CHAPTER 9
RESURRECTION
"Mary." It was whispered so quietly she barely heard. She crept silently to the window and spoke to the shadow outside. "Yes, Naomi, I'm coming." She wrapped her heavy robe about her, pulled her hair back tightly and bound it, then covered it with a dark shawl. Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and streaked, shadowed face revealed the grief ebbing and flowing in her heart.
She and her friends were going to Jesus' grave to complete the burial rites begun, but not completed, after the crucifixion. She dreaded the chore. Seeing His bruised, torn body would be heart-wrenching. But a worse thought, and one that impelled her to this morning's task, was that Jesus might be left untended if she didn't go.
As she stepped into the early morning darkness, Naomi took Mary's arm. "His mother isn't coming. She said to tell you she trusts you to see this through. She can't bear to see him just now. She'll come later--when we've finished--and say her farewells.
Mary nodded. She certainly understood. If this was hard for her, his friend, how much more difficult for his mother.
A few small groups of women followed Mary and Naomi along the road to Joseph's garden carrying cloths, spices, and other burial elements. As the sun rose over the horizon, the eastern sky showed streaks of rose and pale pink. The trees bordering the road were a nearly luminous shade of green in the light of dawn.. All creation glowed in its beauty, a striking contrast to the bleak hearts in the little procession.
"What about the soldiers?" The question surfaced and then hung in the air. The women paused and looked at each other in consternation.
"What about the stone? ... How are we to move it?"
No men had come and the Romans couldn't be expected to accommodate the women.
Suddenly the air was full of questions. Admittedly they should have been asked and resolved earlier. But, in their grief, they simply hadn't thought of these details.
Mary felt an irritation growing. Her old bravado surfaced. With an edge of rebelliousness to her words she said, I don't know how it will work, but I promise you, they won't stop us. Now, let's go. And spurred on by Mary's determination, the women walked resolutely toward the garden.
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After the Resurrection of her Lord Jesus, she told this story so many times. She was a garden care-giver where he had been buried and had risen, and when people came through, she shared her story so they would be filled with encouragement.
“I still smile when I remember that Resurrection day. Of course, at the time, when first seeing him, I was terrified, but I truly can't believe I didn't know who he was. At the very least I should have recognized the love and acceptance in his eyes ... that had drawn me to him when he had touched my life... and since then it has never changed.
“So I come here. To rest and to remember. To share my story, my life with him.
“In our world, pain and suffering surround us. People are dying – often on the INside. Not because they want to, but, just as I was, before the Lord Jesus came into my life, they simply don't know how to live.
“I still hurt, for myself and for others. I still question. But I can never doubt. No matter how black the night in my soul or looming the problems, or large the ghosts that confront me, I know that I know that I know that God loves ME. And that one shaft of light will always cut through the darkness that occasionally surrounds me – and comfort me and bring me out on the other side of my pain, of my sorrow – to wholeness, to joy and to life.”
And, sharing, she always ended with a smile and her arms lifted up to the Lord, and saying,
“Thank you for your crucifixion for our sins .. and for your resurrection. Oh, my Lord Jesus, thank you.”
"Mary." It was whispered so quietly she barely heard. She crept silently to the window and spoke to the shadow outside. "Yes, Naomi, I'm coming." She wrapped her heavy robe about her, pulled her hair back tightly and bound it, then covered it with a dark shawl. Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and streaked, shadowed face revealed the grief ebbing and flowing in her heart.
She and her friends were going to Jesus' grave to complete the burial rites begun, but not completed, after the crucifixion. She dreaded the chore. Seeing His bruised, torn body would be heart-wrenching. But a worse thought, and one that impelled her to this morning's task, was that Jesus might be left untended if she didn't go.
As she stepped into the early morning darkness, Naomi took Mary's arm. "His mother isn't coming. She said to tell you she trusts you to see this through. She can't bear to see him just now. She'll come later--when we've finished--and say her farewells.
Mary nodded. She certainly understood. If this was hard for her, his friend, how much more difficult for his mother.
A few small groups of women followed Mary and Naomi along the road to Joseph's garden carrying cloths, spices, and other burial elements. As the sun rose over the horizon, the eastern sky showed streaks of rose and pale pink. The trees bordering the road were a nearly luminous shade of green in the light of dawn.. All creation glowed in its beauty, a striking contrast to the bleak hearts in the little procession.
"What about the soldiers?" The question surfaced and then hung in the air. The women paused and looked at each other in consternation.
"What about the stone? ... How are we to move it?"
No men had come and the Romans couldn't be expected to accommodate the women.
Suddenly the air was full of questions. Admittedly they should have been asked and resolved earlier. But, in their grief, they simply hadn't thought of these details.
Mary felt an irritation growing. Her old bravado surfaced. With an edge of rebelliousness to her words she said, I don't know how it will work, but I promise you, they won't stop us. Now, let's go. And spurred on by Mary's determination, the women walked resolutely toward the garden.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
After the Resurrection of her Lord Jesus, she told this story so many times. She was a garden care-giver where he had been buried and had risen, and when people came through, she shared her story so they would be filled with encouragement.
“I still smile when I remember that Resurrection day. Of course, at the time, when first seeing him, I was terrified, but I truly can't believe I didn't know who he was. At the very least I should have recognized the love and acceptance in his eyes ... that had drawn me to him when he had touched my life... and since then it has never changed.
“So I come here. To rest and to remember. To share my story, my life with him.
“In our world, pain and suffering surround us. People are dying – often on the INside. Not because they want to, but, just as I was, before the Lord Jesus came into my life, they simply don't know how to live.
“I still hurt, for myself and for others. I still question. But I can never doubt. No matter how black the night in my soul or looming the problems, or large the ghosts that confront me, I know that I know that I know that God loves ME. And that one shaft of light will always cut through the darkness that occasionally surrounds me – and comfort me and bring me out on the other side of my pain, of my sorrow – to wholeness, to joy and to life.”
And, sharing, she always ended with a smile and her arms lifted up to the Lord, and saying,
“Thank you for your crucifixion for our sins .. and for your resurrection. Oh, my Lord Jesus, thank you.”
What will I do with Jesus? I will love Him!
I come here to the Garden often, but never without feeling I am on holy ground. I know some people think I'm foolish; I've been told, "Jesus is no longer in the Garden, you're wasting your time." They don't understand. I find my visits to this quiet, shaded haven refreshing and renewing. As Abraham and Jacob returned to Beth-el and found there a renewing of their covenants with God, so coming here provides a renewing of my spirit.
Jesus is my Lord and my Savior, my husband and my brother--but, mostly, Jesus is my friend. In fact, Jesus was my first friend. Shortly before I met Him, I had decided my life was worthless--less than worthless--and I would end it. Everyone I knew, everything I touched, turned to ashes. I lived in torment. Voices screamed in my head by day, and demons danced through my dreams when finally I slept. I was trapped. I knew so well the ugly face of sin with its bitterness, hatred and despair. Oh, how I wanted to die!
And then Jesus came. Not only, in my vision, was He strong and handsome, taller than King Saul must have been, a true seed of King David, but He was the first man I'd ever seen who wasn't afraid to be tender. When He held babies in his arms or touched people with His calloused carpenter hands, He was gentle as a summer breeze.
At first I merely watched from the midst of the crowds. I didn't trust men...any man. I agreed with the ancient observation that "the thoughts of a man's heart are only evil continually" and I determined not to be deceived by another one.
Occasionally, Jesus looked at me, and I knew He could see right into my soul. It frightened me, but I could never resist Him or shift my gaze. And, what amazed me even more, His eyes carried no condemnation. I sensed only that HE hurt because I did.
Early one morning, after another tormented night, I was sitting on a rock overlooking the lake. I heard a sound on the shore behind me. I think I knew who it was even before I turned. My heart began beating so hard it drowned out the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the crying of the gulls. I wanted to run--but my legs wouldn't move. All He said was "Mary" and He touched my shoulder, and I crumpled at His feet in the sand and cried. All the agony of my life poured out in those tears. I cried 'til there was nothing left. And all that time, Jesus said nothing, did nothing. Just waited. Then He lifted me to my feet, cupped my face in His hands, and looked into my eyes.
I sensed rebuke, but I knew He wasn't rebuking me. And, one by one, my tormentors left. I don't know how to explain it, but I saw them leave, like shadows passing across the sun.
And I was free! It was wonderful! The wall around my heart shattered, and for the first time, I loved.
During the next two years I followed Him as often as I could, and through His teaching and presence, my heart over-flowed with joy.
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I thought I'd die when He did. I stayed near the cross til the soldiers made me leave. I don't remember much, except pain. Pain for His mother and John, for all the disciples and Jerusalem--but, to be honest, mostly pain for me.
Those next days were a blur. I couldn't understand why He died just when I was beginning to live.
And then Sunday came.
I still smile when I remember that Resurrection Day. Of course, at the time I was terrified, but in looking back I can't believe I didn't know who He was. At the very least I should have recognized the love and acceptance in His eyes...that never changes.
So, I come here. To rest, and to remember. Pain and suffering surround us. People are dying--on the INside. Not because they want to, but, like me, they simply don't know how to live.
I still hurt, for myself and for others. I still question. But I can never doubt. No matter how black the night in my soul or looming the problems, or large the ghosts that confront me, I know that I know that I know God loves ME. And that one shaft of light will always cut through the darkness that occasionally surrounds me--and comfort me and bring me out on the other side of my pain, of my sorrow--to wholeness, to joy and to life.
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Even though this was a monologue for the Lenten season, it covers the Lord in Mary's life before, during, and after the crucifixion, so I thought it would be best to post it afterwards when the rejoicing became truly "real". -- I wrote this script, but I also performed it. I have been "Mary Magdalene" a number of times over the years at churches -- and it doesn't make any difference how much I've aged. She's still herself.
