Lectionary Commentaries for April 19, 2025
Easter Vigil

Taken all together, the resurrection passages in the Gospels are a dizzying and confusing array. The spotlighted role of Mary Magdalene in John is crucial, for Paul omits women altogether, and none of the Synoptics, though mentioning Mary Magdalene, narrates a full scene around her such as we find in John 20.

This singular focus on Mary (who is often still wrongly identified as a prostitute) gives some narrative support to the recent scholarship that suggests that “Magdalene” is not the name of her home (typically understood as Magdala, a location otherwise unaffiliated with her until the fifth and sixth centuries CE; the recent archaeological explorations at “Magdala” by the Sea of Galilee are of the ancient Jewish town Tarichea). Instead, scholars argue that “Magdalene” is her title, identifying her as “the Tower,” which is the meaning of the root word migdol (see also Peter “the Rock” [Matthew 16:18]—a title omitted in John!).

John uniquely describes the place of Jesus’ burial as a garden (19:41), a subtle evocation of “Paradise Found” and the renewal of the garden of Eden from Genesis 2–3 (see also John 20:15). Mary Magdalene arrives there early, on the first day of the week (Sunday), again a gentle gesture toward the “new creation” of the resurrection. Unlike the Synoptics, no other women are mentioned with her, placing full emphasis on her (and her subsequent testimony) alone. 

The timing reflects both the honoring of the sabbath (Saturday) and the eagerness of Mary to visit the tomb. Since Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, both “hidden” disciples, had prepared Jesus’ body with spices previously after his crucifixion (John 19:38–42), and since the perfume of pure nard for Jesus’ burial had been used by Mary in Bethany to anoint Jesus the previous week (John 12:1–7), the reason for Mary’s early arrival remains unstated (see also Mark 16:1–2, where the women bring spices to anoint the body early on Sunday morning). Without tasks to complete, she is seemingly drawn solely by her love to be near Jesus as soon as possible.

Mary here is the centerpiece of discipleship, the showcase of what it means to be a child of God and sibling of Jesus. This resurrection scene is bracketed and interwoven with examples of incomplete discipleship. 

We have Joseph and Nicodemus, who remain hidden as followers due to their fear. In the midst of Mary’s arrival we have Peter, who, after his denial of Jesus (John 18:15–27), goes Absent WithOut Leave from the cross and has to be roused to visit the tomb. The mysterious “disciple whom Jesus loved” also has to be summoned, and while he outruns Peter to the tomb (why wasn’t he there in the first place?), the final comment on him (and Peter) regards their lack of understanding about the necessity of Jesus’ resurrection—hardly a ringing endorsement. That they return to separate homes shows that they are nowhere close to approximating (let alone achieving) the unity that Jesus desired for them in John 17:21. The subsequent episode portrays the remainder of the disciples cowering in fear behind locked doors, with Thomas noticeably absent. 

No threefold affirmations of love (21:15–17), reversing Peter’s threefold denial (18:15–27), are needed of Mary—the abundance of her love has already arrived upon the first fingers of dawn, and it runs down her cheeks before angels and Jesus, much like the water from Jesus’ side on the cross.

Mary’s comments in this passage focus on the body of Jesus, and she seems to have been intent on caring for and protecting it. This divine tabernacle, the tangible flesh of the incarnate Logos (John 1:14) that was shamed and mutilated in the crucifixion, appears to Mary to have undergone the further humiliation of being stolen from the grave. Oh, that the bodies of all of God’s creation would be treated with such love, such care, such respect, not least the innocent victims of state violence and those “disappeared” dissidents whose bodies are never found.

The narrator draws attention to Mary’s weeping, mentioned twice in 20:11 and emphasized in the question both the angels and Jesus ask: “Woman, why are you weeping?” Though perhaps at first coming off as a criticism veiled as a question, the question may simply focus our attention on her behavior, especially in contrast to the other disciples. Why wasn’t Peter weeping? Why wasn’t the Beloved Disciple? 

Indeed, weeping as an expression of love is especially associated with Mary of Bethany, who wept profusely at the death of Lazarus, even moving Jesus deeply enough to weep himself out of love (11:33–36, the only recorded incidence of Jesus weeping in the Gospels). And then, in a vivid recapitulation of Martha’s statement in John 11:28 (“The Teacher is here and is calling for you”), Jesus calls this Mary by name, and Mary turns and exuberantly responds, “Rabbouni!” (Teacher). 

She is apparently so intent on finding and protecting the body of Jesus that she is not even looking at the angels or the “gardener” directly. It should be no surprise, then, that she desires to hold onto it now that Jesus has revealed himself to her directly. However, Jesus replies, “Do not hold on to me.” This command has been taken in all sorts of ways, many misogynistic and anti-material, but the reason given emphasizes something altogether different: “because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” 

Jesus doesn’t say “Do not hold onto me” because faith is spiritual and not bodily, or Platonic and not Stoic, but rather because his journey (which is also our journey) back to the Father is not yet complete. The story of Jesus’ life does not end with the desecration of his body—there is more. More for Jesus, to return to his Father, and more for Mary. As promised in John 16, her pain has been transformed into joy, and she is then commissioned as the apostle to the apostles, a “pillar” in the household of God.

Unlike Mark’s account, where the women at the tomb fled in fear, saying nothing to anyone (16:8), in John Mary directly goes and announces to the disciples (here called “brothers”), “I have seen the Lord” (20:18). The message of Jesus that she conveys is powerfully transformative: “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” 

Not only is the grave overcome, but so too is the fear that isolates and separates us from God and each other. No longer servants, and even more than friends (John 15:15), we are proclaimed to be brothers and sisters of Christ, fully and completely children of God. As God fashioned humanity from dust in the garden of Genesis 2, the “gardener” molds Mary’s tears and testimony to fashion a new creation in God’s family. Mary’s gospel rings as hopeful and transformative today as it did at first!

Life from death is the central Easter message. But this theme is not sounded in the New Testament resurrection story only. Throughout the Bible, God acts to bring life out of deathly circumstances. One such moment is painted vividly in the tale of the parting of the sea, when God provides for the cornered Israelites a route of escape from certain annihilation.

This is my story; this is my song
Whether historically rooted or mythological, the miraculous parting of the sea was etched on the biblical imagination—it is referenced dozens of times in later scriptures. In fact, the poem or song found in Exodus 15 may contain some of the oldest text in the whole Hebrew Bible. While there is no way to definitively date the authorship of the song, some of its Hebrew is quite archaic in form, and its poetic structure probably goes back to a time when the memories of such events were preserved via oral tradition rather than in writing.

Other factors suggest that the song was brought to this narrative from elsewhere, as “source” material. For example, the scope of the song goes well beyond the sea-crossing event. After celebrating God’s victory at the sea, it sings of the trek through the wilderness (15:13), the conquest of the promised land (15:14–16), and ultimately the people’s procession to the “mountain of your own possession” (15:17), which was eventually identified as Jerusalem. So, even though the poem is set narratively at the shore of the sea, following the prose description of God’s rescue in Exodus 14, the song itself reflects a later theological retrospective on the entire voyage from foreign bondage to free worship in the promised land.

Who we are
The complexity around how these texts were composed and compiled should serve as a reminder to preachers that what we have in Exodus 14–15 is not a simple historical report of what we would have seen had we been there. To date, archaeological research has not supported an exodus event as told in the Bible—at least not on the scale described in the book.

Many biblical scholars (including me) agree that what we have in Exodus 14–15 is a highly shaped, theologically reimagined history, crafted for the benefit of a generation living long after the events described. It communicated a message about national identity, telling a new generation in Israel that from their very origins they were a people who had been snatched from certain death by their God and given new life.

The sea-crossing story and song can continue to have that identity-forming effect for Bible-reading congregations today. Preachers can draw upon this text to underscore the hope of new life through God’s saving intervention. Ask your congregation: What sea are we up against? What challenge seems impossible and impassable? What dangers stand in the way of our community’s flourishing? Where do we need God to bring life out of death?

This story claims that God is able to make a way where there is no way and asks us to reach out, to call out, to trust in God’s provision. Our reliance on God even in impossible situations is part of who we are as people of faith.

Preaching pitfalls
As preachers consider this text, however, a couple cautions are worth keeping in mind. I mentioned above that many biblical scholars do not see evidence for the historicity of the events described here. Rather, the point of the pericope is theological. Nevertheless, I would caution against using a sermon to rail against the historicity of this crossing, as if it is a silly fairy tale. On such matters, it is always dangerous to assume that we moderns know better than our ancestors or to chide them for believing that something as fantastical as the parting of the sea could have happened. Often, it is we moderns whose perception of the miraculous all around us is impaired by our rationalistic biases.

Nor does it help, in my opinion, to try to rescue the historicity but explain away the miracle with an appeal to some sort of natural cause, such as a freak weather phenomenon (like the wind that blew all night, 14:21) that made this little crossing point shallow enough for Israel to wade through the mud. The point of the story is that the Israelites’ escape was explicitly unnatural!

Nor is it especially helpful to dwell on the fact that the Hebrew text doesn’t actually name the “Red Sea” but rather the “Sea of Reeds” (yam suf)—which is an entirely different and smaller body of water. This is true enough, but even the Sea of Reeds was not passable without divine intervention. It was a miracle either way.

Even though we may accept that the biblical miracle of the sea-crossing is a creative, theological retelling of tradition, the foundational claim it is making is that God truly is powerful enough to control the sea. And if God is sovereign over creation in that way, God is also powerful enough to intervene meaningfully in our times of need.

What about the Egyptians?
Finally, preachers should be careful to avoid making “the Egyptians” in this story into a trope for the bad guys, a personification of evil. This story and song do engage in some schadenfreude (rejoicing over your enemy’s trauma). But is that something we really want to emulate and encourage in our congregations?

We are not the first to wrestle with this. The awful fate of the Egyptians in this story is something that has often troubled readers, even from ancient times. There are even a few reflections on this in the Talmud, preserving Jewish traditions that are almost 2000 years old. One mention of this moment comes in the context of a rabbinical commentary on the story of Esther (another biblical story with problematic celebration of the mass deaths of Israel’s enemies). The rabbis raise the question Does God rejoice in the death of the wicked? And pointing us to this story in Exodus 14, they imagine a behind-the-scenes conversation between God and the singing angels:

And Rabbi Yohanan said: Why has it been written (Exodus 14:20): “This one did not draw near to that one the whole night”? The ministering angels sought to recite a song, [but] the Holy One, Blessed Be He, said: The work of My hands is drowning in the sea, and you are reciting a song???¹

In other words, the ancient rabbis ask us to remember, as we read this story, that the Egyptians are also the work of God’s hands, bearers of the divine image. Their downfall in the story—though it is a relief to the Israelites—is nevertheless horribly tragic and worthy of lament. Preachers should keep this in mind so that we do not tacitly caricature the Egyptians in our preaching.

After all, Egyptians are with us today, a people who celebrate the ancient pharaonic dynasties as part of their ethnic heritage. A significant number of Egyptians (both in Egypt and in communities around the globe) are even fellow Christians. We should seek to honor these divine-image-bearing family members and neighbors, not use them as a kind of metaphorical trope for “the bad guys” in our preaching.

With these caveats in mind, as Christians reflect on the meaning of the resurrection of Jesus, we can be inspired by the theological witness of the ancient text, turning our attention to the one who brings life where only death seems possible. God can make a way through our own impossible, impassable seas.

Notes

1. Megillah 10b, Sefaria, accessed November 19, 2024, https://tinyurl.com/4p8ka59j.

Through his Priestly theology, the prophet Ezekiel explains the exile and the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians in 587 BCE. For the prophet, the people of Judah have defiled or contaminated the land through their abominations of idolatry and political alliances. “Idolatry” here refers to worshipping other gods and also putting trust in other political and military powers. YHWH departed from the Temple (Ezekiel 8–11) and led the people into exile so the land would be cleansed from the abominations caused by the people (Ezekiel 1–33). 

For Ezekiel, the exile did not happen because YHWH is a capricious God or because YHWH is weaker than the gods of the Babylonians. Rather, the exile is a result of the people’s behavior, and its end goal is to cleanse the land so it would be suitable again for the holy God to dwell amid God’s people. Now that the exile has happened, the prophet offers words of hope that the people will return to the land and that their relationship with their God will be renewed by their gaining a new moral identity (Ezekiel 34–48). 

When Ezekiel speaks about divine salvation, he does not address it from the lens of love and grace. Instead, for Ezekiel, YHWH saves because God has compassion and zealotry toward the divine name that has been defiled among the nations. YHWH does indeed save the people and restore them to the land because of the deity’s commitment to God’s name, not because the people have repented or have done something to make YHWH’s mind change. 

Just as the people were the cause of the shame that was brought upon YHWH’s name when the deity scattered them into captivity, so will the people be the instrument through which YHWH will be sanctified before the eyes of the nations when the divine restores them to the land (36:22–24). While judgment was appropriate for their actions (36:19), restoration and return from exile are based on YHWH’s identity and commitment to the divine name (36:22). For Ezekiel, salvation is not based on something people do or deserve. It is solely based on divine holiness, identity, and action. 

Before the people return to the land, YHWH will cleanse them by water from their sins and impurities, especially idolatry (36:25; Exodus 30:17–21). The ritual of cleansing is an external sign of a deeper work that YHWH will perform on the people. The ritual offers an embodied way of experiencing a new reality that YHWH is about to usher in. 

YHWH knows very well that the people struggle at the level of the will to live a moral life faithful to the covenant. Therefore, YHWH declares, “I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit within you, and I will take away the stony heart from your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh” (36:26). The ritual of cleansing by water and the gift of the new moral identity go hand in hand. All of it, though, is the work of God. 

The heart and spirit refer to a person’s inner will, which guides and shapes their behavior and actions. For Ezekiel, the will of the people is too corrupt to be fixed; it needs a total replacement. YHWH will put in a new spirit and a heart of flesh (36:26; compare with Jeremiah 32:31–34; Deuteronomy 30:6; Psalm 51:10). However, this is not enough. 

Even if a person can have the will to live morally, humans need the Spirit of God to be able to obey. “And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and to keep my judgments and to do them” (36:27). The people are incapable of obedience even after they have been purified. They need the power of God’s Spirit to live more fully in their new moral identity (compare Jeremiah 31:31–34).

The people did not receive this gift because they repented. It was granted to them as part of a divine work and initiative that sought to create the people anew so they would not defile the land again, so YHWH would not have to send them into captivity again and his name be defiled among the nations. YHWH does all things for the sake of the deity’s name.

It’s instructive to read this passage’s discourse on the new spirit and the new heart in relation to Ezekiel 11:19 and 18:31. These passages are concerned with the same theme—namely, the transformation of the moral ability of the people to obey God and live an ethical life. Yet some of their differences help us to see Ezekiel’s dialectical theological perspective on the matter. 

While 11:19 speaks of one heart, Ezekiel 36:27 and 18:31 speak of a new heart. Ezekiel 36:27 is unique in that it specifies that the new spirit is the Spirit of God. Set side by side, these passages create a tension between the human and the divine role in the renewal of the moral identity of the people. Ezekiel 11:19 and 36:27 talk about the new heart and spirit as a divine gift, while 18:31 focuses on the human responsibility in implementing the new heart and new spirit. 

There is agreement between Ezekiel 11:20 and 36:27 that human obedience to God cannot occur without a changed spirit and heart. But they differ in the agent who causes this obedience. In 11:20, obedience appears to be a human ability, but in 36:27, it is YHWH who makes the people obey. Thus, these verses show that salvation is dependent on God’s work, yet humans are responsible for living out their new moral identity. 

In this way, when humans feel overwhelmed by their failure, they can lean into God’s promise to give God’s Spirit and a new heart. And when humans fall into the trap of complacency, they are reminded that they need to live a moral life that reflects the gifted new identity they have received. Such a tension creates hope, humility, and accountability. 

The ritual of cleansing and the new moral identity mark the restoration of the covenantal relationship between YHWH and the people: “I will be your God” and “you will be my people” (Ezekiel 36:28). People’s rebellion and transgressions impacted the nonhuman creation, bringing desolation and destruction. Similarly, divine salvation will restore not only humans to their relationship with God but also humans to their relationship with the land and the nonhuman creation. The land will flourish and produce (36:29–30). God’s salvific work is holistic. It entails all of God’s creation. 

Not surprisingly, the lectionary gives us an epistle reading that deals with baptism for the day of Easter Vigil. Let’s begin by clarifying that in this text Paul isn’t advocating a particular method for or theology of baptism. Instead, baptism is one of four models or metaphors he uses in this part of the letter to enable Roman believers to grasp the life and renewal God offers them via Jesus.

The Roman context for our text

Paul wrote this letter to believers who were divided, apparently over Jew-Gentile differences. Given that the Roman world of which they were a part was strictly divided along race, class, and gender lines, we know they’d been raised to compare and compete with “others” they should view as adversaries. Consequently, we shouldn’t be shocked at the tensions among them. Few of us discard lifelong perspectives overnight. The Roman believers were no exception. Our best understanding of their situation is that some believers, mostly Jews, were continuing to practice Jewish ritual acts like eating kosher and observing Sabbath. Other believers, mostly Gentiles, responded by boasting, “We’re so over that!” The impact on the believing community isn’t hard to imagine.

Paul begins the letter arguing that all of us are sinners and all of us are saved by faith because of God’s grace, “for there is no distinction” (3:22). God, Paul insists, is the One God of both Jews and Gentiles (3:29–30). As he concludes the opening part of his argument (3:21–30), he insists that boasting is thereby excluded (3:27). Then, beginning in Romans 5, Paul sets out the difference God’s salvation makes in the way we live with one another via four models, as noted above, which are Adam-Christ (5:12–21), baptism (6:3–11), slaves to sin/slaves to righteousness (6:15–23), and a married woman (7:1–6). Our text is his second model.

Resurrection, “sin,” and “death” according to Paul

As we turn to Paul’s words, let’s remember that all believers at this point came to faith as adults. They would easily remember their baptisms, which likely took place outdoors where they were immersed in a natural body of water. If Galatians 3:27–28 presents part of the early church’s baptismal liturgy, as many scholars believe, then at their baptisms believers were told, “You are all one in Christ Jesus.” We can see why Paul would remind divided believers of their baptism experience in this moment.

Paul also makes use of their experience of being immersed in the water and then raised up by the officiant. Being “buried” in the water, Paul says, is “baptism into death” (6:4) and being united with Jesus “in a death like his” (6:5). Rising up from the water indicates that we are united with Jesus in resurrection (6:5) so that we “walk in newness of life” (6:4). Key for grasping Paul’s claims is the first-century understanding of resurrection. As part of Jewish apocalyptic hope, our Jewish forebears understood resurrection to happen at the end of the present age and the beginning of the age to come (or, as Jesus preferred, the kingdom of God). 

God had promised to renew all of creation in this moment, which included drawing all people together on God’s holy mountain as God’s beloved children (see Isaiah 25:6–8). Thus, there are no more comparisons or competitions among people who are no longer adversaries because all are welcome. Jesus had declared that God’s kingdom “has drawn near” (not future tense). His resurrection in this context confirmed his proclamation: God’s kingdom has indeed drawn near! The newness of life to which Paul refers is our invitation to live now as citizens of God’s kingdom. Therefore, we should consider ourselves “dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus” (6:11).

Another contextual component important for understanding Paul is his use of “sin.” When he speaks of “sin” in the singular, as in our text, he’s not referring to individual moral failures as we often mean. Instead, he views Sin (capitalized intentionally) as a great evil force in the universe which has us in bondage (see 5:12; 7:19–20). He’s also likely more concrete in what he means than may appear to us. Roman rule and order divided people, as noted above, and pitted them against each other. Rome much preferred that subject peoples compete for the scarce favors and resources available to them so that they considered “others” as enemies to be hated and feared, rather than as people with whom to unite and resist Roman oppression. 

Many scholars understand Paul as viewing these fearful and violent forces at work in his world as Sin. Such forces lead to death, literally and spiritually. Further, Rome threatened with actual death anyone who refused to comply with their rule and order, as they had done to Jesus. In a world where resurrection hope was still new among Jews and largely nonexistent among Greco-Roman folks, their threat weighed heavily. No wonder Paul links Sin and death.

Raised to new life!

The divisions among believers in Rome meant, in Paul’s thinking, that they were still living according to these destructive forces. But the good news is that they don’t have to! They can “die” to those forces and “live to God” (6:10–11; the Greek can be translated as “in God,” “with God,” “for God,” or “because of God”), as Jesus did. That is, they can live as citizens in God’s kingdom where grace abounds so that all peoples are welcome to God’s holy mountain. There’s no need, therefore, to compete or compare, to hate or fear others, even those we were taught to see as adversaries, for in this kingdom of grace we are all beloved children of God. 

When we grasp this grace and God’s power to raise Jesus from the dead (which destroys the power of Rome’s fiercest weapon), then believers need no longer comply with forces that bring death. They can choose to welcome one another and share life-giving practices with each other instead. As a result, we unite in Jesus’ resurrection and walk in “newness of life.”

Doesn’t this text make our history of arguing and judging each other over methods and theologies of baptism particularly tragic?