Do not hold on to me

John 20: 11-18, page 114
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb.
As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”
When she said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus.
Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”
Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (Which means teacher).
Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
Sermon
I think I know why Jesus says to Mary, “don't hold on to me”; and I think I also know why it's so hard for Mary to let go.
Often, I still want to hold onto the things that truly matter longer than they want to be held, even though I know letting go is a reality of life.
A friend told me to always let my daughters sit in my lap because there's no way to know when it’s the last time you’ll get to hold them there, so small and so close.
Ever since she said that I've feared the moment: the last time Lily needs me to hold her hand across the street, the last time my arms can comfort her, the last time I can hold Cece and rock her back and forth watching her fall asleep.
I know why they won't let me hold on to them anymore, but I'll still want to hold them longer.
Mary, his mother, knew that feeling. Her little baby was like ours, not ever really hers to hold, just hers to hold for a little while. So clearly a gift from God, he came into her life helpless but walked out of it to fulfill his destiny taking her heart with him. He was heading towards becoming what the angel told her he would: the savior of our world. She knew that she had to let him go, but she must have wanted to keep him home just a little while longer.
After all, the world is full of challenges that we wish the ones we love didn't have to face. Hearts get broken, dreams get stifled, and sometimes the only weapon at our disposal is to watch and worry.
Parents are thankful, then, for friends, and Simon Peter was right there with him, and willing to stand up to him, especially when he told them all that death on a cross awaited, unavoidable and cruel.
Christ’s steely resolve silenced him, though all Peter wanted was to keep his friend with him a little while longer, to protect him from the pain that lay ahead, but Peter had to let him go.
That's how it is with the ones you love. Sometimes the patient can resign himself to it, while his family is sure it can't be true and goes looking for a second opinion. The soldier has to go while the children hold on as long as they can thinking up schemes to get around somehow what must happen next. So also, the sentence comes from the judge, the guilty hangs his head while his loved ones fight off reality as though there were anything they could do. When they came for him with their chains it was Peter who attacked them and one soldier lost an ear. There was nothing left to do, he couldn't hold him any longer, but you know why he did it.
To hold on just a little while longer, even though sometimes there's just nothing left to do.
Husbands and wives holding hands; one talks not knowing if the other can listen. Still they hold on even while cold sneaks in. When silence finally triumphs life comes to an end, and suddenly the one they loved is no longer there. You know why they have gone on, but you also know why the ones they leave behind want to hold on to that hand just a little while longer.
So Mary goes back to the tomb. The memory of him was just as hard to let go of as anything else. The memory of a man who saw her as a person and as an equal in a world of power and hierarchy and invisibility. The memory of a man who loved her – you know how hard that is to say goodbye to. That’s why she needed to see the tomb closed, she needed to see that it was over. All her hopes, all her love, the door closed to what could have been and what she hoped there would be, but then the tomb is there - open.
She goes to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved. They run to see, but seeing nothing besides an empty tomb return home.
Do you know why they go home again, ready to move on? Maybe you also know why Mary stood weeping at the tomb, not ready yet to move on and not understanding how anyone could just move on from what mattered more than anything else ever had.
Grief is like that. It’s different for everyone. Some move on quickly, some move too quickly to ever do anything besides push down their grief and carry it around, while others can’t seem to move their feet away from what was – immobilized for fear that it’s not death that makes death real but moving on.
Right there they stay, knowing simultaneously that nothing will bring him back and that if they just stay a little while longer the end might not really be the end.
In between the future and the past she stood, possibly the most painful place of all, and she bent over to look into the tomb once again.
What did she expect to see? Maybe you know.
And there he is. You know how she wanted so badly to see him and why she couldn’t recognize him at the same time. She knew it was impossible, but people who know what love is never stop hoping for the impossible.
It wasn’t until he said her name: "Mary."
It's one word but it's everything, too, because it slung wide that door that she had tried so hard to close.
For us, it’s exactly what we hope will happen. Death, not really final. The past not really over. Mistakes that we can take back. The end not really the end.
It happened to her and she held him close knowing that there are some things in life so good that they so truly never come to an end.
But you can't hold on to me, he said.
And you know why.
He goes on before us making a way for us to pass on from this life into life eternal. He makes a place for us there with the Father.
But you know why she could not let him go.
How can you let go of what was, what is, and put all your faith in what will be?
How could she let go when without some idea of what would happen next?
How could she let him go when she knew that this time she had a choice?
We still want to hold onto things longer than they need to be held, but she let him go, and where he goes you are sure to follow.
Halleluiah.
Amen