Better, they say, to light one candle than to curse the darkness.
I wonder if that’s along the lines of what the women were thinking – Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Salome – as they made their way to the tomb.
From a safe distance, it might appear these gals had taken leave of their senses. What was the purpose of their early-morning trek after all? The evangelist Mark says they’d “bought spices so that they might go and anoint him.”
“Him” meaning (for all they knew) a lifeless corpse.
What’s the point of anointing a dead body? Surely, it was a waste of their likely-meager funds. And all this, Mark says, in pursuit of an objective almost certain to fail: “They were saying to one another, ‘Who will roll back the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?’”
But onward they trudged, determined to do what little they could to demonstrate a love for Jesus that had not yet dimmed. And so we trudge, too, thousands of years later – emboldened by the women who overcame their fear to tell an unsettling and amazing story: Christ, the Risen Lord, is unleashed in the world.
Fittingly, we hear the story by candlelight at the Easter Vigil. And in the process, I notice the impact that one candle, lit, can eventually have on my surroundings.
“Christ in me arise…and dispel all the darkness…”
The darkness may not be banished entirely. But we make a dent in it. Candle by candle, we dispel the darkness’ ability to fill our hearts with confusion and fear.
Now, I don’t know Brian Dorsey. And I’ve never had the chance to meet Missouri Governor Mike Parsons. But in recent days, I’ve taken note how these two strangers have produced a nexus of dread in me: Brian, scheduled to be executed by my state just nine days from today. Governor Parsons, the one with the power to stay the execution.
I lit my own candle of protest some time ago, letting the Governor know that I object to this killing in my name. The dread remains however, fueled by the knowledge that my previous protests have proved powerless to stop state-sanctioned killings in Missouri.
One candle, my candle, did little in the past. But this is Easter Sunday – the day on which I am encouraged to wipe the sleep from my eyes and to embrace the flicker of courage in my heart and to trudge forward toward the tomb with the hope, the expectation, that I might indeed find it empty.
Will you join me on this Easter journey?
You can sign the Petition for Clemency here:
Let us pause now…to recall that we are in the presence of the Holy & Merciful One.
IHS
With Us Still 