John, the writer of the fourth gospel, doesn't waste much time before letting us know that this morning is different from all other mornings-that this story isn't going to follow the expected script. John's account of that first Easter isn't a verse old before he informs us that the stone that had sealed Jesus up forever has been removed. By ignoring all of the set-up and the context (the other gospel writers at least wait until the second verse before springing the big Easter surprise on us), John powerfully indicates that something enormous, something profound has occurred-something that will change everything. The story of Jesus that had been moving toward its inevitable and horrible end for nineteen chapters has now taken a major turn-and everyone associated with it had better pay close attention because you wouldn't want to miss a thing. If this were a movie, no one at this point in the film would be getting out of their seats to go to the concession stand or the bathroom because John makes sure that everyone knows that a big finish is at hand. Everyone, that is, except for Mary Magdalene and the other two disciples who visit the empty tomb.

When Mary arrives at the tomb (in the first verse) and sees that the stone has been removed (in the first verse), that is, when she sees that the story that she thought she was going to live out (in the first verse) had been rewritten (in the first verse), when she comes to realize that her story was being retold, she became terribly upset. Notice, Mary doesn't go into the tomb, she doesn't gather more information, she doesn't have one of those "Aha" moments-"Wow, Jesus wasn't kidding when he said he would rise from the dead after three days." Rather, she is confused and troubled and in her confusion and trouble runs to tell Peter and the other disciple that something is wrong with this story.

Upon their arrival, they, too, realize that they are in story that is foreign and unfamiliar, and like Mary, they don't know what to make of it. They saw Jesus die, they saw his body placed in the tomb (at least the disciple whom Jesus had love saw it-Peter wasn't actually there, having denied even knowing Jesus and then not sticking around for his last brutal hours), they knew all about life and death-remember, these were people who lived close to the earth-or in their cases, close to the sea. People got sick or were condemned to death, they died, and that was that. They knew the story. They knew it by heart. So this new turn of events, this new storyline, did not make sense, it did not compute. They went to the tomb, they looked inside, they beheld at the linen clothes that had been folded where Jesus' body had been laid out, and they came to the only reasonable conclusion-someone had stolen the body. Now this was a preposterous conclusion-the stone covering the tomb was enormous, the previous day had been the Sabbath-no one would have been there, and what's more, people just don't steal dead bodies-but it was the only conclusion that made sense. And it made sense because it allowed them to continue in their story-and that story was Jesus was dead, what had been so wonderful when he was alive was over. Period. The end. And now someone-not quite sure who, not quite sure why, not quite sure how-has stolen the body. Convinced of their story, they leave, shaking their heads.

And the confusion only continues for Mary. Once the two guys leave the garden, Mary is left alone-except she isn't alone. She looks in the tomb to let the sad reality sink in and she sees two angels. This should have been a clue; except she was stuck in her story of grief and sadness and the angels simply didn't compute. Then she turns and there standing right before her, as real as Peter and the other disciple had just been, as real as the stone that had covered the tomb and was now rolled away, as real as her own self, was Jesus! He was not dead but alive! A new story was beginning! Except...Mary didn't see it that way. For she was still living in her story. She was still bound by the reality that she was convinced of. Nothing in John's account of this first Easter morning suggests that Jesus looked any different than he did when he was alive, but Mary couldn't recognize him. And why not? Because he wasn't supposed to be there. He was dead. He was gone. It was over. At least that was the story that Mary was living. And she picks up her story with Jesus. First, she supposed that he is the gardener. Who else would be in the garden so early on the first day of the week? Second, she assumes that he knows what has happened to the body (actually this is Mary's first inkling of the truth that morning-the man before her certainly did know what happened to the body). But even when hearing his voice, the new story that was being played out-the new story that she was living out-did not dawn on Mary.

So why did Mary and the other disciples cling so tenaciously to their old story-why did they not perceive the new story that was beginning that morning? In part, they were being practical-death comes to all, death is final, and there is nothing we can do about it. And to be sure, the resurrection flew in the face of all that was reasonably expected. Except, that was not always the case with Jesus. Think of the totally unexpected things that happened in John's gospel alone: there was the turning water into wine episode, there was the time when Jesus restored sight to the man born blind, there was the time when Jesus crossed all social and religious boundaries and spoke with the Samaritan woman at the well-which was scandalous-a Jewish man lowering himself to converse with a Samaritan woman? Unthinkable. And yet he did it, and biggest surprise of all, she became his disciple. And then there was that whole-what would you even call it-resuscitation? Miracle? Thing?-with Lazarus. Four days he was dead. And then he was alive! No, Mary knew enough to know that you should always expect the unexpected when it came to Jesus. But not that morning in the garden by the empty tomb. On that morning, Mary was stuck in her story.

So why was that morning different for Mary? Why couldn't she see the clues, the really obvious ones? It might help to ask why we get stuck in our own stories. All of us create a version of reality that helps us know who we are and what to expect from the world. These stories about life are first created in our childhood. The world is either a safe place or a dangerous place. We are either cherished or we are defective. We are loved for who we are or we have to earn other people's love. We are generous people or we are stingy. Many of these stories about the world and about ourselves are taught to us by our parents, by our churches and schools, by our society. And slowly over time, we believe them and then live our lives through those stories. If you were brought up to feel guilty about things not working out, for instance, you can make almost any failure or tragedy in life your fault. In my years as a Pastor, I have met people who have lost a loved one, and they have a deep and ironclad feeling that this death must somehow be related to something bad that they did a long time ago; that this death is perhaps a punishment or at least a consequence of their failure in the past. Maybe this is what held Mary in her old story. Scripture tells us that Mary had been possessed by seven demons-Jesus had released her from the demons, but perhaps she continued to assume that that demon possession was her fault-and if she had been a better person, if Jesus hadn't had to waste his time on her then he wouldn't have died. Now that may not be logical, but that is not an uncommon conclusion that so many of us reach. Just recently I met a man in a restaurant who knew me and Trinity from a funeral at which I had officiated. He said that if he came to a church, it would be Trinity. Taking that as my cue, I invited him to come. He chuckled at my invitation and said that he was afraid that that would be dangerous to the church since it would probably blow up if he showed up. While his comment was tinged with humor, it revealed a story that he was stuck in-that he had somehow done things in his life that made him unacceptable and undesirable to God. That is not the story that we tell here, but it was power and real to him-and it held him in place.

We are all stuck in stories-stories that keep us from seeing what God is doing in our lives and in the world. Stories that as so powerful that any data, any outcome can be accommodated. And so often, like Mary, these old stories imprison us and hold us in place. And because Mary can't hear the new story on her own, because she is blinded to what is going on all around her, Jesus lovingly and personally invites her to live in the new story. All it takes is for Jesus to call her by name, and Mary can leave the confines of her old story and begin to live into the new. Indeed, Jesus calls all of us by name and invites us to experience the joy of a story that does not count our sins against us and that does not end with our mortal deaths. Like a shepherd with his sheep, Jesus knows all of us by name and wants all of us to feed in green pastures and rest beside still waters.

This is the great power of Easter-Jesus invites us to live a new story-a story where we know we are loved and cherished and where we live eternally with God. This new story of love and redemption and rebirth enables us to leave our old stories, to leave their confinement and learn to see the world and ourselves anew. This new story lets us know that death does not have the final word, that God's story is not stopped by human stories, that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. The new story of Easter allows us, not to forget our past-but to move past it. This new story tells us that we can healthy, that we can be loved, that we deserve love and respect, even if we don't always get it. This new story of Easter gives us the power to forgive others and to receive others' forgiveness.

Indeed, this new story of Easter is not only for us, but God gives us this story to share with the world. Two weeks ago, a team of adults from this church traveled to New Orleans to help with hurricane relief. Their job for the week was mucking out a house-that is they removed every item, every scrap of drywall from the house-stripping it down to the studs, so that maybe one day it can be rehabbed. I was talking to one of the participants on the trip and he said that in all likelihood that house, and thousands more like it will never be rehabbed. But the work leader at the mission camp told them that is not why they were doing that smelly, backbreaking work all week. Their role was give hope to the homeowners. That is, their ministry there was to invite the homeowners and the rest of the community into a new story-into a story where natural disasters and human incompetence do not have the last word. That ministry can feel small and puny in the face of hundreds of thousands of homes that need to be mucked out and rehabbed, but the world can't change without a new story, just as our lives can't change without a new story.

In that garden on that most remarkable Easter morning, Mary was invited into God's new story. In the twinkling of an eye, her grief was transformed into hope, her past wrongs were set aside, her future opened up before her-for God was including in God's new story. And she ran from that place to tell others - "I have seen the Lord." Today on this most remarkable Easter morning, God invites us into God's new story. In the twinkling of an eye, our grief is transformed into hope, our past wrongs are set aside and our future opens up before us-for God is including us in God's new story. And we are now able to run from this place to tell others -- "We have seen the Lord."