weeping

It's Easter Sunday. I was struck this morning by something I hadn't seen in the resurrection story before. I've always loved that Christ first appears to the women among his followers, and that this appearance takes place in the garden next to the empty tomb. But the desolation into which Christ appears was what struck me this morning. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb to perform a final act of love for Christ-- to annoint the dead body of her friend, her rabbi, her hope-- and finds that the body has been removed from it's resting place. Other followers come to the empty tomb, but Mary is the one who stays. She stays to weep. By staying with her grief, weeping for the loss of all she had in her relationship with Jesus, she is the one to whom the risen Christ appears. To the sorrow of profound absence comes the shocking and unexpected joy of presence.

It gave me a fresh perspective on my years of depression, and on much of my own weeping over those years and since. It felt like a blessing on the tears. That hope can come in unexpected ways, in the face of great doubt and loss and fear, is a beautiful and miraculous thing. Who knows what hope might appear in our own gardens of desolation? May I have eyes to see.