I am not energetic. I know I am not energetic. I’d like to be. The spirit is there. The flesh is stupid.
But sometimes, I get excited and let myself run around.
Inevitably, the crash.
It hit last night.
Kate says: where.
“Woman,” Jesus said to her, “why are you crying? Who is it that you’re seeking?” Supposing He was the gardener, she replied, “Sir, if you’ve carried Him away, tell me where you’ve put Him, and I will take Him away.”
– John 20:15 (CSB)
This is one of my favorite scenes in the Gospels. All of Jesus’ friends were devastated by His death. It was not the end they were expecting. In a darkened room, doors locked, Peter sat, his betrayal playing on a tortuous loop in his mind. John, the youngest, probably tapped his foot incessantly, full of nervous energy. Everyone else in various states of contemplation and distress. The air thick with the heaviness of mourning.
They go out.
They didn’t scatter when Jesus was arrested. They didn’t run from the foot of the Cross. Now, they moved toward the epicenter of their grief.
Then Mary, who had been tormented by demons for years before a commanding word from Jesus set her free, stayed. After the other women had left. After Peter and John, shocked by her announcement that the tomb was empty, had been to investigate. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what her eyes saw.
She doesn’t immediately recognize her Savior and Best Friend. She just wants to know what happened to His body. She’ll take it. She’ll care for it. One last act of love and devotion for the Man who saw beyond her agony, who lifted her out of the pit.
How was Mary going to handle the dead weight of a man in his early 30s? Where would she take the body? What would she do with it?
Then He says her name. Gently, I imagine, but with all the authority of the One who fashioned her in the secret places.
It wasn’t about where she could take Jesus.
It was about where He would take her.