'But Mary stood without at the sepulchre, weeping.'

There was a famous preacher in the last century, whose sermons, though full of ingenious reasoning and brilliant rhetoric, were empty of Christ. One morning after service, a poor old mother was seen to stand alone, outside, weeping still tears. On being asked her trouble she said, 'They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.' Without Christ in the service of the sanctuary, music is empty, eloquence is empty, the most imposing ritual is empty; a full church is an empty church; the most magnificent temple is only a tomb, and an empty tomb. Mary's words may well be borrowed to express the sorrow of those who in such circumstances mourn because they miss Christ; but in no present circumstances need a Christian's heart be desolate as Mary's was.

Though unaware of her inconsistency, it was in fact not about Christ Himself that she made her moan; it was not to Christ Himself that she clung; but to the last relic and memento of His mortality. It was not now the living Christ that she meant, but the darkened ruin of the tent out of which He had departed; it was a dead body that she had been looking for, calling it her Lord; and just because that body had vanished, she was stricken with despair. As the two disciples rushed out of the tomb, one

of them might have said something to her as he hurried past, but she had not heard; or hearing, had not understood; no matter. She stood rooted to the spot, stunned with sorrow. From what you knew of her, you might have expected her to say by this time, I have no tears left; I have shed all mine.' It is possible that she really had been dry-eyed until now, but that now, the tempest being down, and the sharp strain of endeavour over, she was left quite shattered and unstrung, was past resolution, past thought, and had sunk into a helpless creature of sensibility.

'And as she wept, she stooped down and looked into the sepulchre, and seeth two angels in white, sitting, the one at the head, 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.'

The word which in the Authorised Version is rendered stooped down,' includes the two meanings of stooping and looking; it is a picture in a word, and represents Mary as she bent her head for a look under the low arch into the recess. She looked, and lo! two beings of awful beauty were there; then something

1 παρέκυψεν.

nameless, but irresistible, told her that they were no inhabitants of this world; in fact, the two angels who had become invisible on the entrance of Peter and John had now shone out again. It was marvellous, but certain; there they were, the one at the head, the other at the feet of the vacant place. Who were these arrayed in white robes, and whence came they?' What does Mary care? She is past all curiosity, past all surprise; she is not alarmed at the sight of an angel, not she; the world on fire would not move her, she would not lift her eyes to look at it; such is the mastery of her grief, that it has left no room for terror; never can she have stronger emotion than that which now shakes her; and she has no astonishment to spare. So, when the angel asks, Woman, why weepest thou?' just in the calm tone of ordinary talk, as if speaking to an equal, she repeats, with one variation of the phrase, what she had already said to Peter and John: 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.' Why did she turn herself back? Was it simply because she had now no care about glimpses of a mere heaven-felt no interest in the discourse of mere angels, but only longed to have her grief out uninterruptedly? Perhaps. But some of the earliest teachers of the

Church thought that it was because at this point of the dialogue she saw a new expression rise on the faces of the two shining ones, as if suddenly looking at some august appearance dawning behind her. This explanation is more fascinating, and not less likely to be true; but we cannot know: we only know that she turned-perhaps turned mechanically, turned without interest or expectation.1

'And saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus.' She saw Him; but, whether because her looks were downcast; or because her eyes were not on His face, but were again turned away with weary indifference; 2 or because His face was now so etherealized that it had lost the old familiar expression; or because 'her tears wove a veil that concealed Him;' or because seeking the dead prevents us from seeing the living;' it is not easy to determine nor essential to know. Whatever the cause, she failed to recognise Him.

'Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?' Here we have a condensation of wonderful meanings. A poet says, 'Earth is crammed with heaven;' so may we say of certain words in this wonderful report. There is danger lest we should slur some of them,

1 Chrysostom. Commentariorum in Evangelium Joannis. 2 It appears from verse 16 that she had to turn herself back again to see Jesus. 3 Draseke. Cited by Alford.

through reading in a hurry to get to the end of the story. Christ's words are often taken as an echo of the angels' words; and His question as the simple repetition of their question. But no, they asked but one question; He asked two. The second question is a leading one, and it aims to lead the mourner out of her sorrow; it implies that He who speaks to her understands her, and well knows that in reality, though she is only asking after a dead body, her grief is for a person, not for a thing; it also half tells her that the person whom she seeks is living. At least, she would understand that He taught this, when at a future time she recalled the word, 'Whom seekest thou?' For Christ applies the personal pronoun never to the dead, but only to the living.1

'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.'

'Supposing Him to be the gardener.' 'Mary,' says an English father, thou wert not far out when thou didst take Jesus for the gardener.' Indeed, we venture to say that, looking through this error of Mary as through a telescope, we can, through the very error, descry a certain

1 Read Canon Westcott's work on The Revelation of the Risen Lord, p. 21.