Sermon at Saint Margaret’s Anglican Church, Budapest (2026.04.05) Easter Sunday, Year A

Acts 10.34-43; Psalm 118.1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3.1-4; John 20.1-18 

 “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”  

Jesus tends to ask questions that on the surface seem simple but turn out to be searching. 

A week before Mary Magdalene confused the Messiah for the Gardener, Jesus had received the “red carpet” treatment. Not because he was nominated for an Oscar, but because he was being hailed as the King of the Jews – the promised Messiah who would save them from sin, which in their minds meant the Romans.  

So, the people laid their expensive coats and palm fronds over the road, protecting not royal chariot wheels from being covered in dust, but the unassuming hooves of a donkey. Quite the entrance into Jerusalem. 

According to the three other Gospel accounts, instead of driving the Romans out of Israel, Jesus began driving the moneychangers and kiosk owners out of the Temple. 

In John’s Gospel, Jesus goes around telling people that he is going to die. Both were problematic political platforms.  

Within a week, the crowd called for his execution.  

Pontius Pilate offered a choice – Jesus of Nazareth or Jesus Barabbas, an insurrectionist who made a failed run at delivering Israel from the Romans.  

They – and here we should read ourselves into the story as well – chose a counterfeit Christ over the Son of God.  

Meanwhile, Peter still couldn’t get his head around Jesus’ talk of his impending departure. “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you” (Jn 13:37). One of the emptiest promises to ever pass through human lips, and Jesus unceremoniously exposed the irony of his bravado. “Before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times” (Jn 13:38). 

Indeed, after Jesus was taken into custody, Peter did have a change of heart. Instead of giving his life to protect his Lord, he disavowed ever knowing him. Not once, but three times, with increasing colourful language.  

The cock’s crow pierced the darkness of the courtyard as it pierced the heart of Peter. So, he did the only thing we can do when we realise that we’ve made a complete mess of our lives and relationships. He wept, bitterly. 

We’ve all been there, in one way or another. Thankfully, Jesus is the one who laid down his life, for us, and for Peter – and his love is faithful, even when ours isn’t. 

The Gospel writers gloss over the gruesome details of the crucifixion, perhaps still traumatised by the sheer inhumanity of it.  

When it was finished, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea took Christ’s body to prepare it for burial. According to the Torah, touching a corpse caused someone to become ceremonially unclean. Confused and in shock, like everyone else, their love nevertheless moved them to perform one last act of service.  

So, they quickly wrapped up his mutilated body before sunset.  

It must have been challenging, keeping the blood from soaking through the linen. Thankfully, the tomb was nearby.  

Then came the Great Sabbath. A day of rest. Rest is a lovely euphemism for what the disciples did that Saturday. Perhaps they were coordinating their stories, in case the Pharisees came knocking. Or maybe they tried sleeping the whole thing off, hoping that when they woke up, things would be better.  

Mary Magdalene couldn’t sleep. While it was still dark, she went to the tomb, only to find the stone off to the side. Panicking, she ran to Peter’s house and then to John’s. “They’ve taken the Lord’s body and we don’t know where it is!” 

Bleary-eyed, Peter and John ran to the tomb to see for themselves, but John got there first. He was the beloved disciple and apparently the better athlete. But John hesitated. When Peter arrived, he dove headlong in. The expensive linens ruled out grave-robbers. “[John] saw and believed” (Jn 20:8), but there is some ambiguity with respect to what exactly they believed, still not fully understanding the resurrection. 

In any event, they returned home, without saying anything to anyone.  

Mary Magdalene, on the other hand, remained outside the tomb weeping. When she looked in, instead of two piles of linens, she saw two angels who were perplexed by her tears. “Why are you weeping?” they enquired (Jn 20:13). 

Distraught and preoccupied with finding the body, she couldn’t comprehend their question, let alone register that angels were speaking to her.  

Jesus, in his mercy and love, came to her himself. “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” (Jn 20:15). 

Confused by his lack of concern for the missing body, she assumed he was just a hired hand, the gardener. “Sir…” – kyrie – ironically the same term for ‘Lord’: “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him” (ibid.) 

A one-word answer was all it took. “Mary…” – calling her by name.  

Previously Jesus had said the Pharisees, “I have told you, and you do not believe… because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me” (Jn 10:26-27).  

Mary recognised the shepherd’s voice. 

Then, correcting the failure of Peter and John, Jesus says to her: “Do not hold on to me… But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” (Jn 20:17). 

Mary Magdalene is the one Christ chose to announce his resurrection from the dead.  

“Go to my brothers” – not my disciples or followers, but my brothers – and say that “I am ascending to my Father and your Father.”  

This marks an essential shift in John’s Gospel, the first time Jesus makes explicit to his disciples that his Father is now their Father too.  

Through his death and resurrection, Jesus reconciled humanity with God. Sin and rebellion had fractured our relationship, but for those who embrace Christ, we are his brothers and sisters; his Father is our Father, and his God is our God.  

The resurrection of Christ is a great triumph, but it is not the triumphal end of the story. It is the triumphal beginning of a new story, a new story that no longer ends with death and destruction, but with joy and blessing and fullness of life. 

However, until that glorious day arrives when Christ returns and we share in His resurrection, our lives will not be immune to difficulties and disappointments. Just as Christ suffered, so will we. 

And if you are in a season when life seems to have taken a wrong turn, when things are confusing and hope seems to be lost, Jesus’ question to Mary is worth pondering: “Whom are you looking for?” 

It’s easy to end up looking for answers in the wrong place. But if we would only turn around, we might just hear the voice of the risen Saviour – our brother and our Lord, who sits on the right hand of our Father – calling us by name.