Easter  |  John 20:1-18

There are a lot of things we associate with Easter. Like bunnies and eggs. Lilies and brunch. Birds and white dresses. But you know what we don’t ordinarily associate with Easter? Calisthenics. Footraces. A track meet. Dudes running a marathon. And yet, that is half the story this morning as Peter and John race each other. And then, when they get to the finish line, there’s nothing there. The tomb is empty. Nobody to give them paper cups of water, no hydration station. Just some used linen cloth; which probably doesn’t even have good moisture wicking properties.

This footrace is between Peter and an unnamed disciple. Now, the author, a person who calls himself John and who tradition claims is the disciple of the same name, seems to be implying that this unnamed disciple is actually himself. He is “the beloved” and favorite of Jesus’s. Which itself is another competition. The whole thing is ridiculous and macho. Total overcompensation.

This race comes after Mary Magdalene’s visit to the tomb. Apparently she’s the only one to visit the late, deceased rabbi, Rabbouni, when she discovers the tomb is empty. So she goes and tells the other disciples about it. And they believe her right? Ha! No. Hence, the footrace between the two vying for top disciple to Jesus.

If we take a little history and a dash of Jesus’s teaching, we can put together an interesting bit of Easter brunch to chew on here. 

Let’s start with this footrace. 

Of course it is natural to be skeptical, especially when you hear somebody talking about the resurrection of the dead. And these two disciples who think of themselves as the most devoted to Jesus want to see it for themselves. But it’s funny that they try to outdo each other given what Jesus famously taught them: the first shall be last and the last shall be first. So the dude that wins the race on earth loses the race in the end.

This, however, has an interesting twist, which is to say that the author, presumably talking about himself is all: I let him win! which is both classic loser behavior, right? AND a way of saying I came in second on earth because I wanted to come in first in heaven, but I want Peter and everybody around me to know I could have come in first because I am that awesome. That’s not first in heaven thinking, is it? 

Here’s what I think is going on. John doesn’t write this about himself. His disciples write it about him because to them, John is the best disciple. And why I think this matters, is that John thinks Mary is the best disciple. Because she is the one acting like a good disciple. She came to see Jesus, not outdo Peter, the Rock, the supposed favorite.

The whole thing, despite the best intentions of John’s disciples, makes John and Peter look bad. And guess who looks faithful? Mary.

This is Slapstick

The footrace is funny. It’s ridiculous how these two disciples act. It is something approaching slapstick. We’re in the vicinity of it anyway. They stumble and come up short and let the other go in and look around and are like I don’t even know what I’m looking at!

And to get the comedy in it, we have to understand that life itself is funny. It presents us with ridiculous situations.

Think about what Jesus tells Peter about going out of the world in the same way we come in — that as infants we are cared for by our parents and then, when our parents grow old, we have to care for them the same way. Come on, that is funny. Aging busts our egos.

Mistaken Identity

That slapstick continues as the boys leave and Mary is left talking to the gardener. But is he the gardener? No. He’s Jesus. Does she recognize him? Again, no. It doesn’t say he did a body switcheroo. And when he shows up to the disciples later, he’ll show off the holes in his hands and the gash in his side. And if you still aren’t sure that this is funny, he’s going to show off these wounds and say something to the effect of Stick your finger in ‘em. Wiggle it around. Like, Dudes, you can stick your finger through my hand!

She doesn’t recognize Jesus standing in front of her. Because she can’t. She’s grieving.

And as much as we might bristle at the thought of humor in the resurrection, we are doing ourselves a disservice if we treat the death and resurrection of Jesus like a mere somber, sober event. And lose sight of the very slapsticky nature of God pulling one over on death, saying not so fast! God is mocking the finality of death and the seriousness of our mourning the dead.

Because, as we saw first with Lazarus, and now with Jesus, God doesn’t give a second thought to death. We are all fuel for new life.

So how does Jesus reveal the truth to Mary?

Intimacy.

He says her name. And suddenly she responds with his title, the way she addressed him from the day they met to the Last Supper: Rabbouni, teacher. She calls him teacher. And then after this, declares that he is Lord. Now, the latter title of Lord is a big deal to theologians and makes this moment an essential declaration of faith. But to us here, gathering Easter morning, exploring the comedy of the resurrection, of this story, the more telling title, the one that has more heart, really, is the one Mary offers first. When she sees him again for the first time. 

She calls him Teacher, but with such affection and caring and surprise and joy that all he had said was true and all that he taught her was real and all that she dreamed was possible may actually happen. These are not associations for political leaders, but for the people closest to us, who are with us every day showing us the way to go, inspiring us to be our best selves. Good teachers, more than anyone, can know what we are capable of and want us to achieve it. Their purpose in our lives is to help us succeed.

Mary is seen by Jesus and gets to see him. That is true intimacy. She came in last in that footrace because she couldn’t come in first. But she is first to witness the resurrection. To see and be with the resurrected Jesus. And that means she is first to preach the good news of the risen Christ. There is no question that women ought to preach to the church; in Mary, it is their birthright.

Life is funny.

Which is why tyrants want to control things — they are the most humorless human beings imaginable. They can’t laugh at themselves or their situation. And they have enough power to take it out on the rest of us.

Fear and grief motivate the “top” disciples to reject the news Mary offers them, to race one another, and then, to miss the real profundity of the empty tomb. Then Mary’s fear and grief obscures her ability to recognize her teacher, even as he stands in front of her.

Anxiety, anxiousness, angst is a blinding and binding force. And what unbinds us and lets us go? Intimacy and laughter. Communing over the fragility of life and the delusional desire to control our world. Like the literal and metaphorical obsession with the fountain of youth, which today includes pills, hyperbaric chambers, and botox. We put toxins into our bodies to smooth our faces into an uncanny valley and tighten the skin so we can’t smile. Come on! That is funny. The irony! We dye our hair and paint our flesh and pretend we haven’t aged a day in twenty years. 

Being human is a sequence of ridiculous, embarrassing  moments, and our attempts to control our environment so often hurt ourselves, our neighbors, friends and families. Because we’re afraid. And our teacher, Jesus keeps offering the antidote: intimacy. And the promise of God: the resurrection. That end is never the end. Even death leads to rebirth. The ultimate cosmic joke, played especially on killers and despots. That love reigns. Joy empowers. And laughter is our most important response to living. 

And it shouldn’t be surprising that laughter leads to joy and intimacy leads to peace. That we need to be taught this proves the joke is always on us. With us. And in us.