In one of the most tender scenes in the gospels, Mary comes upon the resurrected Jesus and doesn't know at first who he is. Weeping in grief for the loss of her friend and teacher, she wanders the garden, lost in her sorrow. Even when the resurrected Jesus stands before her, she doesn't know him.
It may be that resurrection so transforms us that we aren't recognizable to the people who know us best, but I suspect not. In my hospice work, I was amazed at how many dying people saw loved ones who had died months or years before, right in the room with them as the time of death came near. Their presence was as clear and real as mine, perhaps even more real. The presence of loved ones made passing from this life to the next more bearable - it felt as if the loved ones had come to help them move to the life that comes next for all of us. Surely resurrection leaves us who we are, but even more fully.
It's grief that transforms us more than resurrection, and alters our ability to see. Like Mary, we get lost in the grip of sorrow, and understandably can't see anything else. Lost in our grief, we miss the glimpse of hope.
We have ample reasons to weep, and our grief is real, but we also find the one for whom we have been looking right here in our midst. Why are we weeping? We have good reasons, in our own lives and in looking at the world around us, but the one we're looking for is here with us, whenever we have the heart and eyes to recognize him.
The coming of Easter calls us to see again the spirit of Christ in our lives. Easter holds up hope next to loss, adds possibility to sorrow, leavens our tears with love, which we know is alive in our midst.
Dear God, help us to open our hearts and eyes to encounter you in every face of your creation. We ask this in the name of your Son, whose death and resurrection are the final proof of the extent of your love. Amen.
Mary Austin
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