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The point of exclamation, or the exclamation point. These punctuation marks are English language
additions to the original text. Neither the Hebrew nor the Greek contain exclamation points for
punctuation, though most of the scriptures could be labeled points for exclamation: moments to
exclaim. Hosanna in the highest: is a point of exclamation as Jesus entered Jerusalem. “I’ve seen
the Lord”, Mary exclaims to the disciples. “Look, he is coming with the clouds!”, we read in
Revelation. Our Call to Worship contains points of exclamation from Psalm 118.
This table is an exclamation point: the broken bread and poured out cup proclaim the death of our
Lord until he comes again. We have reached this point, only by grace. I want us to enter, this
morning, into Mary Magdalene’s point of exclamation, on that Sunday.
“Mary stood outside near the tomb”, the Gospel tells us. Who was there? How many were there,
at the tomb? “Abide with me”, Jesus had just instructed his followers on the Thursday before. How
many abided there? One. Who? Mary. “Mary stood outside near the tomb, crying.” As we read,
we hear an emphasis on her crying. Next sentence begins: “As she cried.” The angels will then ask
her: “Why are you crying?” Jesus will ask her: “Why are you crying?” Repetition punctuates
exclamation. The tears exclaim Mary’s reality. Grief is where Mary sits, near the tomb. Thank
you, Mary, for validating our own tears, dignifying our grief; Mary bravely goes there. Perhaps
you’ve been there, beside Mary. Uncontrollable, mournful exclamations from a broken heart. The
gospel gives freedom to go there and to talk about it: why are you crying? Mary is able to talk
about it. Maybe that’s a mark of faith. In her grief she is not debilitated, not helpless, not ashamed.
She is active. She bent down and looked into the tomb. She conversed with the angels. She talked
with the one whom she thought was a gardener. In grief, while crying, we can function and get
around. The faithful animate the place of death and loss. The faithful, in that place, are open to
being changed; open to becoming new persons. It becomes a sacred place, a holy time: Sunday
near the tomb. The tomb, and Mary, were open.
To the angels’ question – Why are you crying? – Mary replies, “They have taken away my Lord,
and I don’t know where they’ve put him.” Because everyone knows dead is dead; always has been,
always will be. Because death renders a person inanimate, inert, incapable of movement, thought,
or anything resembling life. If the dead body isn’t here, they have taken him away. The Lord is a
helpless object. They’ve put him somewhere! It’s their world; they rule; this place belongs to
them!
Mary did not recognize the Lord by sight. After all, who could imagine such a thing? With her
glassy, puffy eyes how clear was her vision? Mary did not recognize him when he first spoke:
“Woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?” “Thinking he was the gardener, she
replied, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him and I will get him.’”
Again, Jesus, the dead Lord, can only be done to; he cannot do for himself, or for anyone else.
This is the tomb; it’s their world. The only exclamation, at this point, is name and date of death.
In the Spanish language, an upside down exclamation point is added at the beginning of a sentence
in which a right side up one will appear at the end. A clue for the reader to get ready. The
punctuation mark will be flipped over at the end. Get ready.
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Commentator Dale Bruner calls the next verse the shortest and most dramatic sermon in the gospel.
Jesus spoke one word, “Mary”. One word. The Good Shepherd knows his sheep and calls them by
name. In the Greek, Marium. “She turned and said to him, ‘Rabbouni’ (which means Teacher)”.
Flipped exclamation point. She turned, this genius of a writer tells us. Mary turned, from crying.
Mary turned, from loss. Mary turned, from solitude. One word, her name, spoken by Jesus, not
inert, but speaking, not lifeless object, but active and transforming in death as in life, changed
Mary’s life forever. One word. Mary turned, there at the tomb. We turn, there, with Mary, at the
tomb. Dale Bruner says that those six spoken syllables, Marium, Rabbouni, turned time from BC
to AD. The tomb flipped from end to beginning. Death has never been the same since, and life has
never been the same. Grief, death, and crying no longer close the book. The alpha and the omega,
beginning and the end, A to Z. Jesus said, “Mary”. Mary turned, all of creation turns, with
resurrection twist.
“In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” “What came
into being through the Word was life.” In this first appearance of the risen Christ, the genius writing
this gospel, repeats the same exact phrase three times: “Jesus said to her”. The word lives; lives to
speak! (Exclamation point) The word is alive, full of life. Like an air pump, Jesus’ speaking is
pumps life. Jesus said to her: Woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for? Jesus said
to her: Mary. Jesus said to her: Don’t hold onto me, for I haven’t yet gone up to my Father. Go
to my brothers and sisters and tell them, ‘I’m going up to my Father and your Father, to my God
and your God.’ Notice Jesus does not say our Father, or our God, but “my” and “your”. Though,
by faith, we become his brothers and sisters, children of God, it will never be the same relationship
as Jesus and the Father have. Jesus is God. The Word was God. We are adopted, grafted into the
family, never to be on that same plane. We are invited into relationship with our Father, our God,
but never like Jesus’ bond with the Father.
“Don’t hold onto me” is a curious command spoken by the risen Christ, to Mary. We imagine that
they embraced, that they hugged, as Mary turned from the tears of sorrow to tears of joy, but
separation is once again imminent. The original Greek is harsher - Jesus said to her: “Now let go”.
He is on his way, to ascend to the Father. Mary has turned. The world has turned. And we are on
our way, separately, distinctly different, with resurrection twist. Self-differentiated, they call it in
family system theory, to describe a healthy, whole, and functional human being. Full of vitality.
Empowered. Assertive. Not dependent. Or needy. Or grabbing after another’s power. Mary is a
resurrection witness, a Jesus believer. She’s got it; pumped. So Jesus says see you later; you go
there, I’ll go here. Both empowered and alive. Let go. As believers in the resurrection, we are
pumped with life, able to be fully alive, with Jesus in heaven.
And the risen Jesus is free; let me go. Unencumbered by our needs. Not tied down by our prayer
requests or expectations or false understandings. Wasn’t the world was supposed to end at Y2K?
Didn’t we read where women are supposed to be silent in church? Doesn’t Jesus love people like
us more than people like them? And Jesus says let me go, I’m going to do my thing. Jesus is free
to move about the cabin. The Word will always be free to speak in new ways, in new times, in
times of change. Jesus will speak through voices we’ve never heard before. And we are changed,
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because we need to be changed. We’re between the upside down and right side up points of
exclamation. We are being set aright and alive; Jesus said. It’s the resurrection twist.