This morning's gospel relates how St Mary Magdalen came very early to the tomb on Easter Morning. There is something crucial in the timing: it was still dark. Mary at this point was still going through a trial that had started with Jesus' arrest. She had very little to sustain her, knowing only the destruction of her Master's body on the cross two days before. Yet if there was one thing worse than that broken body, it was coming to the tomb and finding it empty. He was not where they had left Him on Friday afternoon. She does not conclude resurrection ... but rather grave robbery: ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb’ she said ‘and we don’t know where they have put him.’
Sometimes, we are so very like Mary. We meet the circumstances that Our Lord leads us into in all their apparent gloom. We live too much with the assumptions of how we think things are ... or ought to be. We find the gloom around us to be a confirmation of our night, when it is in fact just the dark before His dawn. Instead, we need to wait a little for His hand to be revealed.
We often rightly see Easter as the feast of Faith, for as Saint Paul says, if Christ be not risen, then our faith is in vain. Nevertheless, in the dark of Easter Morning we can see that it is also a feast of Hope. If only we can dwell in the dark, like Mary does after Peter and John have gone; if only we can continue to search for Him through the gift of hope - the hope of grace now and glory later - then in due course, we will be able to reach out, touch the hem of His garment, and hear Him call our own name.
No matter how dark the morning, it is always the morning since He rose again.
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