Then Jesus said, "Mary"

I tried a new church yesterday. It felt so familiar. I've never been to or even heard of this church. As the pastor spoke I sensed something, like I had met him or known him or heard him... or something. But I didn't know his name. As he spoke about the Easter story he recounted how Mary went to the tomb and found it empty. She instantly wept for clearly something terrible had happened. She searched the tomb for something, anything, evidence that would lead her to Him. How could he not be here. Outside she heard footsteps. She looked and saw a gardener (that alone will preach, but I digress).

 "Where have you taken Him?!" she demanded for she did not recognize the man standing before her. How could she not see Him, not know Him?! The preacher continued, in that moment of entering the tomb, the darkness came. It surrounded her, blinded her, pained her. She couldn't even see the wonder standing right in front of her. BUT... then Jesus said, "Mary." His love, His light cast the darkness out just that quickly. She couldn't see who was standing in front of her but she definitely knew His voice. That "still small voice" teaming with love. The familiar, the known, the comforting came rushing over her.

I FELT this story as he spoke on Sunday. I too have been searching in the darkness. I too have felt the empty despair, loneliness that follows loss (and death). But as the preacher spoke, the darkness dispersed and I could see clearly. It was not him that I recognized, it was His voice, His presence, His love that made my world spin. I know this place. Not the church, not the pastor, not a soul in the service... but I KNOW this place, this sound, this smell, this feeling.

I've heard the term, "like riding a bike" and I understand the reference but this particular moment was very different. This moment was much more a kin to waking up to the smell of coffee and country sausage in my nana's house, the sound of my fathers whistle in a crowded room, the feeling of my mothers arms. That's a much more accurate description of this moment. I have spent 5 years up here trying to find somewhere, anywhere to rest, to feel comfortable. On Sunday morning, remembering the suffering on the cross, the sacrifice of a father and the miracle of hope that we cling to; I found that place which isn't actually a place at all.