Today is a time of special joy for us because some of our congregation have participated in Christ's resurrection through the sacrament of Holy Baptism, and the rest of us have (or will) renew our baptismal promises as we remember we have died and been raised with Christ. We will find a new pleasure in sharing the Eucharistic banquet with one another and our risen Lord. The alleluias will bubble out of us because we know God is faithful and we have something to celebrate - not life simply, but the new life that only comes from God and that is ours beginning now and lasting forever.

But, let's be realistic. I suspect there may be some in this congregation who, to tell the truth, may be feeling more like Mary Magdalene at the beginning of today's Gospel. "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." Or, if not on this joyous day of days, you do have those days when the light seems to have gone out of life, when faith is a thing wished for and not a hope realized, when all this talk about the Gospel sounds like good news for somebody else, but not for me. "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." I'd like to believe, but it just isn't in me today, I'm reaching out my hand, but nobody's taking hold. I'm willing to practice the presence of God, but today it's more like pretend. "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him."

We may come to church much the way Mary went to the tomb that morning. We come to grieve for something lost, to hope that flickering memories of a vibrant faith may kindle just enough strength to get us through one more week. We don't really expect anything to happen when we come to lay this wreath on the resting place of a childhood faith. It is just possible, like Mary, we might give way to panic when we confront the fact that the Lord seems to be missing from our lives.

"They have taken the Lord out of the tomb!" Her report was based, of course, on conjecture, not on evidence; yet it seemed to be the only logical deduction to be drawn from what she had seen. She knew the body of Jesus had been laid in the tomb and a great stone had been rolled in front of the entrance. Now the stone had been rolled back and the grave was apparently empty. What could have happened? What enemy could have done this? What has stolen the faith I thought I had, the faith I so carefully watched over, wrapped in my handkerchief, and kept nestled in a favorite drawer? What enemy named education, tragedy, or wealth or whatever, has stolen my faith from me?

One thing, at least, is clear. Mary was not expecting the Resurrection to happen. She had come to pay her respects to the dead, not to seek the living. Never for a moment did it occur to her to say to Peter and the other disciple, "The tomb is empty! The Lord is not there! He is risen from the dead!" The discovery of the empty tomb suggested no such thought, awakened no such expectations. The only possible explanation seemed to be in terms of human interference, not of divine intervention. When our faith seems gone we will not, cannot, believe God may be preparing it to blossom into even greater beauty.

Mary Magdalene discovered the empty tomb. Peter and John investigated it. On being told the news, they both ran to see for themselves. John arrived first but did not immediately enter. He simply stooped down and looked in. In the dim light he could not see much. But he saw something: the graveclothes, and the sight made him stop and think about what Mary had reported, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb." But if that were true, why were the graveclothes still there? If anyone, friend or enemy, had removed the body, why had they stripped off the graveclothes and left them behind? As John considered that question he must have realized this much at least:

Mary's conjecture was not true.

Then Peter arrives upon the scene. Hasty and impulsive as ever, he at once enters the tomb. What does he see? From his better vantage point he sees more than John. Not only are the graveclothes there, as John had seen, but they are there in exactly the same place and position as they had been when they enfolded the body of Jesus. They were unaltered, untouched, undisturbed. Even the napkin, which had been wound around the head, was lying just where it had been originally, a little removed from the other clothing. This is what Peter saw. And this is what John also saw as he followed Peter into the tomb. Yet, did they in fact "see" the same thing?

Three different Greek words for "seeing" are used in this passage. Unfortunately, they are all rendered the same way in English; yet they have different shades of meaning which ought to be distinguished. Verse five says John, looking into the tomb, "saw" the linen cloths lying. The word here (blepo) indicates ordinary physical sight. The word in verse six, where Peter "saw the linen cloths lying," (theoreo) means to observe or take note of. In verse eight, still yet another word is employed, when it is said of John, "He saw and believed." Here the verb is eidon, denoting inward perception.

John not only saw. He understood. He grasped the significance of the evidence before his eyes. The graveclothes indicated to him that Jesus was alive. The Lord's natural body of flesh and blood, which had been laid in the tomb earlier, had been changed into a spiritual body, and, as such, it had passed through the graveclothes without disturbing them.

This is what John perceived, and accordingly he believed. It has been said by one commentator that the design of this chapter is to illustrate the passage from sight to faith. In the case of John, sight passed quickly to faith. For Peter and the others, it happened later. For Mary, it happened very soon. For Thomas, the doubter, it happened last of all. But it did happen. And to Thomas, Jesus said, "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed."

We will have those moments of thinking someone has taken the Lord from us and we do not know where to find him. Nor should we be ashamed to acknowledge those times. But, in those moments it will help if we call to mind our baptism, that which the church used to call "illumination." For having been buried and raised with Christ in baptism, we are a part of his body now. We may have moments of thinking we do not know where the Lord is; but the good news is the Lord always knows where we are, and he seeks out his own, just as he sought out Mary in that garden so long ago. As with her, he will call us by name, even when we fail to see him for who he is. And we will find ourselves responding in love and wonder, "I have seen the Lord."