The Easter Vigil plays on themes of darkness and light. Hence the new fire at dusk. And the procession with the Paschal Candle into a darkened church accompanied by our individual candles giving some illumination as the Easter Proclamation is sung.
It’s called Easter Vigil for a reason. A vigil is an occasion of purposeful wakefulness, watching, praying, usually at night. Families hold vigil at the bedside of sick loved ones. Political protests can take the form of candlelight vigils. The word vigil can be used metaphorically – she kept a constant vigil… as in watchfulness. Vigils are about watching for what comes next, in both trepidation and hopefulness.
All of this is in keeping with what we’re doing tonight at this Easter Vigil in a liturgy which is so different in spirit and tone from Easter Sunday morning. Easter Sunday is all about the brightness and clarity of the morning light. The Easter Vigil happens at night when plenty remains hidden in the shadows. The resurrection story in John’s gospel fits well the mood of the Easter Vigil: “Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark…” That’s how the passage begins. It was during that time of the darkness of night when Jesus’ followers were keeping vigil, waiting, wondering.
As an expression of her vigil-keeping, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and found that the stone had been removed from the entrance. She ran back to Simon Peter and the other disciple saying, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”
Peter and the other disciple ran to the tomb and found it just as Mary said, “for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that [Jesus] must rise from the dead.” Despite their vigilance, Mary and Peter and the other disciple were kept in the dark about what was going on with Jesus.
Despite our intentionality of staying awake and paying attention when keeping vigil, the hours of the night when it’s still dark make for confusion, for not seeing clearly, for not understanding what’s going on. We wait, we watch, we wonder.
We are enduring a time of metaphorical darkness in nation and world when we don’t really know what’s happening or where we’re headed. Moreover, powers that be often take pains to keep us in the dark. Pundits maintain a kind of vigil in trying to understand what it’s all about. One of my favorite political cartoons of late consists of a reporter asking a press secretary: “All I want to know is what in the hell is going on…. That’s all, what the hell is going on? Do YOU know what the hell is going on?”
That sums up well so much of the human plight: we don’t know what the hell is going on. I read significant amounts of cultural and social and political commentary trying to wrap my mind around our current state of affairs. The more I come to understand, the more mystery persists. Blind spots abound in our understandings. And as we know, academic and scientific discoveries are really only provisional until the next set of discoveries. And on and on it goes.
It can be truly unsettling, unnerving, to live amidst such confusion and limited understanding. And, again, all of this can be most pronounced at the midnight hours, those liminal times between darkness and the light of day when we lie awake anxiously wondering what comes next.
It’s at this point of Mary wondering and weeping outside the tomb in the darkness when the resurrected Lord Jesus encountered her. But Mary, still confused, did not recognize him to be Jesus. She thought he was the gardener. And Mary said to Jesus revealing her limited vision and imagination, “Sir, if you have carried [the Lord] away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”
What comes next is what pierced the darkness of the night with the light of recognition. What happened next is what brought understanding from the chaos of confusion. What happened next is what offered consolation when there was only distress, weeping. Jesus simply said to her, “Mary!” Jesus simply called out her name. And with that came immediate recognition: “Rabbouni!” “Teacher!,” she cried out.
Everything completely shifted for Mary when hearing the familiar voice of Jesus, her teacher, calling out her name. And the fruit of this is not just understanding and clarity, but Mary’s confession of faith as she soon after proclaimed to the disciples when she returned to them: “I have seen the Lord.” He’s alive. He’s accounted for.
Fast forward now to where we are in our day. Jesus’ voice echoes through the centuries to each and every person baptized in the name of the Trinitarian God, when we’re called out by name: “Jonathan, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Now name your names out loud….. “You are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
These sacred words in connection with our own names pierce the darkness of our lives, and suddenly the light of Christ, which we celebrate in tonight’s vigil, becomes a dawn in our night-time hours. This miracle of light amidst the darkness is what we remember and celebrate as we affirmed our own baptisms, or own faith in crucified and risen Lord, this evening.
And with our faith renewed in the power of the Holy Spirit continuing to work in the biblical word and in the sacraments of both the font and the altar, we leave this place to return to the world’s nighttime of suffering, confusion, and despair with the words of clarity, hope and assurance: “We have seen the Lord.” He’s accounted for. He has risen. He’s alive, made known to us in the breaking of the bread, made known to the world in the loving mercy of Christians whose deeds lift up the poor and oppressed, whose seeking justice make for resurrection life.
Indeed, when we proclaim to the world, especially in actions that speak louder than words, we in essence exclaim that we have seen the risen Lord. Our words and deeds born on the winds and energies of the Spirit of the living Christ carry the light of Christ that pierces the darkness that we’re enduring in nation and world.
This light of Christ allows the people who sit in darkness to see from God’s vantage point that death and destruction and violence and warfare will not have the last word when it’s all said and done. For alleluia, Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed, alleluia! Amen.
