Someone called John tells an Easter story:

It was dark. It was so early, it was still late, but she couldn’t sleep. It was too still, too cold, too dark and silent. So she went to be with him in the cold, dark, still silence of his tomb. But he wasn’t there.

She freaked out. She ran for help. She was frantic. But the help couldn’t find him either, and they went back to bed.

She stayed. She cried. She didn’t know if she was dreaming or awake any more. She was worn out by her grief.

So he came to her. He wasn’t really ready yet – resurrection has got to be a pretty profound process – but he came anyway, because she couldn’t wait, so he wouldn’t wait.

Because he loved her. He loved them all.

So he came to her, and he said,

“mary …”