Mary Magdalene - story
recorded by Linda Synge
(scroll down for some questions for reflection at the end of the story)
I never cried.
I rarely showed any form of emotion, and I never cried.
If you’d been through what I had, you might be the same.
You see, my father was a farm labourer and a drunk, and he used to beat my mother and me. He’d often shout at me, calling me worthless, a waste of space. He’d wanted a son and saw no good in having a daughter. Whenever she could, my mother protected me, but that only made his anger worse and the beatings that she received even harder. I would watch and pray, asking Yahweh to make it stop… but… but he never answered my prayer.
My mother taught me never to show emotion; any noise or crying just made him angrier, and he would turn that anger on me. So, from a very young age, I hardened my heart and shut down all my emotions. I wouldn’t even let myself feel joy or happiness; if I felt good, then I was afraid that something bad would happen. I numbed myself to the world, retreating into myself and stepping outside of whatever was happening… like… like it was happening to someone else, not to me.
We never had any money, as my father spent it all on drinks. We made ends meet by scavenging what we could and gleaning in the fields. My mother taught me how to cook and get by on very little.
One night, when I think I was about 11, my father came in drunk and angry as usual, and when my mother brought him his supper, she tripped and spilled it on him. He erupted in a drunken rage… and hit her repeatedly till she fell. There was a horrible crack as she hit her head on the stone hearth, and blood quickly pooled around her head as she lay motionless. My father paused for a moment and then stormed out of our home, shouting that it was all her fault.
I didn’t cry as I crept over and sat silently next to my mother’s dead body. I stayed there for a while, holding her hand, praying that Yahweh would bring her back again, but he didn’t answer my prayer.
After a while, it dawned on me that it wasn’t safe for me to stay there. If my father came back, he’d blame me, and… I’d get another beating. So, I grabbed a few things and, at the age of 11, I left home.
We had no relatives in the area, but from what my mother had taught me, I knew enough to survive by scavenging and gleaning. A few days later, I learned that my father had got into a fight with a Roman soldier and had been killed. But there was nothing and no-one for me to go back home to… so I stayed away.
I learned to avoid people and found places where I could sleep in relative safety. From time to time, I teamed up with groups of orphans, we’d share resources and help each other, but eventually there would be a falling out over something, and I’d move on. These days the followers of the way of Jesus work together to provide care for orphans, but there was nothing like that back then. There were usually a few local people who would occasionally give us scraps of food, but there was no organised support.
Because of my experience with my father, I never trusted men and was especially careful to avoid them. But I wasn’t always successful… On a couple of occasions, I was caught and raped. I… I blocked out the emotions on this too, numb to what had happened to me, but at the same time, I was determined that it would not happen again. One of the orphans I’d teamed up with for a while, showed me some sort of spell that was supposed to invoke the protection of Baal. And as Yahweh hadn’t answered my prayers, I decided to try that.
Unwittingly, that was when I first invited a demon into my life.
To begin with, it was a source of comfort. The next time a man came after me, I suddenly found myself attacking him and snarling like an animal. He backed off afraid, and then ran away. I started laughing in a strange way; there was no joy in it, just a deep, ferocious anger. It was the first time I’d felt anything in years, and I liked it… even if it was a dark anger.
The anger and bitterness I felt grew over time and gradually took over everything. The demon I’d invited in drew others to join it, and they fuelled, and fed on, my anger. My character changed, I became meaner and uncaring… and other orphans avoided me. To begin with, I felt I didn’t need them anyway, but in time I became lonely. I was alone with the dark spirits that I could sense inside me, and it made me afraid. They seemed to feed on my fear too, and voices in my head kept telling me I was worthless and alone, that I would die friendless in the world. The more I heard this, the lonelier and more anxious I became… and the stronger those demons grew.
That all changed when I found Jesus, or should I say that he found me.
I’m not sure exactly how old I was, it was hard to keep track when I’d been living on the edge of society for over 10 years, but I think I was still in my early 20s. I’d heard about this itinerant Rabbi who was casting out demons and healing people, and I’d hoped that he might be able to help me. News about him spread fast, and each time I heard of his whereabouts, I would go looking for him. But whenever I got there, he’d already moved on. The demons in me loved this and were screaming that it was hopeless. All I could hear was my father’s voice in my head, telling me that I was worthless and deserved all that I was going through.
After several failed attempts to find Jesus, I gave up. I never cried, I just curled up on the ground in a clump of trees outside Capernaum whilst the demons inside me laughed gleefully at my brokenness. I lay there muttering under my breath, “Yahweh, please help me.” At the same time, the demons were shouting in my head that God would not listen to me, that I was a terrible sinner… that I was no good for anything.
As I lay there, I heard the noise of a group of men approaching, walking down the road towards Capernaum. I heard their voices clearly as they walked level with the clump of trees where I was hiding. I looked up and through the trees and saw about 9 men on the road, all talking as they walked.
Suddenly, a man near the front stopped, held up his hand for silence, and looked towards the trees where I was hiding. I was angry with myself, thinking that I must have made a noise to draw their attention. Old memories came back, I felt my anger growing, and I prepared to scream if they came near… not that any man had shown that sort of interest in me for years; I was thin and drawn from poor eating and little sleep, I was dirty, unkempt, my clothes were torn, and I can only imagine what I smelt like. But I was tensed, ready to fight or run.
The man at the front of the group didn’t raise his voice, he spoke just one word, which carried easily over the 15-20 steps there were between us, ‘Mary.’ he said.
I froze on the spot. I’d not heard my name spoken in years… and I’d never heard it said in the way he said it. I remember my mother saying it scoldingly, or in desperation. I remember my father saying it angrily. I remember my so-called friends saying it meanly as they taunted me over my father’s reputation and my family’s poverty. But the way this man said my name was different. There was a warmth to his voice… a deep compassion in it. Something in the way he said it resonated deep in my soul, and immediately stilled the demon voices in my head.
‘Mary,’ he repeated, ‘You’re safe here.’
‘How does he know my name?’ I asked myself. I’d only whispered, but he replied as though I were right next to him.
‘I know a lot more than just your name. I know the hurt you have suffered, the torment you are living through, and so much more.’ I’m sure I heard a catch in his voice as he said this. ‘You are safe here,’ he repeated, ‘Come, I can help you.’
I stayed frozen to the spot. My head was screaming that I should run away, but my heart was drawn to him in a way that I didn’t understand. Then I noticed the demons inside me weren’t just silent, it felt like they were cowering in fear. If this man scared them, then I wanted to be nearer to him. Hesitantly, I moved toward him until I was standing in front of him. I looked into his eyes and saw the tears that were sitting there.
‘Mary,’ he said my name again, and my soul sang. Then he asked, ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘I… I was looking for a man called Jesus,’ I stammered, barely above a whisper.
‘Well, it seems that you have found me,’ he laughed, blinking away his tears.
Suddenly I felt the demons within me burst into life in a way I’d never known before, and my voice took on a sinister tone as they seemed to speak through me. ‘We know who you are, Jesus of Nazareth, the holy one of God!’
‘Be quiet,’ he said sternly, and immediately I felt the demons cower away in fear. ‘Come out of her, all of you.’
As soon as he said those words, I felt something like a warm, clean breeze blowing through my soul. The breeze quickly grew into a strong wind, and one by one, I felt the demons in me being blown away. As each one left, my body convulsed, and I would have collapsed on the floor if Jesus hadn’t grabbed my arm to steady me.
‘You’re free now,’ he smiled, ‘There’s more that’s needed, but that will take time.’
I went with them into Capernaum, where Simon’s mother-in-law helped me wash and gave me some clean clothes. Jesus gave me a whole new beginning, a fresh start, a new life… no words could ever express the gratitude I felt. I started following him, doing whatever I could to help; my skills at gleaning and cooking were in much demand when we were out on the road. The crowds grew, and he healed many people… and cast out countless demons.
I was amazed by his teaching, but it wasn’t just the words he spoke and the miracles he performed. There was a warmth and an inclusivity in everything he did and said… unless, of course, he was talking with the religious authorities! But the openness and warmth he had towards ordinary, messed-up people simply drew them to him. The compassion and acceptance they experienced made them want to stay around and understand more of what he offered. Living water is what he said that he offered, and that was true. Just being in his presence revived weary souls, softened the scars of life, and quenched the deepest thirst.
Jesus saved my life in more ways than I can ever properly express. He gave me hope, purpose, and a sense of acceptance and belonging… things I’d never known. My heart remained guarded, hardened by years of abuse and brokenness. I still rarely felt any strong emotions, and I never cried… But when I was around him, his warmth seemed to overflow and brought glimmers of light to my heart.
I followed him for about 3 years. And as the numbers grew, more women joined as disciples. Together we helped provide for his ministry, making sure we had all the nourishment needed to keep doing what Jesus was calling us to do.
I tell you all this because it puts what happened that week in Jerusalem into perspective.
As we moved south towards Jerusalem, there was a growing sense of excitement and expectation among his followers. Little did we know what was about to happen.
I was there, loudly singing ‘Hosanna!’ as we arrived triumphantly in Jerusalem.
I remember watching, astonished, as he drove the money changers from the temple
I was listening when he taught about the kingdom of God in the temple… and when he bested the religious authorities again and again in arguments over the scriptures.
I was helping with the food when Mary, Martha’s sister, came and anointed him with nard. And I was at Mary and Martha’s place the next day as we waved Jesus and the Twelve off to celebrate the Passover together a day early.
Then everything changed…
I remember Matthew arriving back in Bethany in the middle of the night, his clothes stained with the sweat that was so visible on his face. As he gasped for breath, he told us that Jesus had been arrested!
I was there the next morning, in the square outside the governor’s seat, as the crowd bayed for blood. I… I tried to make myself heard, to speak out in his defence, but the noise from the crowd was too great. I was repeatedly pushed back, elbowed, and hit by the mob.
I saw when they bought Jesus out before the people. His face bloodied and bruised, and his body covered with open wounds from the flogging that he’d been given.
I heard Pilate pronounce judgement and sentence him to be crucified
I followed with the crowd as he carried his cross out to Golgotha and watched when they nailed him to it, hoisting it up alongside the others that were crucified with him.
When he was on the cross, I heard him forgive those that were killing him, and I heard him cry out to God before breathing his last.
I stood there watching, unable to comprehend what was happening. Alongside me were several of the other women that had followed him and helped in his ministry. They wept and howled out their anger and grief… but I never cried. I… I felt nothing. In all the anger and distress around me, I retreated again into my safe place. I numbed myself to all that was happening, and I felt nothing.
I felt nothing as the skies darkened and people screamed in fear.
I felt nothing as they took his body off the cross, wrapped it in a cloth, placed him in a tomb, and rolled the heavy stone into place. And I continued to be numb as we walked back with John to the room where they’d shared that last supper with him the night before.
Some of the others were already there, and more joined us over the course of the next day, the Sabbath. The room was mostly filled with a brooding silence, but occasionally one of the women (or the men) would start to cry, and that would set off the rest. The pain in the room was something that seemed alive; I could see the grief and regret that haunted everyone, it was etched on their faces.
But I felt nothing, and I never cried.
It was Mary (Martha’s sister) that suggested we perform one last act of service and anoint his body with oils and spices. So, on that Sunday morning, whilst it was still dark, we got up and set out for the tomb. The early light of dawn was just beginning to colour the sky as we approached it.
It was Salome that saw it first. She screeched, dropped the basket she was carrying, and pointed towards the tomb, ‘Someone’s opened it!’ she said, ‘The… the stone, it’s been moved.’
I ran to the tomb and peered inside. It was hard to make out in the low light of dawn, but it was clear that his body was gone. For a moment, I wondered if we’d come to the wrong place, but I looked around and confirmed that this was the tomb where they’d placed Jesus’s body. There weren’t any others that came close to matching it. We did a quick scout of the area, but there was no sign of his body or of anyone else.
As quickly as we could, we ran back to the upper room to tell the others. ‘They’ve taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they’ve put him.’ I said.
The other women stayed there, but John, Peter and I set off running back to the tomb again.
This was the 3rd time I’d made that journey, and I was slower in running back. They got there ahead of me, went in, and saw that the graveclothes were still there.
‘Who would do this?’ I gasped as I caught them up, ‘Grave robbers?’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’ John replied, ‘Grave robbers wouldn’t leave the grave clothes behind. Maybe it was the Jewish or Roman authorities, but I don’t know why they would take him.’
‘It’s getting lighter,’ said Peter, ‘We should go back before anyone sees us and links us to him… Or we could all end up the same way.’
John looked at him, paused briefly, and then nodded in agreement, ‘Yes, let’s go back and tell the others. I’ll make some enquiries through some friends in the high priest’s household and see if they know anything.’
I turned to follow them, and that’s when it happened.
It was all too much… that someone would desecrate his tomb and take his body was just too much. All my defences came down as the emotions I’d been suppressing for that last week (and many more from the years of pain I’d known) exploded. My numbness just evaporated. Grief and pain overwhelmed me as I sank to my knees and howled my anguish into the early morning air. Tears… tears came in floods, and I felt like they would never stop.
Peter and John hesitated. ‘Mary, we can’t stay here… we’ll be discovered!’ Peter tried to help me to my feet, but I shrugged him off and waved them both away. Between loud cries of pain, I told them to leave me and go. I’d be alright… and I didn’t care if I wasn’t.
They hovered for a little longer before heading back, promising as they went that they would find out what had happened, and that they would send Salome and the others back to find me.
I ignored them and curled up on the ground, weeping and pouring out decades of pain and loss.
I don’t know how long I lay there, it seemed never-ending. But it can’t have been that long, as the sun was not much higher in the sky when I opened my eyes to look around.
Exhausted by the emotion that was raging in me, I crawled, still sobbing, towards the tomb and peered in again.
As I blinked the tears away, I could see that there was someone there… two people dressed in white were sitting where his body had been. I know now that they were angels, but it didn’t register at the time.
‘Woman,’ they asked, ‘Why are you weeping?’
Between sobs, I blurted out that they had taken Jesus, and I didn’t know where his body was. As I said this, I heard a noise behind me, and I turned to see a man standing there. I could barely make him out through my tears as he asked, ‘Why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?’
I thought that he might be the gardener, that he may have taken Jesus. Thinking that I’d found the culprit, a sudden anger rose in me, and my strength came back to me. I climbed to my feet, stared defiantly at him and said, ‘Sir! If you have taken him, then tell me where you’ve put him, and I’ll carry him away!’
He laughed, a deep gentle laugh that I instantly recognised, ‘Mary.’ he said with that voice that always sang to my soul. Suddenly I could see through my tears that it was Jesus, a little younger than I remembered him, but it was Jesus!
‘Rabbouni!’ I shouted in delight, and without thinking, I threw my arms around him and held him tightly. Joy! I felt joy!... Joy like I had never known in my whole life. It flooded my body, bringing me to tears all over again.
He was here, I didn’t understand it, but he was here and… and… I could feel!… I could feel grief, pain, joy, and so much more. A whole new dimension of life was opened to me, and as I held him, I cried out my praise and thanks to God.
‘Mary,’ he said. My soul echoed my praises of God, as he said my name again.
‘Mary.’ This time even more gently, if that were possible. Suddenly I realised how unseemly it must look, how wrong it was for me to be hugging him like that. I started to let go, but… but I couldn’t! Part of me worried that if I let go, he would disappear again.
‘Mary… don’t hold onto me now,’ he said, smiling as he carefully, and so gently, moved my arms from around his chest. ‘There will be a time when all of you will always know my presence with you, but for now, I’ve not yet ascended to my Father.’
I let him move my arms but couldn’t let go of the sleeve of his robe. It was then that I saw the wounds in his hands, the holes that were left from the nails of the cross. He was younger, the bruising and cuts from the beating they’d given him were gone, but he still carried those wounds in his hands.
‘Mary, woman of infinite worth, I have a job that I am entrusting to you.’
‘Yes, Lord,’ I replied, ‘anything.’
‘Go to my brothers and sisters, tell them what you have seen. Tell them that I am ascending to my Father and your Father… not just mine, but also now, through all that has happened, your Father too. I go to my God, who is also now truly your God.’
He smiled again, ‘Mary, I know that I can trust you to do this.’
‘I will, Lord!’ I replied and ran back to the upper room, my heart leaping each time I recalled him saying my name.
I knocked on the door and called out that it was me. As they opened it, both laughter and tears came together as I exclaimed, ‘I have seen the Lord!’
Thoughts/questions for reflection
How did this story make you feel?
Were there things in the story that jarred (or resonated) with you? Why is that?
At the beginning of this chapter, I highlighted the extent to which Jesus subverted the norms of his day with regard to women; respecting them as people in their own right, including them among his followers, and trusting them with the most important message in history. There are still huge gender inequalities in the world and in the Church. On top of this, there are many other prejudices and inequalities in society.
We all naturally identify with groups, there’s nothing wrong with that… the problem comes if we look down on people who are not part of our group. In Christian terms, if we believe that anyone is outside the grace of God, then we have missed the key message of the Gospels.
‘…every time we draw a line between us and others, Jesus is always on the other side of it.’[1]
Who are the people that our society judges as being ‘outside’?
Who are the people that the Church judges as being ‘outside’?
What do you think Jesus would say about this?
Look again Galatians 3:28.
There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus
If Paul were writing to the Church today, what contrasts might he include in that passage?
In Mary’s story, Jesus has compassion for her, meeting her immediate need, but also recognising that longer-term healing was also required. He opened the way for her to join the community he was founding, a community that would provide the environment needed for that further healing.
Frequently in the Gospels, we read that Jesus was full of compassion for people; that he saw their need and was moved to act. John’s Gospel records that Jesus wept when he saw the grief of Martha and Mary (John 11:35). Also, in the Old Testament, we read again and again that God is compassionate.
Our God doesn’t sit unmoved by the pain of this world, but he meets us where we are and weeps with us in our grief and sorrow.
But he doesn’t just feel our pain, he is also moved to act. In his compassion, Jesus acts to heal, and feed, and cast out demons, and raise the dead, and teach, and coach, and guide, and forgive, and more. It’s because of God’s compassion for the world, that Jesus comes to earth in the first place.
We can sometimes find that our hearts break for people we’ve never met, and we are moved to want to help in some way. It might be a charity appeal or a news story about tragedy, disaster, war, oppression, or abuse.
What stories have you heard recently where you have felt compassion for the people involved?
Sometimes it seems like there is just too much suffering in the world, too many charity appeals, too many needy people, too many problems among our families and close friends. As a result, we can get ‘compassion fatigue.’ Never more so than in recent years with the turmoil of COVID-19, growing political tensions, Afghanistan, Ukraine, environmental challenges, extreme weather, and more. We can’t cope with it all, and we get to the point where we have to ignore it or block it out.
What ways have you heard of, or used, to help offload the stress or anxiety we feel when it all gets too much?
Do the verses below from Matt 11:28-29 help?
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
Take time to pause, reflect and ask God if there is anything he wants you to take from this.
For personal reflection and prayer
Some of you will know first-hand some of the horrors outlined above.
I don’t know what you have been through in your life and what you are going through now. I don’t know how heavy your load is to bear. I don’t know the grief and pain and frustration that you carry.
But I do know there is hope.
Our hope is founded on a patient, loving God that will never let us go. A God who is with us through the deepest grief and the wildest panic. A God who comes to us in Jesus, and... whilst in our pain, grief, anger, tears, and frustration, we may not recognise him… he gently asks – ‘Who are you looking for?’
As you meet with the risen Jesus in this Easter season, picture him listening with compassion as you pour out your heart… and when you pause for breath, hear him softly and lovingly speak your name… and know you are loved.
How does your name sound in his mouth?
A prayer
Lord Jesus,
This Easter season,
help us to see you in the world about us,
help us to find you in the people we meet,
help us to hear you in the words spoken to us,
help us to treat everyone as beloved a child of God
help us to know your presence with us always,
So that we can say with confidence
‘I have seen the Lord!’
Amen
Ignatian imaginative contemplation on this passage
The background and the story provide a window to help look at the passage imaginatively for yourself. If you want to go deeper:
Ask God to speak to you through the passage
Slowly read the Bible passage again
Visualise yourself as one of the characters, or as an observer. You might work through the whole passage or just sit with a certain scene within it.
Pay attention to the details of the scene; what do you see, hear and smell?
Notice what you feel as you immerse yourself in the passage?Again, ask God what he wants you to take away from this.
You might like to note any thoughts or feelings in a journal before moving on to the next chapter.
[1] Nadia Bolz-Weber, Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner Saint