Hearing The Word

A weekly newsletter delivering context and insight into the Sunday Gospels.

The Resurrection

~ Kelly Anderson, S.S.L., Ph.D.

Associate Professor of Biblical Studies for the Major Seminary, Saint Charles Borromeo Seminary + Ambler, Pa.

No Gospel describes what happened while Jesus was enclosed in the tomb. Instead, the evangelists present the journeys from despair to faith of those who discover the “empty tomb.” John’s Gospel describes the journeys of Mary Magdalene, then Peter and John.

Mary goes to the tomb while it is still dark, which in John’s Gospel indicates a state of unbelief. She finds the stone “removed,” and the passive tense indicates that this is a divine action of God (v. 1). But Mary remains in the dark, not even considering that a miraculous event has taken place. Instead, she runs to the disciples and offers her explanation: they have taken the Lord (v. 2).

The disciples arrive, and they see the stone rolled back and the empty tomb, but they also see two cloths: the linen burial cloth (othonia; v. 6) and the face cloth (soudarion; v. 7). Seeing the cloths is the turning point in the narrative for three reasons. First, when Lazarus was raised, he exited the tomb with the cloths still wrapped around his body, thus the narrative recalls that victory over death. Second, Jesus’ body was not stolen, for the cloths would not have been left behind. Third, the face cloth is described as “having been folded” in a separate place (v. 7). The passive voice again indicates God’s actions in the tomb.

The beloved disciple sees all of this, the stone rolled back, the empty tomb, the two cloths, and he has a flash of understanding, probably putting together all that the Lord had said and done, and he “saw and believed” (v. 8). Thus, being loved as a disciple gives insight into mysteries. 

While later generations cannot see the rolled stone, the empty tomb, or the cloths, we can read the Scriptures wherein God reveals the mystery of Jesus risen from the dead (v. 9), and thus we, as beloved disciples, can come to belief. 

He Saw and Believed

~ Conor Donnelly

Saint Maron's Maronite Catholic Parish + Philadelphia, Pa.

What struck me this time wasn’t the dramatic part of the story, but the quietness of it — the way everything happens before sunrise. It’s still dark when Mary goes to the tomb. I imagine the chill of morning air, the silence, the heaviness in her chest. That moment before light breaks — that’s where I often find myself when I think about death. Not just the abstract idea of it, but the real weight of having lost someone I love. I’ve stood at gravesides and felt the same bewilderment: Where are they now? Why does it feel so empty?

And yet, Easter begins in that same kind of darkness. Without fanfare, something completely world-changing happens: Christ isn’t there. He’s alive. And what the Church promises me — sometimes quietly, sometimes boldly — is that because of that morning, my loved ones are not gone forever. That what happened in that garden outside Jerusalem isn’t just something to be remembered — it’s something we’re waiting to live ourselves.

The Church dares to say that the dead will rise — not metaphorically, not just spiritually, but truly, bodily — because Jesus already did. That’s a promise that’s easy to forget, especially in the face of grief. But every Easter Sunday, the words echo again: this isn’t the end.

The first witnesses didn’t fully understand what was happening. I don’t always either. But there's something comforting in that: faith doesn't require certainty. It begins in showing up. In running, even if you're confused. In letting the emptiness become a space where hope can be born.