By Ashlie Miller

While many proclaim the joys of autumn, for others, the fall brings a sense of dread of living through dark, cold isolation. I can recall dreading the season when I lived in a house with fewer windows than I have now, feeling suffocated by the lack of light. 

While reading through the Gospel of John with our church in both large gatherings and small groups recently, I came to a scene of such darkness and hopelessness. I wonder if you can relate. 

It had been dark — not just that early morning, not just at midday a couple of days before — but in the atmosphere of the brothers, those who had followed closely. Though Jesus communicated that He would not be the political messiah or social justice warrior their people longed for to ease their pain, they still hoped there would be more. Mary Magdalene had also followed closely, watching the One who had forgiven her, radically changed her, and truly loved her give sight to the blind, heal the sick and even raise the dead. Perhaps she had also hoped with wonder at this strange idea of a “the kingdom.” But no, all that was gone — brutally killed and buried. 

Wracked with grief, she does the one thing she can to continue serving Jesus, going through the motions of ministering to Him, even if it were an empty charade now. It was still dark — at the tomb and in her spirit — but surely it could not get worse. Wait! The immovable rock sealing the tomb has been moved. Had someone arrived before her, stepping into the cherished role of caring for His body? No! His body is missing! She runs to the disciples, hoping they can help her make sense of this tragedy upon a tragedy. As two of them have their own experience at the tomb, Mary is still perplexed, unable to understand it all now. Absorbed in tears that further cloud her mind and vision, she sits outside the grave, squinting to see men in white sitting in the tomb. One asks why she weeps. Choking down tears as she tries to call out His name, she can only say that she does not know who has taken her Lord and where they have laid Him. 

Then, another man, coming out from among the flowers, asks why the tears and for whom she is looking. Again, she pleads for answers so she can serve, the one thing that can bring her joy at this point. Then, with clarity, this gardener, this tender of the soil and growing, living things, says one simple word — “Mary.” The name was common enough during that time, but the One speaking it makes the difference. She knows that voice and realizes the speaker knows her. He is not dead! Hope is not lost! The darkest night and morning are over! Though gentle and lowly in heart, He is the mighty conquering victor over death and the grave! 

Things are very different now. No longer needlessly going through the motions of service, she can serve joyfully at promises fulfilled, hope and peace being present in a Person. 

It may seem odd to write about the resurrection in autumn. But in a season marked with things fading and a future glimpse of the coming season marked by little to no life, you may be painfully reminded of a personal season marked with much darkness, sadness and loneliness. Your judgment is off. You want to believe what you know is true, but so much in your face screams otherwise. Tears are not cleansing — they are clouding. Take heart, the Lord sees and is not far off. Cry out those tears of honesty and frustration! He hears. He will call your name soon. Continue to serve. It may seem routine, but it is the best thing you can do now. Recall God’s past faithfulness to His promises.

However, remember the only way to recall what is true is to abide in the truth. God’s Word is that unchanging, life-giving truth. 

Ashlie Miller is wife to Chad (a pastor in Charlotte) and homeschooling mom to five children in Concord. You may contact her at ashliemiller.com.