Whom seekest thou? Easter Sunday

A special reflection for Easter Day from master storyteller Dave Kitchen, author Easter Inside Out and Bible in Ten.

20 April 2025

How it began

It’s Easter weekend 1966 and our youth group are staying on a church hall floor in the Peak District. Indoor camping for a mixed bunch of enthusiastic hikers and reluctant ramblers! The weather is good and our itinerary includes a Sunday afternoon service for a remote chapel led by one of us.

That’s Les, who is training for the ministry but frankly has yet to get himself fully organised. We arrive at the chapel, chase the sheep out of the outdoor toilet and wait for our congregation, which we’ve been told will be about six people.

While we’re waiting, Les suddenly remembers that he’s not asked anyone to do the reading – John 20. He asks for a volunteer. Twenty pairs of eyes look at twenty pairs of boots. Les just waits. His tactic is to let guilt and silence produce at least one volunteer.

It’s me who agrees to do it and then the full horror of opening my mouth slowly dawns on me. This is the age of pulpit Bibles and the King James translation. I have never stood in a pulpit before, and I’m thinking I won’t do it again either. But I do love the story about Mary Magdalene with Jesus, and I’m not frightened by the King James Version, because even as a teenager I was curiously well into Shakespeare.

Whom seekest thou?

The moment comes; I step up, take a deep breath and say: 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. It’s horribly tricky but I remember to take it slowly, and I’m beginning to picture what’s happening and that helps. Jesus is there but Mary’s eyes are full of tears and she’s not looking at him properly.

Then it’s verse 15 and 16: Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? 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. Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master.

For a moment, I’m not in the Peak District at all; I’m in Joseph of Arimathea’s garden. Then I look up and see our group taking quick looks at each other. So I return to my seat wondering if I’ve done something wrong, but it’s the opposite. They’re actually surprised that I’ve managed it. At the end of the service, Les asks if I’d like to help him out with worship occasionally, and that’s where the rest of my life starts. I’ve now been leading worship for nearly 60 years.

So letting Mary tell the story of that morning for Easter Inside Out was a special moment. It took me back to what was the beginning of it all for me. Here she is describing that meeting in the garden.

Mary’s story

They left me alone. Sometimes that’s all you want. Just to be able to breathe slowly and sort through the mess of things in your head. As Peter and John left Joseph’s garden, I slumped to the ground, couldn’t remain standing any longer.

And I wept. Wept for all the hopes that had been torn away; wept for the loss of the one person who understood the whole of me; wept for all of us who had followed him, certain that he was the one who would make the difference. The sorrows hit me in wave after wave. I’d be calming down and gathering myself a little when some other memory of him would be triggered and I’d feel totally bereft again.

How long this went on I have no idea but eventually the tide of misery ebbed away a bit and I looked around. It was such a beautiful garden. Joseph had designed it to be his oasis of peace. And it was just that: a quiet breathing space beyond the madness of the city.

I looked across at the tomb and felt my tears start again. It was so unfair that such a lovely place should be centre of such a horrible loss. Getting up, I walked across to take another look. Not that it would do any good.

I expected the grave to be empty of course. This time, when I peered in, it was anything but. Where Jesus had been laid, there were two figures in white. It was almost as if they were guarding a body that wasn’t there.

‘Why are you crying?’ they asked me.

I explained: ‘They have taken my Lord away and I do not know where they have laid him.’

They didn’t give me an answer so I turned around to see if I was missing something and found I wasn’t alone in the garden. At last, I thought to myself, someone who will give me an answer. Without even thinking, I just assumed it was the gardener returned from his work of relocating the body.

He asked me: ‘Why are crying? Who is it you are looking for?’

‘Sir,’ I answered, ‘if you have taken him away, let me know me where you have put him and I will go and take care of him.’

If I hadn’t been crying so much, I’d have taken a good look at the person I was talking to but I didn’t. That changed with a single word.

‘Mary,’ he said.

Only one person called my name quite like that. And I opened my eyes properly at last.

‘Master!’ I gasped.

It was the one who had taught me everything: Jesus wasn’t lost after all.

Or was he? I was in such a state I thought I must be dreaming. It’s all in the mind my fears started telling me. And the idea that this was a ghost went through my head even though I’ve always said I don’t believe in them.

So I did the only thing I could do: I reached out and held him. To my immense relief and utter astonishment, there was someone to hold on to. I hadn’t lost him. He had come back to me.

Of course, extraordinary moments cannot last forever. He told me very gently that I couldn’t keep clinging to him, that he had to return to his Father. And he gave me a job to do.

‘Go to my brothers and sisters and tell them: I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’

So I did. Instead of bringing a bundle of questions and doubts, as I had earlier, now I had good news to share. As for where Jesus went next, I simply can’t tell you because, when I left him to do what he had asked of me, I never looked back.