a way of expressing, “Do not ever leave me again, or else take me
with you!” Jesus’ statement expresses two equally important truths to her.
First of all, there was no need for her to cling to Him now, because, as He says,
“I have not yet ascended to the Father.” For forty days, He would continue to
be present among the disciples, teaching them of “the things concerning the kingdom of God
But in another sense He is saying, “I will be going
somewhere soon, and where I am going you cannot come at this time.” He is
preparing her to loosen her physical grasp on Him. The day will come, six weeks
from this point, when He will ascend to the Father. No longer will she be able
to touch Him with her hands or see Him with the eye of flesh. She must learn to
see Him with the eye of faith. He will still be present with those who are His,
but He will be present in the person of His Holy Spirit. Jesus had told His
disciples in John 16:7, “It is to your advantage that I go away; for if I do
not go away, the Helper will not come to you; but if I go, I will send Him to
you.” And Jesus is saying that this is better. How could it be better to have
the Holy Spirit instead of the
physical presence of Christ? Because He will be in you, able to direct your life from within as you walk by faith
with Christ. He will be wherever His people are. In His flesh, if you want to
be with Jesus, you would have to go to wherever He is. But by the ministry of
His Spirit, He has come to us, to be with us wherever we are. Jesus is saying
to Mary, “If you desire to keep Me here, then I cannot be anywhere else. But if
I ascend to the Father, then I will always be present with you, and within you,
and not only you, but in all of those who trust in Me by faith.” So, in a
unique sense that is not applicable to us, Jesus is saying, firstly, “I’m not
going anywhere yet, so you don’t have to cling to Me.” But in a sense that is
entirely applicable to us, He is saying, “I am going away physically, so that I
will never depart from any of My sheep spiritually.” And friends, that is a
precious gift from God. The moment we come to faith in Christ, His Spirit comes
upon us to dwell within us, and He never leaves. When we find ourselves in
despair, wondering where Jesus is in the midst of our difficulties, we need
only to remember that He has ascended
to the Father, where He is seated at His right hand making intercession for us,
and from whence He has deployed His Holy Spirit to be evermore with us in a way
that He could not in His physical body. God is with you, and in you, awaiting you to recognize His
presence and rely on His power even when we are at our weakest.
Now finally, as Mary journeys from despair to delight, Jesus
says to her, “Go to my brethren and say to them, “I ascend to My Father and
your Father, and My God and your God.” It is at once a comfort and a
commission. It is a comfort, for we are told that our relationship with the God
of the universe is not distant and strange. It is intimate and precious. He is
not merely “God,” but “my God.” The same God that Jesus calls His own is also
ours. We belong to Him and He to us. But even more intimately, the One whom
Jesus had eternally called His Father has become “my Father.” By His saving
work on the cross, Jesus has reconciled us to His Father even while we were
once in rebellion to Him. He is the Father of the prodigal who runs to meet His
wayward children as we take the first step toward home in response to His
beckoning grace. Jesus says, “The One I go to – my God and your God – is My
Father, and your Father!” God is not merely present with us, He is intimately
affectionate toward us, loving us as sons and daughters through our faith in the
Christ who has saved us from our sinful rebellion. What a comfort to know that
when all others in this world fail us, we have a Father in heaven who will
never fail us, and will always be faithful to us! He is my God and my Father.
That is a comfort.
But here is also a commission. “Go and say,” Jesus tells
her. Go and tell the others that He lives, that He who died is risen, and that
He is going to the Father to be our Great High Priest, bearing our very names
in the wounds of His flesh. It may surprise you to know that I have been no
stranger to discouragement, depression, and even despair. Is it scandalous for
me to admit it? I am not bothered by that. But I will tell you that when that
fog sets in, I have found no faster remedy than to retreat to my commission to
make known the good news of the Living Lord Jesus to others – be they my
brothers and sisters in the faith or those who have yet to come to know Him. In
the very telling of this good news of Jesus, the fog lifts and daylight breaks
the darkness! And Mary found this to be true as well. She immediately obeyed
the commission and came to the other disciples and announced to them, “I have
seen the Lord,” and she told them all that He had said to her.
George MacDonald, an intellectual influence of C. S. Lewis,
wrote long ago concerning the believer who “art in the dark and hast no light”:
“Fold the arms of thy faith, and wait in the quietness until light goes up in
thy darkness. Fold the arms of thy Faith I say, but not of thy Action: bethink
thee of something that thou oughtest to do, and go to do it, if it be but the
sweeping of a room, or the preparing of a meal, or a visit to a friend. Heed
not thy feelings: Do thy work.” Similarly, three centuries earlier, the Puritan
Richard Baxter wrote, “I have known grievous despairing melancholy cured and
turned into a life of godly cheerfulness, principally by setting upon constancy
and diligence in the business of families and callings.”[5] In
other words, get active! Give yourself to the duty of serving the Lord and
making Him known, as He has called and commissioned us all. Mary did this in
glad obedience to the commission of the Lord, and thus her journey was
complete. She had been transported, and transformed, from the confusion of
despair to the comfort of delight as the Living Lord Jesus came to her and
confronted her.
Listen! Even now, the Gardener approaches. He is whispering
your name. His sheep hear His voice, and they follow Him. His footsteps lead us
through the valley of the shadow of death, but we do not fear, for He is with
us, and will lead us through to the other side with His goodness and mercy
following us all the days of our lives. He gives beauty for ashes; the oil of
joy for mourning; a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. He
transforms us from despair to delight.
[1] http://www.ccel.org/ccel/cowper.
Accessed March 31, 2016.
[2] Time
does not permit us here to explore the suggestion made by some commentators
concerning the position of these angels, “one at the head, and the other at the
feet, where the body of Jesus had lain” (v12). I believe there is something
significant here that should be considered further. The position of these
angels is reminiscent of the placement of the cherubim upon the mercy seat of
the ark of the covenant (see Exodus 25:1-22; Leviticus 16). The mercy seat was
the place where God declared, “I will meet with you; and from above the mercy
seat, from between the two cherubim … I will speak to you….” This was also the
place where the blood for the atonement of sin was to be sprinkled by the High
Priest. I cannot help but wonder if the position of these angels in the tomb of
Jesus depict for us in a symbolic way the truth that Christ, by virtue of His
death and resurrection, is the fulfillment of all these promises. It is through
the Risen Lord Jesus (and Him alone) that we meet with God, that He speaks to
us, and that our sins are fully atoned.
[3] Rudolf
K. Markwald and Marilynn Morris Markwald, Katharina
Von Bora: A Reformation Life (St.
Louis : Concordia, 2002), 139-140.
[4] D. A.
Carson, The Gospel According to John (Pillar
New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 641-642.
[5] Both
quotes cited in John Piper, When the
Darkness Will Not Lift (Wheaton ,
Ill.
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