Sitting with the Sacred

John 20: 11-18

The verses listed above aren’t the ones that were read on Easter Sunday morning this year. However, they are the verses that tell my favorite part of the Easter story. Actually, these verses might contain my favorite Bible story.

I first drafted what follows this introduction for another blog in 2012. My idea for that blog was to use narrative and fiction writing techniques to reflect on Scripture passages. I never wrote a third post for that blog. I think that project stopped almost as soon as it got started because I realized that some Scripture passages paint a picture in the mind and engage the emotions better than others do, and different passages lend themselves best two different forms of prayer. I’ll keep these lessons in mind as I continue with this blog, which I want to be open to taking in lots of different directions. My having an open mind and heart about what I write here will keep this experience fresh — for me and you.

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I sit crumpled against the outer wall of the tomb, knees curled up to my chin, soaking my robe with tears. I can’t pull myself together enough to see or hear, let alone move enough to re-join the others behind the locked doors. What would be the point of going back anyway? We can’t stay there forever. And then when we come out, it’s not a matter of will we be killed but how, and by whom? Both the Jewish and Roman leaders have reasons they tell themselves to justify why they should eradicate us.

“. . . Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out . . .

luke 8:2

And what if, for some reason, I do survive this trial and am sent back to Magdela? If I thought before I met Jesus that no one spoke to me, the childless young widow with fits of temper and body–what would my life be like now? I’ve been using the resources of my late father and of my husband to support someone who, at best, the townspeople will consider to have been out of his head. At worst, they will call Him a criminal. They will whisper that it doesn’t surprise them that I’ve been following Jesus – since I’ve never been right in the head myself. It’s true.

I never had been until he healed me. He healed me – no, he didn’t just bandage the brokenness inside me. He gave me hope that made me a new person, not only because of what he did for me, but because of how he lived and what he taught. Because of Him, I have friends – family. I can’t, I won’t go back to my old life of isolation.

So what do I do now? If only I could ask the Lord, if only I could touch his garments like the hemorrhaging woman who received what she needed from even that slight brush with His Power.

The memory of this woman leads to another recollection. Peter said the burial cloths were rolled up inside the tomb.

I will touch the cloths, if only for the consolation of touching something that has come into contact with Jesus.

I turn toward the entrance of the tomb, expecting to encounter the darkness revealed by the removal of the stone.

Instead, all I see at first is light. When my vision adjusts, I see two men in white “one at the head and one at the feet where the body of Jesus had been” (New American Bible, John 20. 12).

“Woman, why are you weeping” the men say in unison (13).

I forget about my plan to take hold of what I still have from Jesus and remember only my loss.

“They have taken my Lord, and I don’t know where they have laid him” (13). My words are almost incomprehensible with my voice quivering as it is.

I realize two strange men have seen me weeping. So this is where my end begins. What will I suffer and for how long? My whole body begins to shake, consumed in fear and grief. I turn away from the men and close my eyes, praying to be taken away from this situation.

I sense someone else standing behind me. I feel compelled to see who it is, though at the same time, I wonder why it matters. When I turn away from the entrance to the tomb, I come face-to-face with the outline of a man. I can’t make out his features because my eyes are still acclimating again to the predawn darkness. I hope it’s only the gardener and that he’s had his fill of the violence that comes from seeking the kind of power too many people worship.

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” the man asks (15).

“Sir, if you carried him away, tell me where you laid him, and I will take him” (15).

“Mary!” This pronouncement of my name is sharp but somehow conveys pity, too (16). And the voice that carries it is unmistakable.

I can’t believe my ears, but I choose to anyway. As I make this choice, I see as if he has cleared away a fog.

It is Jesus.

“Teacher!” (16).

“Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (17).

Now I know exactly what to do next. I sprint toward the locked doors.

Questions for Reflection

• When have I felt like Mary does in this interpretation of John 20?
• Have I ever looked upon someone else that way Mary suggests the people of Magdela see her?
• Where do I see God in the people with whom I have crossed paths today (or yesterday if it’s early morning when I’m reading this meditation)?
• What other questions or thoughts come to mind when I read this meditation?
• When has God surprised me?
• Is there something I’m holding onto that is keeping me from growing spiritually?

Work Cited

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.