Looking toward the grave with hope is not always the sign of a madman

​There she was, at the empty tomb, weeping. All night she'd been up preparing spices to anoint his body, to give her savior, the one who'd cast out her demons, one final and beautiful send off.

She just wanted to offer her loved one what we often want to offer ours - one final goodbye.

Only, his body wasn't there. Sobbing, Mary begged a nearby gardener to help her find his body. She was sad and desperate. And the gardener responded:

"Mary"

He called her by name. Oh the sweet sound of it. Could her own name have ever sounded more beautiful? This man was no gardener.

On the third day, Jesus had indeed risen from the dead. And her tears were gone.

From there, Mary ran and told the disciples - he's not dead. Then the disciples told the world - he's not dead. And now I get to tell you - he's not dead.

When I was in my mid 20's, and in a pretty dark space in my life, I wanted to play on a church softball team with some buddies. Only, to play on the team, you actually had to go to church at least twice a month. So, I started going to church. Twice a month.

The church was a little Mennonite church. The pastor was the dad of one of my best buddies. I don't remember many of his sermons, but there is part of one I'll never forget. I suppose it resonates with me especially on Easter.

One Sunday, he was talking about death and life ever after. And he gets to a point in his sermon where, here he is, at the front of the church, his family all gathered closely by, and he says, quite enthusiastically "if I knew Jesus was coming to take me away today, I'd have my bags packed and I'd be waiting with the biggest smile on my face ever."

Some Sundays I was pretty tired at church. Many I was hungover. So it was hard for much of what anyone said at church to stir me. I found it all rather annoying, honestly. But thirty years later, I can look back and picture that pastor's face, and I can hear his voice saying those words: "I'd have my bags packed......."

I thought the man was a lunatic. I thought, this guy just offered up the most joyful death wish a person could offer, all while his family was sitting right there listening to him talk about death like he was planning a tropical vacation.

I began to wonder if playing softball was really worth it - listening twice a month to a madman. (I'm sure my teammates wish I'd have concluded it wasn't worth it; I wasn't very good at the game - to say the least 😀).

But today, those words, they are some of the most powerful and most comforting words in my life. Because today, I know I wasn't witnessing a madman, but instead - a confident man. Today, I know I was listening to a man who'd been to the empty tomb and heard Jesus call his name.

I know I was listening to a man full of the joy I have deep inside me. It's the joy that comes from experiencing a new life, one that brought me out of those dark days of my 20s (and beyond) - and the joy that comes with knowing an even newer life is on its way.

Because I too have visited that empty tomb. I've heard the gardener say, "Keith." - and my name never sounded more beautiful. I've heard it because an ordinary man was bold enough to tell his church he'd been there too. And in response, he came home and packed his bags.

Oh there are challenging days. Many days I battle my own demons. Many days I battle demons that have names like Covid. But all of those days, when it begins to feel desperate, I look over at my bags and they are a reminder - new life is coming again.

So today I tell you - with the smile of a madman but with confidence - he is coming again. Today is the day that gives me that confidence. And oh when he does, my bags are packed. I'm ready.

Maybe take a moment and listen today. Just listen. And maybe, just maybe, you will hear your name.