The two disciples in this morning’s Gospel lesson seem to think that by getting out of Dodge maybe they could escape their grief, could leave behind the bad memories of the previous Friday. Jerusalem had become like an empty house from which all the children had gone, haunted by memories, by pain, by hopes that never materialized. Jerusalem was the place where their dreams had died. It was time to hit the road and see if they could leave their troubles behind.

The remarkable thing about Easter is that Jesus was not just raised from the dead, or that he defeated the powers of sin and death, but that he also returned to his disciples. It would have been enough that Jesus was resurrected, but he also came back to his fearful followers.

Easter may ultimately be about things that are high, bright, light and clear, but it begins low, dim, dark and murky. That’s what we see in our Gospel lesson this morning from John. Here we are told that, for Mary Magdalen, the day that would eventually become celebrated as Easter began “while it was still dark.”

God is not particularly concerned with our happiness, but God is very concerned with our holiness. He is concerned with our commitment and not our pleasure. On the cross, Jesus shows us how far God goes to show us His love and he shows us what it means to be his follower, to love as he loves us.

The writer Annie Dillard, in one of her short stories, has a scene in which a family is sadly gathered at a grave to commit a loved one’s body to the earth. At one point the minister intones the familiar words from I Corinthians, “Where, O Death, is thy sting?”  Upon hearing that, one of the family members looks up.  He scans the sorrowful faces of his family and sees all around him rows of headstones.  And then he thinks to himself, “Why, it’s just about everywhere, seeing a