John 20:1-18
I enjoyed listening to a podcast interview with Florence Williams the other day because although I love the city, I do experience nature – grass, tress, beaches, sky – giving the benefits she describes in her book is The Nature Fix: why nature makes us happier, healthier and more creative.
We worked out, once we had more than one kid, that getting our family outside, away from the house and pantry and toys and the ipad, always paid off. We thought it was the removal of the props of our everyday parenting power struggles that made the difference, but probably it’s greater than that: Situating ourselves in our most real, most basic environment. As Florence Williams claims: “being in nature actually makes us more human.”
I’ve enjoyed our Lenten series, thinking about some of the garden and natural environment, growth and not-growth, themes in the gospels. The dangerous desert. Trees that bear fruit. The reckless seed sower. Treasure hidden in a field. The fig tree withered. It was always my plan to arrive back at John’s account of Easter morning, with Mary, upset to find Jesus’ tomb empty, meeting the Risen Christ and presuming she’s talking to the gardener.
She is, after all, in a garden.
There is nothing strange about meeting a gardener there.
There’s always so much happening in the Easter morning texts, and so many different sermons oozing from each; it’s interesting to look at this story just though the lens of this mistaken identity.
I’ve heard and read it at least a hundred times, and I’m always more likely to get caught up in the strange fact that Mary didn’t recognise Jesus – because she was distraught or because he was not quite the same. And then that lovely turning point, when he says her name and she knows her teacher. Until last Easter when I read commentary pointing out otherwise, the fact that she had mistaken Jesus for the gardener seemed like a throw away remark.
But of course it’s not.
And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
God put the man, Adam, in the garden “to work it and take care of it”. God made another human, Eve, to belong with Adam in the garden. Chances are you know the story – with this beautiful garden world at their fingertips, all they had to do was keep their mitts and mouths off the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. But they couldn’t do it.
They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, ‘Where are you?’ He said, ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.’ He said, ‘Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?’ The man said, ‘The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.’ Then the Lord God said to the woman, ‘What is this that you have done?’ The woman said, ‘The serpent tricked me, and I ate.’
What’s done is done. God has a lot to say about this turn of events, but the upshot is the pair sent out of the garden; their decision to eat, to have it all, means God can’t shelter them in the garden any longer.
...therefore the Lord God sent [Adam] forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which he was taken. He drove out the man; and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life.
Our tradition calls this the fall. And whether you believe it’s a historical event, or the backstory to a truth embedded in our world, the situation remains the same – humans aren’t in Eden. We know all about fear and failure, disappointment and danger. Not only this – we know beauty and wonder and kindness and magnificence too. We know complexity. We don’t live in the sheltered purity of Eden.
Then we come to Easter, to this new day dawning, to Jesus’ tomb empty, and to this mysterious gardener in the garden.
And we’re meant to wonder if Eden has been restored, and to feel the relief and rightness of it.
Paul refers to Christ as a Second Adam (1 Cor 15:23 “...for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.”) – and in this garden John is hinting at the same theological point. A new day, a new creation; a gardener fresh out of the tomb that could not contain him, enjoying his garden.
The Nature Fix identifies the restorative and invigorating effects of nature, encouraging us to seek it out for the good of our health and well being. Easter morning in this garden might lend itself to a parallel theory: the garden fix. Seek it out, bask in it, soak it up – grow and flourish in this resurrection morning environment of relief and hope. Increase in wisdom, strength, and courage in the garden of the Risen Christ.
But there is barely time to register this reaction before Mary is sent out from the garden. Not banished like Adam and Eve, she can’t remain there nevertheless. She has only just recognised Jesus, heard her name in his voice, the tears aren’t even dry on her face, and she’s sent out of the garden: “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.’”
It seems that Jesus does not allow anyone to bask here for long; no sooner do we have an inkling of what Easter morning means we are sent to live it.
Easter is not theoretical – it is known most deeply when we live the Easter story with the Risen Christ.
The gardener is not there to tend to us within safe and settled garden confines but to teach us to see Easter patterns in his new world – which has dawned not only in the garden but everywhere we could possibly go.
So no sooner have we spotted the Risen Christ gardener, we are sent with Mary. To live the truths of Easter – that life follows death, that love stands in resistance to fear, that despair can transform into courage.
And we might not feel we are qualified or fully formed – we might feel that we need more time to reflect, to make sure we know exactly how it all fits together, more proof of what life following death looks and feels like, more stories of courage from despair.
But “I have seen the Lord” is bread enough to start the journey.
We’re not clawing our way back to Eden, we are not seeking a garden to settle down in. The new creation of Easter sends us out. The Rule of God is within us, and around us.
So I wonder, where do you think Jesus is sending me, sending you, fresh from the Easter garden? With or without full understanding, with or without wisdom, with or without courage. Where do we need to live Easter, even while it is still dawning on us?
I enjoyed listening to a podcast interview with Florence Williams the other day because although I love the city, I do experience nature – grass, tress, beaches, sky – giving the benefits she describes in her book is The Nature Fix: why nature makes us happier, healthier and more creative.
We worked out, once we had more than one kid, that getting our family outside, away from the house and pantry and toys and the ipad, always paid off. We thought it was the removal of the props of our everyday parenting power struggles that made the difference, but probably it’s greater than that: Situating ourselves in our most real, most basic environment. As Florence Williams claims: “being in nature actually makes us more human.”
I’ve enjoyed our Lenten series, thinking about some of the garden and natural environment, growth and not-growth, themes in the gospels. The dangerous desert. Trees that bear fruit. The reckless seed sower. Treasure hidden in a field. The fig tree withered. It was always my plan to arrive back at John’s account of Easter morning, with Mary, upset to find Jesus’ tomb empty, meeting the Risen Christ and presuming she’s talking to the gardener.
She is, after all, in a garden.
There is nothing strange about meeting a gardener there.
There’s always so much happening in the Easter morning texts, and so many different sermons oozing from each; it’s interesting to look at this story just though the lens of this mistaken identity.
I’ve heard and read it at least a hundred times, and I’m always more likely to get caught up in the strange fact that Mary didn’t recognise Jesus – because she was distraught or because he was not quite the same. And then that lovely turning point, when he says her name and she knows her teacher. Until last Easter when I read commentary pointing out otherwise, the fact that she had mistaken Jesus for the gardener seemed like a throw away remark.
But of course it’s not.
And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
God put the man, Adam, in the garden “to work it and take care of it”. God made another human, Eve, to belong with Adam in the garden. Chances are you know the story – with this beautiful garden world at their fingertips, all they had to do was keep their mitts and mouths off the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. But they couldn’t do it.
They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, ‘Where are you?’ He said, ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.’ He said, ‘Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?’ The man said, ‘The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.’ Then the Lord God said to the woman, ‘What is this that you have done?’ The woman said, ‘The serpent tricked me, and I ate.’
What’s done is done. God has a lot to say about this turn of events, but the upshot is the pair sent out of the garden; their decision to eat, to have it all, means God can’t shelter them in the garden any longer.
...therefore the Lord God sent [Adam] forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which he was taken. He drove out the man; and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a sword flaming and turning to guard the way to the tree of life.
Our tradition calls this the fall. And whether you believe it’s a historical event, or the backstory to a truth embedded in our world, the situation remains the same – humans aren’t in Eden. We know all about fear and failure, disappointment and danger. Not only this – we know beauty and wonder and kindness and magnificence too. We know complexity. We don’t live in the sheltered purity of Eden.
Then we come to Easter, to this new day dawning, to Jesus’ tomb empty, and to this mysterious gardener in the garden.
And we’re meant to wonder if Eden has been restored, and to feel the relief and rightness of it.
Paul refers to Christ as a Second Adam (1 Cor 15:23 “...for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.”) – and in this garden John is hinting at the same theological point. A new day, a new creation; a gardener fresh out of the tomb that could not contain him, enjoying his garden.
The Nature Fix identifies the restorative and invigorating effects of nature, encouraging us to seek it out for the good of our health and well being. Easter morning in this garden might lend itself to a parallel theory: the garden fix. Seek it out, bask in it, soak it up – grow and flourish in this resurrection morning environment of relief and hope. Increase in wisdom, strength, and courage in the garden of the Risen Christ.
But there is barely time to register this reaction before Mary is sent out from the garden. Not banished like Adam and Eve, she can’t remain there nevertheless. She has only just recognised Jesus, heard her name in his voice, the tears aren’t even dry on her face, and she’s sent out of the garden: “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.’”
It seems that Jesus does not allow anyone to bask here for long; no sooner do we have an inkling of what Easter morning means we are sent to live it.
Easter is not theoretical – it is known most deeply when we live the Easter story with the Risen Christ.
The gardener is not there to tend to us within safe and settled garden confines but to teach us to see Easter patterns in his new world – which has dawned not only in the garden but everywhere we could possibly go.
So no sooner have we spotted the Risen Christ gardener, we are sent with Mary. To live the truths of Easter – that life follows death, that love stands in resistance to fear, that despair can transform into courage.
And we might not feel we are qualified or fully formed – we might feel that we need more time to reflect, to make sure we know exactly how it all fits together, more proof of what life following death looks and feels like, more stories of courage from despair.
But “I have seen the Lord” is bread enough to start the journey.
We’re not clawing our way back to Eden, we are not seeking a garden to settle down in. The new creation of Easter sends us out. The Rule of God is within us, and around us.
So I wonder, where do you think Jesus is sending me, sending you, fresh from the Easter garden? With or without full understanding, with or without wisdom, with or without courage. Where do we need to live Easter, even while it is still dawning on us?
