Scripture: John 20:11–16 Jesus Appears to Mary Magdalene 11 Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb 12 and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. 13 They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 14 At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. 15 He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). Let us pray. Risen Christ, open our eyes to see you clearly, and our hearts to receive your truth. Amen. Sermon: “In the Full Light of Resurrection” John tells us something very specific about that first Easter morning. “It was still dark.” Before the sun had risen… before the world understood what had happened… before anyone could explain it— God was already at work. Mary came in the darkness. She came carrying grief, confusion, and expectation of death. But what she found… was an empty tomb. Now this morning, we are not standing at first light. We are standing in the full light of day. The sun is up. The world is awake. And yet, in many ways, we are not so different from Mary. Because even in full daylight, there are still places in our lives that feel like darkness. Questions we carry. Losses we don’t fully understand. Seasons that don’t yet make sense. John tells us in verse 11: “Mary stood outside the tomb crying.” She is not just sad—she is undone. The word John uses suggests ongoing grief. She stays. She lingers. She cannot leave. She is stuck. Even when the tomb is empty, she does not yet see resurrection—only loss. And then something remarkable happens. She looks into the tomb and sees two angels. They ask her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” And her answer is telling: “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.” When I read this, I can feel her sorrow. She is still looking for a body. She is still operating within the confines of death. And here is the turning point. Verse 14: “She turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus.” Jesus is standing right in front of her— Her Lord, whom she knew and loved and is grieving Is alive, present, victorious— and she does not recognize Him. Let that sit for a moment. "Have you ever had a moment like that?” This is not just Mary’s story. This is often our story. Because resurrection does not always look the way we expect it to. Isaiah 55:8 reminds us: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.” Sometimes Christ is present… and yet we don’t see Him. Because we are still looking through the lens of loss. Still expecting things to look the way they used to. Jesus asks her the same question: “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” And John adds this detail: “Thinking he was the gardener, …” She mistakes the risen Lord for a gardener. It makes sense, it’s early, who else but the gardener would be there at that hour? But was this accidental? .Think about it this way: In Genesis, humanity began in a garden. And now, in John, resurrection is revealed in a garden. This is new creation. As Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:17: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” Mary is standing at the beginning of that new creation— and she doesn’t yet realize it. But then everything changes with one word. “Mary.” That’s all it took. He calls her by name. And in that moment—she sees. Jesus says in John 10:4, where he’s talking about the Good Shepherd: “…his sheep follow him because they know his voice.” Resurrection becomes real not when Mary understands it— but when she is known within it. Notice this: The light around her has not changed. The tomb is still empty. The garden is still the same. But her vision changes. Because resurrection does not just change what is happening around us. It changes how we see. It opens our eyes. At first light, hope begins. But in the full light of resurrection, we begin to understand. The cross is no longer a place of defeat— it is a sign of victory. As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:55: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” The tomb is no longer a place of loss— it is a witness to new life. And Jesus is no longer hidden— He is risen, alive, and present. And here is the part we cannot miss: Mary is not only comforted. She is sent. “Go instead to my brothers and tell them,…” She becomes the first witness. The first preacher of resurrection. Resurrection is never something we simply observe. It is something we are called to live. We are called to live as people who believe that light is stronger than darkness… As John writes in John 1:5, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” That life is stronger than death… That love is stronger than fear. As Paul reminds us in Romans 8:38–39: “38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” So what does it mean to live in the full light of resurrection? It means we trust that God is already at work, even in the places we don’t yet understand. It means we listen for the voice of Christ calling us by name. It means we step forward in faith, even when we don’t have all the answers. This morning, we do not stand at the empty tomb. We stand on the other side of it. We stand in the light. And in that light, we see clearly: The cross stands empty. The tomb stands open. And Christ is alive. And because He lives— we are known. we are forgiven. we are made new. we are sent. So go into this day… not searching for the light— but walking in it. And when you forget… when the day feels heavy again… when the questions return— remember this: The light has already come. And it has your name. Amen.