The Easter Morning

But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and seeth two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. And they say unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? She saith unto them, Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him. And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away. Jesus saith unto her, Mary! She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master! Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God.

This is perhaps the most beautiful and the most deeply interesting narrative in the whole Bible. It is like a picture representing a heavenly scene, the colours of which are formed by the bright and variegated dusts found in the cups of flowers. It is like a clear and full-toned chord struck on the Easter harp; or a mirror reflecting that glorified existence, whose loveliness our finest ideal creations sketch only imperfectly.

Yes, it belonged to the pen of the disciple who lay on the bosom of Jesus, to describe a scene unequalled in spiritual beauty and tenderness; upon which dawned the morning of that day which shall witness no more tears, unless it be tears of joy. How wonderful and how comforting is all that this picture represents, and how gladdening are the accents in which it addresses our spirits! It is indeed an Easter gospel, tidings of good news; and as such may it benefit our souls!

I. Wonderful! that the most glorious and the most joyful morning which ever dawned on this sinful world, should by the children of God be ushered in with tears! The brethren must first experience from the bottom of their souls how wretched their condition would have been if their Lord and Master had continued in the tomb; then would the joy which Easter brings strike deeper root in their hearts. There are certain truths, and certain sorrowful facts, which must be first acknowledged and experienced, before the blessed signification and importance of the resurrection be fully understood and appreciated. They are as follows: that we are by nature lost; that the curse of the law rests upon us; that it were but just had we been given over to the powers of evil; that all the intellect of man is unable to throw light on the gloomy mystery of the tomb; that if there were indeed a life beyond the grave, it could only be, to beings estranged from God as we are, a life of terror and woe. These bitter thoughts must sink deep into our hearts; for not until we have drunk of this cup of wormwood shall we be able to exclaim, “the joy of Easter is transcendent!”

and not until then shall we be able to understand the joy of Mary in the garden of Joseph.

It is indeed a glorious morning now dawning around us; its brilliancy is just beginning to gild the blue canopy of heaven; the fields are glittering with dewy pearls, and the trees are waving their branches in the morning wind. How silent and how sabbath-like every thing appears! all seems awaiting the celebration of some great festival; it is as though nature anticipated what was about to happen. The song of the birds sounds more joyously from the thickets; heaven looks down upon earth with a different aspect; even the flowers bloom more brightly than usual on the plains; and mountains, meadows, plants, and trees, seem to participate in one common gladness; every heart beats in silent delight and rapturous anticipation. Why then is this mournful women so sad? Alas! she anticipates nothing; and the most beautiful morning the world ever saw brings only grief to her, and weeping is the salutation with which she greets it. How ardently does she desire the songters among the bushes to be silent, and the morning to dawn more slowly! for a dark and cloudy heaven, a cold autumnal wind, and a sad dirge of death and the grave, would suit the feelings of her heart far better than the gay and lovely spring which is blooming around her. Behold her standing oppressed with sorrow, leaning against the rock, her face covered with her hands! She hardly knows where she’ is, or what she is doing; only one thing is she conscious of, that she is the most miserable being in the whole world, and the most deserving of pity; far more does she suffer than those who have lost their dearest friend, far more than even the blessed Virgin. Who then is this lonely one in Joseph’s garden, whose eyes are red with weeping, and who could scarcely be more sad were she mourning the death of father and mother, and were she left a poor and friendless orphan in this cold and cheerless world? She is Mary Magdalene, she who has been named the Peter of the female disciples, and who we feared would have died from the excess of her grief and despair at beholding the sufferings of Him on whom her whole soul depended; but our dying Lord sustained her from his cross with invisible hands; and had it not been for this, the weary eyes of Mary had ceased to weep, for her heart had been broken.

No one felt more bitterly the truths which we alluded to at the beginning of our discourse, than Mary Magdalene. She knew, from sad experience, the condition of the lost sheep and of fallen man, for she had been sunk in the depths of misery and guilt. She had felt the power of sin, the anger and the curse of God, the terrors of hell, and the temptations of the powers of evil. She had been pre-eminent in wickedness; seven devils had had possession of her: the weight of her sins had reduced her to the brink of despair; and in her own person she had experienced the gnawing of the worm that never dies. Yet she had not been left alone in her misery, for at the moment when she would otherwise have sunk, she was sustained by the hand of love, and she found a Man who said to her in the name of God, “Thy sins are forgiven!” a

Man who in an instant released her from the fearful bondage under which she had groaned for years; who assured her that God loved her, sinner though she was; and who opened to her views of eternity which transported her heart with joy. Ever since that time, this Man had been the object that filled her soul; she had followed him whithersoever he went, and had never left him; for he was her all in this world. But, alas! what had she not suffered for this Beloved One? He had come to a fearful and terrible end; — as one forsaken both by God and man, he had died on the accursed tree; and no hand had been stretched from the clouds to save him, and no voice had been heard from above to exculpate him. From that hour Mary’s heaven had been in ruins: and who can wonder! This Man had been the foundation of her peace, and the stronghold of her hope; for peace she had never known until the Sinner’s Friend had assured her of it, and hope she never had until he had pledged himself for the truth of her expectations. If he were dead, then all would be dead to Mary — her peace, her joy, nay, every consolation both in time and eternity. And were he indeed to remain in the grave, then, alas! he could not be the Man from heaven; he had no right to absolve accursed sinners; and his actions could not be well pleasing to Jehovah. “If this be the case,” thought Magdalene, “I am indeed miserable, for alas! he had no authority to say ‘Her sins which are many are forgiven!’ Then I am indeed accursed by God; then will hell with renewed rage overpower me, and my path will once more lead down to the abyss!”

Oppressed by thoughts such as these, Mary, wretched beyond measure, joined on the evening of Friday those who accompanied the beloved corpse to the tomb. Now for the last time she bathed it with her tears — but, alas! immeasurably more bitter tears than those with which she had washed his feet in the house of Simon. Yet even while she wept, her sorrow was cheered at intervals by the twilight of hope. The Jewish Sabbath meanwhile passed over, and the hours of the succeeding sleepless night were spent in grief and lamentation until the dawn of the third day, when she arose in haste, and was the first to be found in Joseph’s garden. When it was yet dark, says our history, she who had hastened before the other disciples arrived at the sepulchre: but what did she behold? The stone rolled away, and the prison-house of death empty! A cold shiver ran through her limbs; but did a thought of the resurrection occur to her? Alas, no! Her first idea was, that his enemies had stolen away the dead body of her beloved Master: her thoughts were, “Now I have nothing more to do with man, and my hopes are for ever dashed to pieces!” This belief took such a firm hold of her mind, that even when the taper of hope began to glimmer, its feeble and trembling light was unable to penetrate the gloomy clouds which overshadowed her soul.

II. Bowed to the ground by thoughts such as these, Mary advanced to the sepulchre, and leaned against the rock. Was she not unutterably miserable — hurled suddenly, as she had been, out of a heaven of peace and joy, into a night whose darkness no star could penetrate? If things really were as she supposed, what a house of misery this world would be! and how would all of us mingle our tears together! Praised be God, however, things are different — quite, quite different! Yet we cannot look without emotion on the woman weeping by the tomb; though we know at the same time that her sorrow cannot touch her heart too deeply, since it is so soon to be changed into unutterable joy. Imagine her feelings, were she to hear a voice say to her, “Mary, dost thou observe nothing? Do no blissful anticipations thrill through thy soul? Look around thee! Observe the stone rolled aside; the rocks torn% asunder; the wonderful order in the tomb, and the napkin wrapped together, apart from the linen clothes! Dost thou not behold that all nature is worshipping in silent adoration, that every created thing is holding some mighty festival, and even the sun is ascending the firmament more joyfully? Mary, however, hears none of this; and voices louder and deeper must be heard ere she can be awakened out of her gloomy reverie. She now bends down and looks into the grave: has she still no misgiving? Alas! no. She returns to her former position, and sobbing more bitterly than ever, rests her head upon the rock. It is wonderful, also, that Mary does not grieve so much because Jesus is dead, as because the body is removed from the tomb, and she believes his enemies have carried it away. Had any one asked the weeping woman to explain her feelings, she would have confessed that her sorrow had been more bearable while she believed the beloved corpse to be resting in the tomb, although she could not explain wherefore. And can we not sympathize with this feeling? Do we not all know the unutterable woe, far worse than the first pang of separation, which we experience when the dead body of him whom we love is borne from our door, never to be viewed by us again until time shall be no longer? Or was the sorrow which troubled the heart of Mary occasioned only by the removal of the corpse, which prevented her showing her love and veneration towards it, by anointing it and strewing it with spices? O, it was far, far more than this! True, she was unconscious of entertaining a thought of the resurrection; but, though unconsciously, this thought still lurked in her heart. Many things pass through our minds which we are far from comprehending clearly; is it not then possible that there might be sounding in the secret chambers of her soul an indistinct but half-understood echo of the mysterious words which Jesus had uttered concerning the raising up of the Temple in three days; and also of the Son of Man having to pass three days and three nights in the heart of the earth, as Jonah did in the whale’s belly? Love hopeth all things, although it may be unconsciously; and Mary would certainly have understood her own feelings had any one thus addressed her:” Magdalene! the dove-like eyes of thy blessed Lord are forever closed; that mouth, from which flowed to thy wounded heart the balsamic stream of heavenly peace, will never more open to address thee; those feet, so beautiful on the mountains, will never more tread this vale of tears; and that true and faithful heart will beat no more, for it is now the prey of corruption!” Then, I can answer for it, Mary would have ceased her weeping to reply to those unworthy sentiments, and with energy she would exclaim,” No: that cannot be; it is impossible! Eyes like these may sleep, but could not be

extinguished; and a mouth like his may rest, but could not be silent and dumb for ever!” We should now perceive with astonishment how faith loves, and love believes, and how hope still continues, although all probability of joy and happiness has departed.

How often do we meet with similar occurrences in Zion! How often do we behold souls sorely tempted, who obstinately maintain that Jesus has forsaken them, that he loves them no longer, and will never confess I them in the presence of his Father — in short, whose firm conviction is that they are lost.! Offer them consolation, and they reject it: point out to them the promises in the Bible, and they say they can lay no claim to them. But suppose that we change our tone for a moment, and with solemnity exclaim, “Alas! alas! we fear you have no part in Christ Jesus!” Their language instantaneously alters; with the most impressive earnestness they deny our assertion; and from the dark background of those hearts, which appeared at first in such utter despair, we behold the light of hope dart forth like lightning, and maintain the field against all the temptations of the adversary.

III. Mary now stooped down to look into the sepulchre, for she could scarcely believe that the beloved corpse was actually away. What then did she perceive? 0 miracle! Yet it is only we who cry, “0 miracle!” Mary joins not with us; for what she perceives brings no change to the feelings of her heart. She beholds two forms of light sitting in the tomb — two angels, one at the head, the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. It almost appears incomprehensible how she did not conjecture that their appearance had some connexion with the removal of the body. In the persons of the two angels there shone forth, if we may so express it, two bright rays from the Easter sun; and yet she will not understand that it is Easter. Never before had seraphs abode in the graves of the dead; and in this case the grave honoured the angels, and not the angels the grave. One might suppose they sat in the most glorious temple earth could ofTer; such silence and solemnity breathes around, they are sunk in such holy contemplation, and their countenances express such sublime devotion. Their thoughts are, “Here slept the Lamb of God! Here lay the only-begotten of the Father, who died for sinners!” And even those glorious angels are oppressed by the sublimity of those conceptions. They cannot turn their eyes away from the place where the body lay, and they sit as though it were still there; one at the head, the other at the feet, thus giving us to understand that it is still their centre; the point around which the circle of their thoughts and feelings revolve, and the unsearchable mystery into which they desire to look.

It is not merely from choice that the angels sit in the tomb of their Lord; he himself has commanded it, to assist his weeping lamb to discern what has happened, to dry her tears, and enable her to understand that her Master now commands a thousand times ten thousand, and has exchanged his garland of thorns for a kingly crown. And certainly those blessed spirits esteem it a glory and an honour to serve one favoured by such a king, and to bring her the first intelligence of the most blessed occurrence that could happen to sinful man. The very circumstance of their sitting within the open tomb, is in itself a gospel enlivening the soul; for is it not one of the most blessed fruits of the resurrection? Henceforward the graves of the saints have a different aspect; they are sleeping chambers, silent, but not gloomy; angels of peace watch around them, and the brilliancy of the morning of the resurrection penetrates even their darkness.

It is strange that the sight of those two forms of light makes no impression upon Mary: she sees, indeed, that they are angels; but does Mary seek angels? No, she seeks Jesus; and her heart is so bowed down with sorrow that even the presence of the angels is insufficient to bring her the least consolation, for the mournful images which so rapidly pursue each other through her agitated soul, leave her no time to reflect or take rest. The blessed spirits excite neither joy nor alarm in nper bosom, for her soul has been so shattered already, nothing new can move it, and her sorrow is of a kind which even angels cannot alleviate. Leaving the heavenly visitants unnoticed, she continues to weep; and never before were they so little regarded by mortals as by the sorrowing Magdalene.

When the angels beheld that the mourner took no notice of their bright and shining forms, they opened their mouths, and with unspeakable kindness and love thus addressed her: “Woman, why weepest thou?” What did they mean by this question? To find out the cause of her tears? O no! that they already knew. The question, “Woman, why weepest thou?” was the expression of their astonishment at beholding on the most joyful morning which ever dawned upon earth, the sinner bathed in tears, who, above all others, should appreciate the joy of that incomparable day. They, inhabitants of heaven though they were, might well envy the circumstances of this sinner, and, if it were possible, wish to exchange with her: glad to give their treasures, for her treasures, their righteousness for her righteousness, and their heaven for her heaven: and yet Mary weeps inconsolably! They see the Prince of Life approaching from the distance, to prepare for her such a blessed Easter as has never since been solemnized on earth; they see him about to present to her as an Easter-gift the whole fruit of his death and resurrection, and about to lavish upon her all his loving-kindness and compassion; and yet Mary still weeps as never woman wept before! O that they were permitted to tell her how unutterably happy she ought to be! But no, they must be silent, for their Lord has so commanded. Therefore they express all that they are permitted to say, in the question, “Woman, why weepest thou?” In other words,” Is it possible that thou canst weep? This is no longer the time for sorrow! Weep no longer, for the

Lion of the tribe of Judah has overcome — and thou in him — eternally!”

Has Mary no misgiving when she hears this question addressed to her? Does it tell her nothing — and can she not read the Easter message in the joyful countenances of the angels? No, no: Mary comprehends, Mary anticipates nothing. She only hears an inquiry concerning the cause of her woe, and replies in broken accents, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.” “Whom, Mary?” “My Lord,” is her answer; and well may she so name him; dead as she believes him to be, he is still her Lord and her King, her all, and the ruler of her heart! Day and night he hovers before her eyes, and is the centre of her thoughts and feelings, her love and her solicitude. The world finds no part in her, for she is engrossed entirely by him: his bloody image she preserves in her soul as an all-powerful magnet, and uses it constantly to influence her goings out and comings in, to enable her to choose the good and refuse the evil. “My Lord!” said Mary. Is it her troubled heart that thus speaks? No, no: far in the depths of her soul there sits a beautiful angel, who, without her being aware of it, comforts her more than the angels who are visible, and to him the wonder is, that she has not altogether despaired. It is the angel of hope; nevertheless we must confess, that she herself has no idea that such an angel hovers amid the gloomy clouds which overshadow her heart; she continues to sob and to weep, for she thinks that despair is her portion.

IV. But why do we grieve any longer for Mary’s tears? They are indeed superfluous; it would be far better were she to smile and rejoice, than to weep; and although she is still enveloped in night and darkness, yet the Easter sun is already ascending the heavens, and the objects of woe and terror which she beholds exist nowhere but in her own imagination. Beyond that gloomy scene which her faint-hearted melancholy presents to her eyes, the world is bright and beautiful, like the Paradise of old; and had she only entered the garden one short half-hour before, she would indeed have ceased to weep — she would have seen the Holy One, and been a witness of his resurrection, which took place, as you are aware, in the early morning dawn. The tomb had been silent and closed until then; the King who had been slain, lay amidst the spices in the deep slumber of death; and the guard who kept watch rejoiced along with the Prince of Hell, because the third day had now appeared, to annihilate for ever the dream of the Galileans concerning the resurrection of their Master. Even while Satan was calling to his dark companions, “Brethren! the reign of the Nazarene is over!” the hour of the eternal Father arrived; the angels sang with joy to the music of their harps, and a seraphic pair stood ready behind the clouds to dart down at the first signal to the silent garden. What happened? The Father spoke. Borne by the breath of life which proceeds from his mouth, the voice of the Almighty penetrated the gloomy vault of death. The words, “Awake, my Son! in whom I dm well pleased!” pealed and reverberated over the dead. The bowels of the earth now begin to tremble — the ground shakes as though the world were about to fall in pieces — the rocks burst asunder; an angel, shining as the light, appears at the tomb, grasps the ponderous stone, hurls it from the door of the sepulchre,

and Ha! what is this? They who keep watch

fall to the ground, like dead men; a cry of terror penetrates even down to hell; but the heavens rejoice! Who is it steps out of the gloomy chamber 1 Who is it before whom the heavenly beings bow down? To whom do they pay homage, as their Lord and their

King? It is he, it is he! Jesus, the crucified one!

He was dead, and yet lives! He has gained possession of the field, he waves the flag of triumph, and bears the keys of hell and of death!

This, then, my brethren, was the glorious occurrence which took place very early on Easter morning, Mary as yet knew k not; we however know it, and rejoice with great joy on account of the stupendous miracle. To those who are convinced, that without a pledge and mediator they would be utterly undone, it must always be the most important question, “Whether Jesus continued to lie in the grave, or rose from the dead?” All is staked upon the inquiry, for Jesus could not have been the Christ had he remained in the imprisonment of the tomb. What should we have thought of the man who had assured us he should rise on the third day, if death had continued to hold him captive? of the man who had undertaken to conquer hell and the grave, if he, on the contrary, had been overpowered by them? — of the man who had declared, “I and the Father are one,” if the Father had seemed unconscious of it, and regarded him no longer? — of the man who had promised to save his people by offering up himself as a sacrifice in their stead, if God had refused to accept him, and permitted him to rest in all the ignominy of a shameful death 1 We should have regarded him as put to shame, and all his labours branded as useless; and such a saviour, or to speak more correctly, no saviour, would the poor sinner have found in Jesus had he remained in the grave. The disciples felt this bitterly, and for this reason the time between the Friday of Passion week and the Sunday morning was the most sorrowful, and at the same time the most terrible, in the whole period of their existence. But what joy when the message was delivered to them, “Christ is risen!”

In an instant the fallen palace of their hopes was raised up from its ruins, more glorious and more beautiful than ever, and resting now upon adamantine foundations. No, no, my brethren, we can never mistake, we can never be in error, while we rest upon Jesus as the rock of our salvation; the Easter miracle assures us that we build our hopes on the right person; no one can henceforth say that we relied upon a man who could not keep his promises. Certainly when his words came to pass, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up!” we may well, henceforward, rest implicitly upon his truth; and no one can say that we trusted in a man who is not the Son of God. His triumph over hell, death, and the grave, and the majesty with which he steps forth from the tomb, casts the last doubt with regard to his divinity to the. ground, and inscribes with gigantic letters on the book of history, “This is the true God, and in him is everlasting life!” No one can any longer despise the grounds on which we build our trust; for does not the Eternal bear witness to their stability, by not merely summoning our dead Lord from the tomb, but clothing him in such glory and brightness? Does it not prove that God not only takes pleasure in the work of his Son, but that it is a work perfected and completed, in which sinners may securely find refuge? Yes, let. us take fast hold of our Immanuel, and build on him the glorious temple of our hopes; knowing that we stand upon a rock which the waves of doubt may assail, but which they «an never shake.

V. Let us now look back to Joseph’s garden, and behold our King coming forth in the silence of the morning, beautiful and glorious as the orb of day. Earth has never seen him in such splendour, nor yet have the heavens; the rising sun does him homage, and the world is like a paradise, over which a morning-star has just arisen. Lo! there he is approaching, but O how different, how very different from before! No crown of thorns now encircles his head, no garment of mockery envelopes his limbs; but the splendour of the diadem glitters on his brow, the Glory of God covers him as with a garment, a heaven of joy can be read in his glance, and the salutations of peace are on his lips. How peacefully and how gladly can we now rest our eyes upon him! No longer does he say, mysteriously and sadly, “Whither I go, ye, cannot come.” Nor yet, “I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how am I straitened till it be accomplished!” But he says, “I come into my garden, to eat of my own fruits!” And now we may apply to him the words in Genesis, “He couched as a lion, and as an old lion; who shall rouse him up?” His soul now enjoys the most ecstatic delight, that of Easter: the joy which had been promised him, and for the sake of which he had suffered death on the cross, is now realized; and in the consciousness of the reconciliation being accomplished between God and man, it seems as though he bore paradise about within his own bosom; and the thought that a sinful people have been purchased and redeemed by his blood, penetrates and flows through his soul, like a river of delight, fresh from the fountains of heaven.

The countenance of the Father, so long hidden from his view, now shines down upon him in all its loveliness and splendour; and the belief in his love is now changed into the vivid consciousness of its reality. The fulness of those blessings comprehended in the expression, to rest on the bosom of the Father, is now restored to him; and though the gates of heaven are not yet opened to admit the Prince of Life, and though the thousand times ten thousand, with their golden harps, have not flown down to meet him, and to cast their crowns at his feet; yet it is only because we poor children of the dust would be almost annihilated on beholding such pomp and glory, as never entered our feeble imaginations to conceive, and instead of drawing near to our Mediator, we should then have required a new one to enable us to approach him. Yes, my brethren, all is so silent around, and Jesus, instead of being clad in a starry mantle, is still clothed in the garment of humanity, in order that sinners like us may form such a picture of him in our hearts, as we can comprehend, and that we might draw nigh with a good courage unto our Lord and our God.

Had it not been for this, all would have happened differently in the garden of Joseph, and one scene of glory would have succeeded another. Well might the holy angels feel, that here for once sinners might take precedence of them in singing Hallelujah; for the Prince of Easter bears a far more close relation to us than to them. It is we whom he has snatched from the depths of hell, and not they; it is we whom he has drawn out of depths of destruction, in which they were never plunged; it is we whom he has released from the curse, while they have never experienced what it is to be rejected of God; we have been clad in the garments of his righteousness, while they have never stood in want of it, having never been poor and weak and helpless. In short, although Jesus may be the source of joy and delight to the angels, yet they can never possess what we possess in him: he is ours, as he is no others’!

VI. Bathed in tears, Magdalene is still standing before the open grave; suddenly it seems as thMigh she were not alone, for she fancies that she hears footsteps. In alarm she hastily turns her head, but perceives no one on either side; now it occurs to her to look behind, and — who is he whom she beholds I Only

Joseph’s gardener; — at least so she believes, and sobbing leans her face once more upon the rock. O, it is touching and heart-moving! His breath touches her head, his image is reflected in her tears; one step only is between her and rapture; but how little is she aware of this, she who only beholds one abyss after another opening before her! The supposed gardener, who is even now preparing to work in his garden of mercy, to raise up the trees thrown down by the storm, and to refresh the languishing flowers with the dew of Easter joy, — this gardener now opens his mouth to the weeping woman, and with friendly accent addresses her in the words of the angel, “Woman, why weepest thou?” This question is the first which has been uttered by our Lord since his resurrection, and is indeed addressed to all his people. The words, “Why weepest thou?” if they did not dissipate at once the clouds of sorrow which overcast Mary’s soul, must at least have broken them, and prepared her in some measure for the scene about to take place. She needed some preparation, otherwise she could not have borne the surprise, and would almost have died from the excess of her wonder and joy. The gardener continued, “Wrhom seekest thou?” This question also contributed to fan the little flame of hope in Mary’s heart, and enticing it forward from the back-ground in which it had been hid, made the mourner conscious of its existence. “Sir,” she replies, “if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him and I will take him away.” Had the gardener no* known already how much her heart was bound up in the beloved corpse, he might have gathered it from her present words. “If thou have borne him hence.” Him, whom meanest thou, Mary? Oh! surely all the world must know whom she means! The gardener has only to say where the dead body is lying; and no matter where it may be, or what danger and toil she may have to endure, she will go and take it away! — But the gardener is silent.

VII. Mary continues to weep, abandoning herself totally to her grief; and now the Saviour thinks there has been enough of mourning, and that it is time for her to hold her Easter. That which now happens, my brethren, you must imagine for yourselves: it is not for me to strive to adorn the simple narrative of the Evangelist with the flowers of speech, or to depict a scene which indeed far surpasses the power of human description. Two words only were uttered; one by our Lord, and the other by Mary. This is the whole scene; but the hearts which overflow in these words, the holy rapture which they enkindle, the ocean of joy and love which they comprehend, the heaven of peace and delight which they disclose; — these are what are indescribable! The glowing pen of a seraph would not suffice to do them justice. But why do we say seraph 1 for a pardoned sinner could far better venture to attempt it. Mary weeps; suddenly she starts as out of a dream! What is this? she is called by name. “Mary!” resounds in her ears, and a cold shiver runs through her limbs. But why is this? She hears a voice which sounds like his voice; it was in these tones, in these soft accents, he used to address her.

Trembling she looks around; — into the grave, but there, there is no one; — on her right, but. she beholds nothing. “Can it have been the gardener V And as she thus thinks, she turns round and looks upon him; — she looks, and looks again — yes, yes, it is the gardener! — 0 Mary, compose thyself! collect thy thoughts, and sink not altogether under the weight of thy surprise ’ — She sees in the gardener Him who was dead, but who now lives! and once more she beholds her lost paradise; for the man who brings salvation, and who is the realization of her dearest hopes, is now restored to her! Her poor heart sinks under the weight of such overwhelming emotion! She falls down, her feet give way, her knees can no longer support her, and she breaks forth into a cry of mingled tenderness, devotion, astonishment, and rapture,” Rabboni! my Lord and my God!” My brethren, ask me not to describe this scene; all is comprehended in the heartfelt exclamations, “Mary!” and “Rabboni!” and language can add no more, if we say that when Mary heard her name pronounced, it seemed to her like a vessel richly freighted with Easter consolation sailing towards her, and was a seal and pledge of her eternal safety and happiness, it will but give a faint idea of what the word “Mary,” as uttered by our Lord, expressed. We may with confidence say that Magdalene, now a blessed saint in heaven, still remembers the joyful moment when the Prince of Life beside the empty tomb called her “Mary!” and when the angels strike their golden harps, she still thinks in her heart,” Sweetly as this sounds, it does not sound like

1 Mary!’ “Yes, in order to comprehend all that this Jittl#word expressed, we must have seen the glance with which our Lord accompanied it; the eyes of unutterable grace and compassion with which he looked down upon her; the sunny splendour of love which shone in his glorified features, and the heaven of salvation and joy which beamed from his countenance; — we must have heard the sweetness of the tones in which he spake, and felt the wafting of the breath which accompanied his words; — these, and many other things, we must have beheld and experienced, ere we can have the faintest idea of what the word” Mary” was, as uttered by Jesus risen from the tomb. And the reply of Magdalene, “Rabboni!” who can fathom the depths of its meaning? Words would fail to describe the joy which is expressed in it, the devout astonishment, the unutterable tenderness, and the full and free giving up of the heart which accompanied it: it seems as though, notwithstanding all our endeavours, we never could penetrate beyond the surface of” the deep thoughts and feelings which are comprised in the one# little word “Rabboni.” There are sounds which seem echoes from the realms of eternal life, which awaken in the soul a longing for its home above, and blissful .conceptions of a futurity beyond the grave; but these sounds cannot be expressed in human words. The Saviour rejoices because his work is now completed; while the lamb of his fold rejoices because she is once more near him, and is assured of peace and salvation; and she inquires no more concerning either earth or heaven, because he has been restored to her who transforms every place which he enters, into a paradise. It is as though one had dreamt #iat he stood on the brink of the sea, watching the progress of a little vessel which contains all he holds most dear — wife, children, and friends. Suddenly a storm arises; the waves of the sea roar; the little vessel totters and capsizes; it sinks into the abyss, along with all that is contained in it. This is the man’s dream; and the scene takes place so vividly before him that he believes it to be reality. With a cry of ‘error he awakes, and trembling looks around him; when lo! he beholds all his treasures unharmed; he becomes aware that it was only a gloomy vision which alarmed him; a feeling of gladness takes possession of his heart, and he shouts and rejoices.

Thus Magdalene felt, only unutterably more happy for the vessel which she had believed shipwrecked bore still more precious treasure than these; and now it was all restored to her, and the blissful past, which she for a while believed to be lost for ever, had returned. The happy woman now knew to whose standard she had sworn allegiance; for since Jesus lived, it was clear as day that he was the Son of God, and the Lord of heaven. All that he had promised had come to pass, and had even now received the seal of its truth; and at the same time the bright palace of her peace and her hope had risen up from its ruins more beautiful and more glorious than ever, and now rested upon imperishable and adamantine foundations.

VIII. At the moment when Mary falls enraptured at the feet of Jesus, he utters the mysterious words, “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God.” The expression, “Touch me not!” has a depth of meaning which we cannot fathom: perhaps our Lord made use of it to quiet the storm of emotion in Mary’s bosom, and to show that henceforward he would not stand in his previous human relation to his followers; perhaps also to prepare her for the time when she should no longer know him after the flesh, or behold him personally, but when she should see him with the eye of faith. Yet, my brethren, ye must all feel that these explanations are but imperfect, and do not penetrate beyond the surface of these mysterious words.

The command which follows is more intelligible, and at the same time is unutterably consoling: “But go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God!” From those words bursts forth a splendour, shining upon those whom the Lamb has purchased with his blood, such as has never illuminated even the world of angels. No, never did the Lord of heaven approach more closely to his redeemed: he names them as his brethren — what honour and glory! “I ascend,” he says, “unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God and your God.” Was not this joining himself, the only-begotten Son of X^tod, with poor sinners, in one dignity, in one perfect man, before the Lord? Thus we see how he knows them no longer after the flesh, but regards them in an Easter light, in the splendour of the perfected reconciliation. He judges then according to what he has done and performed for them, and, as their Head, beholds them receiving those tokens of fatherly grace and love which were due to himself. These words of Jesus disclose to us, likewise, that side of the Easter miracle which may be designated the most glorious and the most blessed. Here, as in one radiant focus, the beams of its splendour are collected together: may we never lose sight of them; but always rejoice, henceforth, in the glorious union of the Son of God with the brethren, and name Easter in future as the day of our honour and triumph, the day when we received the crown of immortality! Is not this a glorious history 1 Confess that you have never heard its equal! Say, could imagination conceive any thing more enrapturing 1 These scenes however, were not described to gratify our sense of beauty; but to raise up our hearts to heaven, and to breathe into our souls eternal life: they form -the first links of a golden chain of circumstances reaching down to the present hour. Yes, even now there is no want of occurrences in the midst of us, similar to those which happened on the first glorious Easter morn. Many sorrowing and almost despairing souls hear their names pronounced, as Magdalene did of old, and by the same gracious lips; and many a “Rabboni!” is uttered by those who are shedding tears of joy. The Lord is indeed nigh! he manifests himself to all; and his Easter salutation resounds through our souls, while rejoicing we reply, “A men; blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and xnight, be unto our God for ever and ever. Amen.”