She saw that the stone had been moved away from the tomb.
In today’s Gospel Jesus doesn’t appear at all. In the half light of very early dawn St. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, and sees that it’s empty: but she entirely fails to understand what that means. We rightly call her the Apostle of the Apostles: but in the first place she runs off to convey to the disciples a message of non-faith. It’s typical of St. John to begin his narrative with a conundrum, and misunderstanding, and to present his great truths in the form of a drama. Then he invites us, as it were, to come with him and the others to this Easter garden, very early on this first morning. With him we are to ponder this cavern, which had contained the dead body of Jesus, but which is now empty, with its door standing open. And we are to draw our own conclusions.
Only gradually do we begin to understand. Only gradually do we begin to perceive some hint of the magnitude of what has happened. Jesus is not in the tomb. Why? Because he is not dead any more. We thought he had been defeated. But no: he knew exactly what he was doing all along. He perfectly accomplished what he set out to do, and now his victory is complete. Yesterday seemed to be the triumph of death over life, and the triumph also of infidelity, and cowardice, and betrayal; the triumph too of injustice, and cruelty, and lies, and small-mindedness, and of final and open wickedness. Yes, Jesus allowed himself to be engulfed by all that, and more. He sank, as it were, to the bottom of that sea, and the waters closed over his head. But then, he burst forth. He had gone forth to war, as our champion. It was war between good and evil, between God and the devil, between light and darkness, between perfect holiness and consummate sin. And Jesus overcame his enemy. Satan had seen his opportunity. He took the bait; he walked into the trap: and now his empire is undone.
What about that door, though, blocked as it had been by a huge stone? That stone had apparently separated Jesus from life; but now it’s been moved away. Do we dare to look through the open door? Let us gather our courage, and not only look, but venture to follow Peter and John, and ourselves pass through it. Doing so, what do we find? We find - we realise - we understand at last - that the door separating us from God, from eternal life, from love without end, from joy without measure, from light that cannot be quenched, is now lying open. That door which had locked up our sins - which had stood accusing us of all the bad things we’d ever done - that door which blocked or frustrated all our best aspirations and hopes - the door which shut us ultimately into mortality and death - the door which rendered our life in the end absurd - look! there it is! lying wide open! That apparently immovable stone had somehow sealed in our grief, our pain, our anger, our resentment, our self pity, our darkness, our despair. Now it’s gone, and instead there’s an open pathway, which is itself an invitation, a vista: which we’re invited to enter.
The stone was not moved to let Jesus out. It was moved as a visible sign that he had already gone. Yet as we ponder now that stone, and that open door, we understand there has been released into the world a new power: the power of Christ’s resurrection from the dead. This power is given to us. We are called to inhabit it, as it inhabits us. Let me simply underline the necessary implication of this. In Jesus we have not just life, but life that has overcome death; not just goodness, but goodness that has overcome evil; not just light, but light that has overcome darkness.
So today, and every day, we sing and we dance. Paradoxically, we still mourn over the death of Jesus, and over our part in that, and over the darkness that still clings to us, until finally we join the Lord and His Saints in heaven. But although the fulfilment is not yet complete for us, still our life is irrevocably now lit up by Easter glory, Easter hope, Easter joy.
We Christians live, as it were, henceforth in that Easter garden, by the empty tomb. Jesus has not yet come visibly to us. He will do so at the end of time. In the meantime, there is an open door, inviting us to go to him - to heaven - to God. Nobody forces us to go through it; just as nobody forces us to believe in Jesus, and in his resurrection. But we do believe, even without the further evidence that will soon be added. And we do choose to go through that door.
This decision entails for us very strong consequences. Our life is now the life of Jesus. He is to us not just a beloved Master, but everything. As St. Paul cries out: we have died, and our life is now hid with Christ in God. So as today’s mystery has radically changed everything, so it must also radically change us. We have to be dead to sin; dead to the old man; dead to our worldly fears and anxieties, dead to all our former deeds of darkness. Living in Christ Jesus we have henceforth to walk with him, in him: in purity of heart; in humility; in holiness of life; in union with God; in love for our brothers; in forgiveness of wrongs; in prayer, and in readiness for sacrifice. Jesus has died for us. With his blood he has washed away our sins and overcome our death. And why? Because he is very good. So today we have very great cause to rejoice, and to be glad: Alleluia.