Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!
As several of
you know, I have a thing for poetry, and then I discovered Hebrew poetry. Its rules are completely different, in that
it most often writes in parallels. It
often goes from the general to the specific, often sounding like an echo, and
in the space of two lines, can change a meaning entirely.
This morning,
we hear the angels ask Mary Magdalene, "Woman, why are you
weeping?" In an echo, we hear
Christ ask, "Woman, why are you weeping?" And a couple of lines later, Jesus says to
her, "Mary!"
So why are we
having a Hebrew poetry lesson this morning?
Echoes and parallels are a literary device that John uses. "In the beginning". This phrase begins both the Hebrew scriptures
and the start of John's gospel. Isaiah
tells us in our Old Testament lesson, "For I am about to create new
heavens and a new earth".
And here, the
Christ speaks to "woman" as to each individual listening this
morning. There's no name attached, but rather
God speaking to each one of us, asking why we weep. And from that broad statement, Jesus then
speaks to Mary, going from the non-specific to the individual. So ask yourself, as Christ asks each of us,
"why are you weeping?".
In this
instance, Mary was so attached to the person of Jesus, that she could not even
recognize the spirit of Christ, who literally stood before her. It was not until Jesus said her name, said in
such a way that she could not help but recognize the love that Jesus had for her.
There is an
interesting Passover tradition told by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch, where
a glass of wine is set at the table for "The Traveler". Among the followers of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem
Tov, was a Jew who worked the land in a small farming village near Mezeritch.
The Baal Shem Tov had a special empathy for these simple rural Jews, whom he
held in high regard for their wholesomeness, integrity, and unequivocal faith
in G‑d. So whenever the above-mentioned villager would come to
spend a Shabbat with his Rebbe, he would be accorded a most gracious and
affectionate welcome.
At the
conclusion of one such visit, the Baal Shem Tov requested of him: "Please,
on your way home, stop by Mezeritch. I want you to give my regards to one of my
closest and most illustrious disciples, the scholarly and pious Rabbi
DovBer."
The villager
was overjoyed to be of service to his beloved Rebbe. As soon as he arrived in
Mezeritch he began to inquire after the great Rabbi DovBer, but no one seemed
to know of a "great Rabbi DovBer" among the town's scholars and
mystics. Finally, someone suggested that he try a certain "Reb Ber",
an impoverished schoolteacher who lived on the edge of town.
The villager
was directed to an alley in the poorest section of town. Along both sides of
the muddy path stood row upon row of dilapidated hovels, leaning upon one
another for support. There he found the schoolteacher's "house", an
ancient, rickety hut with broken panes occupying the better half of its tiny
windows. Inside, a scene of heart-rending poverty met his eye: A middle-aged
man sat on a block of wood, at a 'table' consisting of a rough plank set upon
other wooden blocks. Before him sat rows of children on
"schoolbenches" — also ingenious contraptions of planks and blocks.
But the teacher's majestic face left no doubt in the villager's mind that he
had indeed found his man.
Rabbi DovBer
greeted his visitor warmly and begged his forgiveness — perhaps his guest could
return later in the day, when he had finished teaching his students?
When the
villager returned that evening, the hut's classroom furniture had disappeared:
the planks and blocks had now been rearranged as beds for the teacher's
children. Rabbi DovBer sat upon the lone remaining block, immersed in a book
which he held in his hands.
Rabbi DovBer
thanked his guest for bringing word from their Rebbe and invited him to sit,
pointing to a table-turned-bed nearby. At this point, the villager could no longer
contain himself. Outraged at the crushing poverty about him, he burst out:
"Rabbi DovBer, what can I say? How can you live like this? I myself am far
from wealthy, but at least in my home you will find, thank G‑d, the basic necessities — some chairs, a table, beds for the
children..."
"Indeed?"
said Rabbi DovBer. "But why don't I see your furniture? How do you manage
without it?"
"What do
you mean? Do you think that I schlepp my furniture along wherever I go? Listen,
when I travel, I make do with what's available. But at home — a person's home
is a different matter altogether!"
"But
aren't we all travelers in this world?" said Rabbi DovBer gently. "At
home? Oh yes... At home, it is a different matter altogether..."
We all are
travelers here, living out lives within temporary bodies, but Christ has taught
us that we will go home to the
Father. In this instance, He asked Mary
not to hold onto him, as He is ascending to the Father, but rather to be a
witness to His brothers and tell them what He said.
Love is the
greatest commandment from God. Isaiah
describes the new Earth God has planned:
"The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat
straw like the ox; but the serpent—its food shall be dust! They shall not hurt
or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord."
In the
meantime, Christ has shown us that His beloved disciple – and here, we have
another, not named person – realizes that He has fulfilled His Word, and
arisen. Is it John? Is it you?
Is it each of us who does not see, but believes? The love for Christ transcends time and
space. The beloved disciple is the first
to realize Christ is alive.
But the first person to whom Jesus appears is Mary
Magdalene. Mary is so much like each of
us, and needs to see. She is the first witness to the risen Christ,
and tells the other disciples. Her
example provides each of us the instructions for creating that new heaven and
new earth – tell everyone. Love
everyone. For while we are traveling
now, we will all be going home!
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