The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone taken away from the sepulchre. John 20:1
It was early Sunday morning when Mary Magdalene set out alone for Jesus’ tomb. The Sabbath had ended and a new week was dawning. But for Mary, this “first day” held agonizing grief rather than promise. She sought closure, not hope.
Yet in Mary’s solitary walk through the twilight we find profound resonance. Though darkness still blanketed the earth, daylight’s arrival was imminent. The sun’s emergence signaled renewal was coming, however gradually.
So too in our deepest seasons of loss and change, optimism feels extinguished. But the darkest moments still contain flickers of approaching light. A new week represents another chance for rebirth.
Alone and in mourning, Mary’s heart clung to the familiar past. She expected to find a corpse and instead met the risen Christ. What we think will be an end is just another beginning. Every tomb can give way to needed transformation.
We each face change and loss alone but are never abandoned. In optimistic darkness, there is already resurrecting life within us. But it often starts slowly, glimpsed only if we rise while it’s still dusk. New beginnings break forth gradually.
An optimistic darkness still promises dawn. And in life’s darkest moments, we may find, like Mary, that hope awaits to meet us.