ApostleApostles to the

BY AMANDA BERGER

So heavy was her grief that as she walked back to the tomb, she wondered about her ability to put one foot in front of the other. Who would have thought she could even do that? In the past two days, she’d been everywhere emotionally: from keening sadness to numb nothingness, to moments where her soft hands and tender words comforted others sharing her vigil of mourning.

She could scarcely bring herself to consider what she had witnessed on Friday. Things had happened so fast—and in the roar of the shouting crowds and disbelief at what she was witnessing, she’d been swept along to that hideous place of death. Golgotha.

As she’d huddled at the foot of the cross, along with Mary and Salome, she remembered clutching the other women’s clothing, knuckles white and hands aching, but needing to hold on to something solid, real, as they watched the horror of his crucifixion.

She could scarcely look at his broken body hanging on the cross. There was only one way for this to end, and she didn’t want this to be how she remembered him: beaten, bloody, heart-wrenchingly helpless as he gasped for each breath.

Her most treasured moment with him flashed through her mind:

She’d been mad—a stranger even to her own family. Then, he’d placed his gentle hands upon her and his commanding voice banished the seven demons who had possessed her for so long. He’d saved her and she’d followed him ever since.

In the gray light of pre-dawn, she awoke from a disturbing nightmare, reliving the horrors of the past days. Too restless to return to sleep, she’d decided to walk to Jesus’ tomb. She hoped to be comforted simply by being close to his body one last time. But she’d arrived to see the huge boulder rolled away from the entrance, and fearful of what that might mean, she’d run back to tell Peter and John. They immediately ran to the tomb themselves. She followed, more slowly, heart swollen with grief, afraid that now she wouldn’t even have one last glimpse of his body.

So, it was not with hope that she came to the tomb today. With longing for her Lord, yes, but longing isn’t hope. She came to remember, to anoint, to maybe find some peace and release him to God. She wasn’t conscious of the tears spilling from her eyes, but as she stood at the doorway of the empty tomb, her vision blurred and a sob escaped her throat.

She was so weary and sad that she thought she must be seeing things, because for a moment she could have sworn she saw two bright angels sitting within the tomb. She heard them ask, “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Without thinking, she answered, “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they’ve laid him.”

“Oh, Lord, now I’m talking to myself, too,” she thought. Her grief was making her imagination run wild. Best to return home before she completely lost it. As she turned to leave, there was a man standing behind her—she hadn’t even heard him approach.

He, too, asked, “Dear woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?”

“I must really look a mess for the gardener to stop his work and take notice of me!” Scrubbing her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, she cleared her throat and replied, “Sir, if you have taken his body somewhere else, tell me, and I will go and …”

“Mary.”

That one word. It was his voice! Jesus’ voice. Eyes wide, she stared at the man’s face. “Rabboni!” she sighed, all the air rushing from her lungs.

As she reached to touch him, Jesus shook his head, “Mary, don’t cling to me, for I haven’t yet ascended to God, my Father. And he’s not only my Father and God, but now he’s your Father and God!” He urged her to go and tell the other disciples about this meeting.

Her arms longed to hold on to Jesus, but her heart leapt to tell the others. As she ran to tell the disciples, her mind was a jumble of Jesus’ message and her own conflicting emotions. She paused for a moment to catch her breath. Her mind raced, but this new vision of Jesus in the garden obliterated the memories of his dying breath.

It was no longer his memory she was clinging to, as pieces of what Jesus had said in those last days began to fit themselves together.

“I go to prepare a place for you … when everything is ready, I will come back and take you to myself so that you will be where I am.”

“I have come as a light to shine in the dark world so that all who trust in me will no longer wander in darkness.”

“I will continue to make you even more real to them, so that they may experience the same endless love that you have for me, for your love will now live in them, even as I live in them.”

The torturous emotions of the past few days faded, as it dawned on her that he was saving her ... again.

Known as the “Apostle to the Apostles,” she is the first to encounter the risen Christ. Since so little is truly known about her, she is surrounded by myth as well as mistaken identity. In A.D. 591, an Easter sermon by Pope Gregory I blended Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany, and the woman caught in adultery (John 8) all into one character. They are not the same person, and later the Catholic church made that clear, though the notion of Mary Magdalene as the adulterous woman is still very present in Christian belief. Instead, it is worth noting that the Gospels do mention Mary Magdalene as one who provided financial support for Jesus’ ministry and traveled extensively along with his disciples and other women followers.

Canonized as a saint, Mary Magdalene’s feast day is celebrated on July 22 and she is the patron saint of the contemplative life, converts, glove makers, hairstylists, penitent sinners, people ridiculed for their piety, perfumeries and perfumers, pharmacists, and women. Interestingly, Magdala, the town from which Mary Magdalene draws her name, was only recently found by archaeologists in 2009.

All scripture quotations above are taken from The Passion Translation, 2020, Passion & Fire Ministries, Inc., primarily from John’s account of the resurrection in chapter 20 and Jesus’ prayer for the disciples in chapter 18.