I Know That My Redeemer Lives!

It used to be that one of the nice things about writing books was that people who read them and loved them learned to know the author through their words. You didn't have to mess around with "image." There was "brand" to think about, but if you discovered a new gray hair and an extra wrinkle or two in the mirror, the news media was not going to plaster the tabloids with the devastation of it all.

Things have changed over the years as authors are more likely to have web pages and Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram profiles. But once upon a time, if you wrote books, you could become well-known and still hide from the world.

I never reached the same celebrity status as most well-known novelists, and consequently, never thought twice about "image." But there was at least one time that this all came home to me. I was at the library, and someone introduced me to a girl who stood in the atrium just outside the entrance. 

Her eyes grew round, her mouth swung open, and she said: "You're Tamara Shoemaker? I love your books!" Then she proceeded to tell me all about my own characters and how they had impacted her, and how she wanted to be an author, and overall, left me feeling quite shy and unworthy and thankful that I'd never be in an on-screen image role.

See... this girl knew my name. And that name changed the situation -- from stranger... to friend. She knew me through my words. As soon as she heard my name, she recognized me.

"Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance" (John 20:1). The other Gospels have variations on this, but they all agree: among the first ones to discover the empty tomb -- is Mary Magdalene.

Now, I've never visited a graveyard and found a cracked open, empty vault, and I've especially never had this happen to the grave of a person I had loved while still alive. I can only imagine the absolute numbness that must have blanketed the minds of the women as they stared at the two angels sitting at the head and foot of the place where Jesus' body had previously laid.

The women had witnessed the burial. Luke 23:55 says: "The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph [of Arimathea] and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it." They knew he had been there.

One of the angels speaks up: "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" Why do you look for the living among the dead?

But... He died! I saw it. I was there. I was a witness.

"He is not here; He has risen!" These are arguably the most powerful seven words in the entire Scripture, and there are a lot of powerful words.

Have you ever been so shocked that you can't feel your lips... or the ends of your fingers? I have. I wonder if Mary was there -- shocked, speechless, telling herself she must have dreamed it, telling herself it surely couldn't be true, and yet...

She turns and runs back to the city, to the place where Peter and John and the other disciples are staying. "He's gone. The tomb is empty!" she cries.

I've said it before and I'll keep saying it: Peter's my favorite (though John's pretty cool, too). I had to laugh at an exchange I saw on Facebook yesterday where one of my friends dished on Slow Peter a little, because he couldn't keep up with Speedy John. One of her friends returned the dish with a mischievous snub of her own: Peter ran into the tomb, while John only bent over and looked from the outside. "It doesn't count if he didn't go in," she said. (He did go in later, but Peter was the first intrepid one.)

The disciples witness the empty tomb for themselves. They see the slack graveclothes, neatly folded, the burial cloth that had been around Jesus' head separated from the strips of linen that had been bound around His body. 

Then they go back to the city, to the places they'd been staying. Perhaps they were like me and needed to process this before they could do anything else. Surely their minds were ringing with questions. How? How?

John "saw and believed" (John 20:8). But... "They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead" (John 20:9). 

Mary Magdalene, meanwhile, remains in the graveyard, weeping. She doesn't understand yet, either. Empty grave, no Jesus. The same refrain in John and Peter's mind echoes in her mind: How? How? What does it mean: "He is risen!" Surely this is like one of those parables Jesus told so often: there must be a symbolic meaning. Perhaps they have taken Him out of His grave, taken him somewhere different.

In the early morning light, a Man approaches Mary, and she sees Him through her tears. At this hour, so early, before most people are awake, He could only be the Gardener. 

She's obviously in distress; His voice must have been gentle: "Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?"

When I cry, I ugly-cry. My words are garbled, and I'm sniffing and hiccupping. My voice goes up and down and all over the place, and if Mary was anything like this, it's a wonder the Man understood her at all. "Sir," she says, "if you have carried Him away, tell me where You have put Him, and I will get Him."

Jesus says to her: "Mary."

...

Mary.

Recognition floods her at the sound of her name spoken from His mouth. I see you. I know you. Fear not, for I have redeemed you (on the cross and through the power of My resurrection from the dead); I have summoned you by name.

You. Are. Mine.

Mary. 

From stranger... to friend. Recognition. He sees her; she recognizes Him. She belongs to Him. Because of what He did, she is no longer her own; she is bought at a price. His. His!

Tamara. [Insert your name here.] I have called you by your name. You're mine. You saw what I did on the cross; you witnessed it; now witness this:

I am risen!

Why do you look for the living among the dead? He. Is. Not. Here.

Not at the grave. Not in the tomb. He's not trapped beneath the ground, not decaying, not turning to dust.

Risen! Risen! He is risen!

Was it a morning like this when Peter and John ran from Jerusalem? 

It is finished! The battle is over. It is finished! There'll be no more war. It is finished! The end of the conflict! It is finished, and Jesus is Lord!

Risen, risen, risen, risen... There's a tempo to it. The urgency of life: Death is defeated; He is risen! He is risen!

I hear that same tempo this morning as dawn slowly peers over the horizon's edge east of my home. I can see the difference between the mountain range and the sky now. Day is dawning, light is coming, darkness is defeated, the Son is alive! He's alive! He is risen! He is risen!

Crown Him with many crowns! He is King of all kings and Lord of all lords, and His reign is eternal!

He is risen! 

"I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end, He will stand on the earth, and after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh, I will see God! I myself will see Him with my own eyes -- I, and not another! How my heart yearns within me!" (Job 19:25-27)