St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Genesis 3:1-24 Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7 Exodus 3:1–15
Exodus 14:10—15:1 Romans 6:3-11 John 20:1-18
Well, my friends, here we are.
We have made it through
the flood,
the fire,
and the darkness.
We have lit the flame,
told the old stories,
sung the ancient song.
And now we stand—
bone-tired and heart-full—
at the threshold of Easter.
We gather here tonight with more
than just the weight of Holy Week on our shoulders.
Our community has been shaken.
Some of us are carrying
fresh anger,
fresh grief,
fresh heartache
for violence that has struck close to home.
And yet—yet—this is the night we come to claim
that even here,
even now,
God is not absent,
for ours is a God who meets us in the darkness,
who stands in the garden.
who calls us by name.
And if paid attention during tonight’s stories,
you might have noticed something:
it all keeps happening
in gardens,
under trees,
near bushes,
and by the water.
From Eden to Mamre,
from the burning bush to the raging sea,
God keeps planting himself
right in the middle of our wilderness,
calling out to us,
showing up for us,
leading us forward.
Take that first garden—Eden:
a place of beauty, harmony, perfect communion . . .
Until that moment when Eve reaches out and takes the fruit,
clinging to what is not hers to hold.
That grasping broke everything.
The Garden became a graveyard.
The Tree of Life was barred.
Angels stood guard with flaming swords.
And we were sent out—
into toil,
into the thorns,
into the dust.
But tonight, the story turns.
Tonight, my friends, we find ourselves in another garden.
Not a place of exile, but a place of resurrection.
Not a garden lost, but a garden remade.
And there in the middle of it all
stands Mary Magdalene.
Not Eve the innocent,
but Mary the restored.
In that garden, she does not hide in shame.
Instead, she searches.
She stays.
She weeps.
And when she sees Jesus
she thinks he’s the gardener.
And you know what?
She’s not wrong.
Because that’s exactly what he is.
The Gardener of the new creation.
The one who walks again in the cool of the day,
not to ask “Where are you?”
but to say, “I am here.”
“I have risen.”
“And I am calling you by name.”
And that’s where it all begins again.
Where Eve once reached out and clung to the fruit,
Mary reaches out to cling to Jesus.
You might bristle at the fact that he says,
“Do not hold on to me,”
but it makes perfect sense.
For you see, the story of this garden
is not about grasping.
The story of this garden
is about releasing.
Letting go.
Letting God do a new thing.
And from there, the reversal continues—
not just of Eden,
but of every story we heard tonight.
Tonight
Jesus is the new Adam,
walking not in shame,
but in glory,
restoring us to the dust-lifted dignity
we were always meant to bear.
Tonight,
Jesus is the new Tree of Life,
his cross planted in the soil of death,
his body broken and given . . .
fruit for the healing of the world.
Tonight,
Jesus is the new Sarah,
laughing not at the impossibility of new life,
but making us laugh with joy,
as our barren hearts bloom again.
Tonight,
Jesus is the new Burning Bush,
the fire that burns but does not consume,
the presence of God that cannot be extinguished,
calling our names and telling us his,
sending us out to set the captives free.
Tonight,
Jesus is the new Moses,
standing between death and life,
parting the waves of death itself,
where once there was no way.
Tonight,
Jesus is the new Exodus,
leading us through the waters of baptism,
from bondage into freedom,
from fear into song.
Jesus is the new Garden.
The new Mountain.
The new Temple.
The new Covenant.
The new Creation.
The new Pillar of Cloud by day
and Pillar of Fire by night.
And as they stand there in that garden
near that empty tomb,
Mary Magdalene is the new Eve.
She is the one who has been forgiven,
healed, set free—
and entrusted with the message that changes the world.
She carries that message not into a world made safe,
but into a world still wounded.
A world like ours.
A world where violence still strikes
and grief still lingers.
And yet—she goes.
And yet—she proclaims.
And y’all, here is the strange and beautiful grace of it all:
the same is true for you.
We are all Mary Magdalene.
We are the ones standing in the garden tonight,
hearing him call our names.
We are the ones sent out—
not in shame,
but in power.
Not in silence,
but in song.
Not to mourn the grave,
but to proclaim the resurrection.
Tonight, dear friends,
oh tonight
the exile is over.
The curse is broken.
The garden is alive again.
So tonight, stand in the truth of the resurrection.
Hear him call your name.
Let the weight of sin fall away.
For the gates of Eden are open.
The new creation is here.
Tonight is not the end of the story
for the story has only just begun.
Go now and tell it . . .
because the world is starving for grace
and death no longer has
the final word.
Amen.