What could I possibly have to say right now? I am white and privileged. I have somewhere to sleep, a job with a steady income, a loving family and I can walk out at night without fear of being stopped by the police. And while I agree with the voices saying “all lives matter” I fear they are somewhat missing the point. Yes, all lives matter, but not all lives are threatened.
But this is a blog about hope, and the reason I hold onto the hope I have in Jesus. I have a few favourite bible stories that I come back to time and again because they bring me comfort and the give me courage. There are so many I could pick right now, about how Jesus doesn’t see the divisions that society sees. Take the story or Jairus’ daughter in Mark’s gospel with the story of the bleeding woman placed in the middle (Mark 5, 21-43) or Jesus talking to a Samaritan woman in John 4. Jesus sees people, not nationalities, not class, not race and not gender. He responds to the person who is in front of him.
But the story I want to focus on here comes near the end of John’s gospel. It is a passage for those who are hurting and feeling isolated and alone. It’s a passage that gives me goosebumps every time I read it. Read John 20: 1-18. Read it slowly and put yourself in Mary’s shoes (or sandals if we’re being historically accurate).
You had such hope for the future. You believed the Messiah had come to free you and lead you to victory, but then you watched as he was killed, betrayed by a so-called friend. You mourn him, but you are also afraid of what might happen now. There are dangers all around; the Romans, the crowd, even one-time friends it seems. And when you go to the tomb of this man who meant so much to you, you find the stone has been rolled away and the body taken. Where can you find comfort?
Crying in despair, you bend once more to look at the empty place where Jesus had been and you see two strangers. They ask you what is wrong and you have to say it out loud again. “They’ve taken him and I don’t know where they’ve put him.” And you turn away. You see another person you don’t know who also asks you what is wrong. Again you have to say it aloud. Again, you have to relive the pain. “Please, if you’ve taken him, show me where you have put him.” You just want closure, for this nightmare to be over.
“Mary.”
That’s all it takes. Jesus calling your name. You turn towards him fully and your feel joy and hope again. Jesus isn’t dead! He is here talking to you! Somehow, something impossible has happened.
I love this passage because I connect with it. There are more examples of Jesus appearing to people in the confusion and despair after his death and his body disappearing. With hindsight, we know and can understand that Jesus has risen. We know what happens next in the story, but they didn’t. The pair walking on the road to Emmaus when Jesus joins them and gently teases them, pretending not to know what has happened. The disciples (minus Thomas) meeting in a locked room out of fear and Jesus just appearing to them declaring “Peace be with you.” Jesus appearing again to put Thomas’ mind at rest when he is cynical about the other disciples story. Peter fishing (unsuccessfully) with some friends and a man appears on the beach and tells them to try one more time.
The point is, in all of these stories, Jesus comes to comfort, reassure, and send them out to do something more.
But it’s Mary’s story that touched my heart. What was it in the way he said her name that caused her to recognise him? When I read it, the voice is gentle and compassionate, a voice that can cut through overwhelming panic and despair. It’s a voice that is trustworthy and dependable. But it’s more than that. It’s the fact that he uses her name. Within that one word Jesus is able to say so much: “I care, I’m here, I see you, you are not alone”.
What would it sound like if Jesus called your name like that? What would it mean to be reminded that at your lowest point Jesus sees you and knows you?
I once visited a church meeting. I was known by some, but I was sitting apart from those friends so I was relatively anonymous. A set of circumstances, some by my own making and some actions of the people around me, had brought me to a place of desperation and uncertainty. I was hurting and I was angry, and I was just about ready to throw the towel in and walk away. That’s why I wasn’t at my regular church. During the musical worship I couldn’t sing. In fact I had silent tears rolling down my face.
When they had finished that part of the meeting, a member of the church from the other side of the room walked to the front. (Something else to know about me, I’m quite short…) He was passed the microphone and said “As we were worshiping, God showed me a picture of a young lady crying hopeless tears, and I just want to say that God sees you and he is with you. I encourage you to find someone to pray with you after this meeting” and he looked over to the rough area I was sat. From the place where he was sitting, there is no way he would have been able to see that I was crying or hear that I wasn’t singing. He didn’t know me or my reason for being there. And yet…
So here’s the thing about God. He knows us. If God had tried to talk to me directly I would have written it off as a figment of my imagination. After all, who was I that God should notice me? And yet…
God chose a stranger to pass on his message in a way I couldn’t deny. God chose to speak to me and let me know that I was loved and cared for, that I was important enough to be noticed. I wish I could say that I learnt that lesson that day, but it has taken a little bit longer for the truth of that to properly take root in my heart.
But just like Jesus telling Mary to go and share the news, I have a voice. God found me and walks with me. That’s the reason I hold on to hope. Because what Jesus does in the bible, God still does today.
So if you are broken, hopeless, hurting or ready to give up, please believe me when I say that God sees you. God knows you. And God is with you.
The Reason for my Hope Blog 