by Michael E. Shaughnessy
The following is a one act, one person performance that takes 40-60 minutes to perform. It is the testimony of Mary Magdalene. The challenge in performing this is that she is sometimes speaking to herself only, sometimes directly to the audience, and sometimes to imaginary people on stage with her (and playing both parts).
It is also the case that her time reference shifts as well. Sometimes it is very clearly the present. This is usually when she is speaking to the audience reflecting on the past. Sometimes she is simply acting out the past as she experienced it then. This is for the audience to observe. Sometimes she is telling a story as if it had happened in the recent past. Here the goal is to bring the audience with her into the past.
The actress must know where she is in time, and to whom she is speaking. She must also perform in such a way that the audience knows it as well.
The stage is set in the decor of the first century.
The play begins with her on stage facing the audience from behind a make up table. She is speaking to herself.
The beauty of a woman is in the allure of her eye. She can say more with her eye than she can with her tongue. There is a trap in the lashes or in a glance. They beckon and entice such that no man missunderstands what is promised - I know. For years that was how I made my living.
[She does a dialogue now with an imaginary person.]
"Hey beautiful are you working?"
"No, I'm just playing, but I think I know some games that you don't..."
[She speaks to herself again.]
A game, that's all it is, ...and a way to make a living. What a stupid life.
"Hey beautiful" - what drivel! How many times have I been told how attractive I am? Hundreds? Thousands maybe? How many men have said they loved me? Who knows? How many have ever meant it? None! They can all go to hell.
I never spend a night alone, but I am alone every night, ...some nights desperately alone. Does it have to be this way? Why can't I be loved? Am I ugly? Not really. What is wrong with me? Am I unsatisfying? I doubt that. Men come to me because they're unsatisfied. Am I too self willed? ...But I do whatever they ask me, even when they don't ask me. Why can't I be loved? Even while I am with them, I might as well be watching. There is no love, not for me. They touch the hair and the flesh, but they never touch the heart. Even if they want to, they never will! Never! They are all scum! Every one of them! Worthless cheats! Unfaithful to their wives and unfaithful to me. I see it. I'm not blind! I know what this rubbish is like. Throw it away. Get it out of here! It stinks! They won't touch me, never.
Oh, I'm wanted. I'm wanted by more men than any woman I know. But for how long? A week? A month? ...Usually not even a night. How long can this last? Beauty is fleeting. Even I know that. How long can I succeed in selling myself? Five more years? Seven? Then what? There is no work I can do. What family I have won't admit it and I'm not going back to them on my knees. Never! But how will I live? No job, no money, no home, no family, no friends, no future. I'm sick of this! I'm sick of me! I'm sick of life!
How much longer? Five more years? No, I can't last that long. Every day is empty, futile. Maybe I should just end it all, before it gets unbearable... I don't know. Why should I put up with this? When was the last time I was happy? I mean really happy, not put on.
[She again speaks to an imaginary person, mimicking her own false laughter.]
"How hilarious! He must be some son!"
"You didn't! Not the procounsel's wife! You couldn't have!"
"Ooh! That sounds exotic!"
[She speaks to herself again.]
What a hypocrite! It's all false, but they don't care if its false. They pretend it's true, just like they pretend it's love.
They don't know me. They don't want to. No one knows me. No one really knows me. Oh, they all recognize my face. They know my name, Mary of Magdala, but no one knows me inside. No one knows what I feel, what I think, what I need.
[For the first time she plays to the audience.]
That was my life. I don't know how many times I lived out that scene, coming home, alone, early in the morning, exhausted, having made another day's, ...no, another night's wages. I was at the end, but then I started hearing stories about a young rabbi, named Jesus. In small towns the rumor market is always more crowded than the vegetable market. Like everyone, I assumed these rabbi stories had been expanded in the telling. The human mind is nothing if not fertile. A rumor comes in the ear, passes through the mind and grows threefold by the time it's gone out the mouth. I found these particular rumors entertaining, but unusually well grown.
This rabbi was a miracle worker, they said - healing the sick, the blind, the crippled. That wasn't so hard to believe. But this rabbi was said to be associating with tax collectors and prostitutes, ...the public sinners, not the private ones. This rabbi had outcasts who were his friends and followers - now that just didn't add up in my book - a rabbi?
Some people were saying he was the Messiah. The Messiah! That made it even harder to believe. The Messiah was supposed to be the "anointed one of God". If anyone was going to avoid sinners, he would. No, it just didn't add up. The stories caught my attention, but I certainly wasn't about to wander off after some self proclaimed Messiah. I was pragmatic. I had to be. I had to look out for myself. No one else did. I was careful, skeptical, distrusting, always.
[She gradually begins to speak as though she were talking about something that had just happened.]
My ... ahhh... work, had taken me to the city of Nain. I was about to leave when I was distracted by a large crowd near the city gate. It had gathered around a rabbi. He seemed to be answering questions, I think. I was near to the gate myself when I heard a funeral procession coming. People wailing aloud ... crying, sobbing... Apparently, a young widow, was burying her only son. That's hard. Many women expect to become widows, but most families are large enough so that the children can look after a widowed mother; but this woman, in losing her only son, was now alone in the world.
In respect for the dead, the crowd around the rabbi began to make room for the procession to pass. The rabbi emerged from the crowd and went up to the woman. I expected that he would say the usual thing that rabbis and politicians say... You have my sincere sympathy... or some such thing, whether they mean it or not, but he didn't. He looked at her thoughtfully and then spoke with compassion, "Woman, weep no more. Do not despair." Then he stepped over to the bier on which they were carrying the body. He put his hand on it and they stopped. As he did so, everything grew quiet. Those who were mourning stopped their wailing. Eventually, the whole procession stopped and stood still, as did all of this rabbi's disciples. Even the ordinary hustle and bustle going on at the gate ceased, as he put his hand on the young man.
Why would anyone interfere with a funeral procession? It's so hard to know what to say, especially when you hardly know the deceased or their relatives. But then, he even touched the bier. Touching a dead person makes you unclean. Ritual law forbids it. Rabbis always avoid the dead unless they absolutely can't.
I asked someone near me,
[She speaks again with an imaginary person.]
"Who is this man?"
"Jesus, a rabbi from Capernaum or is it Nazareth?"
"He's the rabbi mentioned in the rumours."
"Yes."
[She returns to telling the story.]
He stood there in patient confidence. When all was quiet, he pulled back the cloth that covered the young man's face. Looking at him, he said, "Young man - I tell you - arise."
I couldn't believe what I heard. Only a fool speaks to a dead man. And only a greater fool would tell him to rise - in public. But then, ...I didn't believe what I saw. The body moved! "Did someone bump the bier?" NO! The young man sat up and began to speak. People backed away.
[She speaks again with an imaginary person.]
"Are you seeing what I am seeing?..."
"It's a ghost, an evil spirit."
"What is going on?"...
"My God, he's alive!"
[She returns to telling the story.]
Not everyone could see because of the number of people in the streets, but very quickly the word spread. The whole crowd was buzzing. As those in the back heard what had happened they pressed forward to see. In the meantime, the rabbi, this Jesus, took the young man by his hand and gave him to his mother. "God has restored your son," he said, and then he disappeared into the crowd.
[She speaks partly to herself, partly to the audience.]
What did I think? ...I went away still not believing what I saw, yet knowing I saw it. "Was he really dead?" I asked some of the mourners? They assured me that he was, and then they asked me who this rabbi was. What could I say? "I don't know... Jesus, they say."
[She thinks aloud as if in the past.]
Did he really raise that young man from the dead? Well, yes, but that's not the question. Who is he? Who can do what he did? He had authority in his voice. All he said was, "Arise." He didn't call upon God. He didn't offer a sacrifice. He didn't even pray. He just commanded him to arise, and death left. Who has authority over death?
There's something more.... It's how he related to the widow, his sympathy. He was so concerned for her that he didn't even respond to the crowd who started acclaiming him a prophet. Why didn't he make use of this for all that it was worth? He could have paraded that man all around the country. Instead he gave the young man back to his mother. He was concerned about her. Why? Is he that unselfish? Was he really that concerned for others? I can't believe that. That's never the case with the high and the mighty.
[She will have to play a number of parts in what follows: Jesus, the blind man, her thoughts in the past, an argument she had with herself in the past...]
The report about the raising of the widow's son spread throughout the region. Like many others, I was interested in hearing him. He spoke about the Kingdom of God being here, now, in our very midst. I listened carefully. It was a different approach than any other rabbi I had heard. (I didn't exactly go out of my way to hear many rabbis teach, you understand.) Instead of droning on and on about how many steps you can take on the Sabbath, or tithing from your garden, he spoke about being made new, inside. This caught my attention. I grew eager to know how to get it to happen, but he didn't say how. Instead, he called up a man who was blind.
"How long have you been blind?" He asked.
"Since birth."
"Can you see anything? Shapes? Shadows?"
"No, master, nothing. I see nothing at all."
"Come closer and close your eyes."
The man did so, and the rabbi put two fingers on each eye. He then backed away and said, "Open your eyes."
Instantly, the man could see and he started telling everyone. Those around him drew nearer, amazed, and asked him questions. Jesus backed away and approached a woman with a withered arm. She too was instantly healed. Next to her was a man hunched over so badly that he was facing the ground. Again Jesus touched him and he was healed. The healings I saw, and I only saw some of them, were instant and dramatic.
The whole day he continued to heal people. I saw the crippled walk. I saw the blind - no, not just the blind but who had no eyes - see. There were people with revolting diseases instantly cured, but what struck me most was a man who was delivered from an evil spirit. When he came up the crowd cleared away. He went directly to Jesus, raging, foaming at the mouth, his body bruised and cut from who knows what. Jesus didn't back away. He didn't even look afraid. He just looked at the man as though he were examining him.
"You are not diseased, but under torment of an evil spirit. His reign in your life is at an end, and the kingdom of God is come."
At these words, the man started to shake all over. Jesus kept looking right at him, and then said,
"Satan, release him!"
The man roared, not once, but twice, and then suddenly his struggle ceased, and he grew peaceful. I saw that man released. I saw it!
What I saw that day shook me.
[She conducts a dialogue with herself.]
"Me, too. I need his help." [She reacts with horror.]
"No! I don't need him disturbing my life. He's no ordinary man. He's dangerous."
"But he's kind. He understands people like me. I need that."
"No! Stay away from him. He knows too much. He'll expose everything you want to keep hidden. You don't need him shredding your life like a piece of old cloth."
[She returns to telling the story.]
I tried not thinking about him any more, but it was futile. His words kept pressing into my mind. "Come to me, all you who are weary of life and find rest from your trials." The more I resisted the worse I felt. I couldn't ignore it. I didn't like my life, but I couldn't break from it.
He had said, "I have come that you might have life. Yes, life in abundance." I kept remembering the people who were healed and seeing the difference their contact with him made. A new life - I knew I needed it. Still, I wasn't ready.
I had heard that Jesus was visiting Simon the Pharisee. So I went to hear him again, intending to stay at the edge of the crowd. As I drew near the house, again and again I heard the words "Come to me all you who are weary.... Come to me all you who are weary of your sins....Come to me all you who are weary of your futile lives....Come to me all you who are weary of empty, bitter days and fearful, lonely nights."
I meant to stay outside but I found myself going in, even though it was most improper. I was not invited, nor would I ever have been invited to a Pharisee's house.
[She now must act the part while telling the story.]
I managed to slip unnoticed through the door and into the main room, but as soon as I did, all eyes turned toward me.
Normally, that was exactly what I wanted, but not then. I wanted to watch, not to be watched. Moreover I was not wanted there and I knew it. Simon's eyes were like daggers and his face was full of malice. I was defiling his house. I was defiling his guests, and I was defiling him. This was the story of my life. I often received much attention but beneath it all I was despised. There was life on the outside but death on the inside.
I started to withdraw the way I had come, once again unwanted, but as I did, Jesus caught my eye. Inside I again heard his words, "Come!" I was drawn to him, even though I was afraid to look at him. But that was all I could do. It was as if he were the only person in the room and all the others had disappeared. I felt beckoned to come, so I did. Slowly, I walked over to where he was reclining at table, and stood at his feet. He was watching me, but I dared not look up.
It's hard to describe what happened next. I think I gave up. I quit. I had so much wanted to know love, but I would never allow it to conquer me. It was my longing and my enemy until that point, but as I stood there, I surrendered. I was weary of the fight. Every other man I was able to resist. I was in control, but no more. "Come to me, all you who are weary..."
I saw a tear fall from my eye to the ground; then the flood burst. I fell at the feet of Jesus, weeping. I was ashamed: ashamed of my life, ashamed of my sin, ashamed of my previous response to him. And now, there I was, making a scene, but I didn't care. I began kissing his feet which were soaked in tears. He hadn't yet said a word but he didn't need to. Any other man would have been thoroughly embarrassed by my behavior toward him. Everyone there was embarrassed just watching, ...but Jesus wasn't.
With my hair I began to dry away my tears from his feet. I had some perfume with me. I broke open the bottle and poured it on his feet.
When I had finished, I lifted my eyes. He was looking at me, completely calm, and understanding. Then I looked at Simon. He had just muttered under his breath, "A prophet would know what kind of woman this is, defiling him with her touch!" He was looking more and more angry and had instinctively drawn up his feet.
Jesus turned toward him, and spoke.
[She plays both Simon and Jesus, while Mary becomes an unseen person who is the focus of their conversation.]
"Simon, I have something to tell you."
"Tell me, teacher."
"Two men owed money to a certain money lender. One owed him 500 days wages and the other 50. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now, which of them will love him more?"
"I should presume, the one who had the bigger debt canceled."
"You have judged correctly... Now, Simon, look at this woman. I came into your house, but you didn't give me any water to wash my feet.... She washed my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. Simon, you did not give me a kiss, but this woman has been kissing my feet since she came in. You would not even anoint my head. She has covered my feet with perfume. Yes, you are right, she is a great sinner, but her many sins are forgiven. Can't you see her love?"
[She returns to acting the story as she tells it.]
I had had my head down. I knew my unworthiness, especially in the face of such mercy. Then Jesus turned toward me and sat up. He lifted my chin with his hand, and looking at me, said, "Woman, your sins are forgiven."
I nodded. It was all I could do.
The crowd, however, began to buzz. "Who is this who even forgives sins?"
But Jesus didn't respond to them. He spoke to me as though I were the only person in the room. He said simply, "Go in peace. Your faith has saved you, go in peace."
I rose and left. I was a bit bewildered. I didn't go in there planning on any of that happening, but something came over me as I drew near to him, but now I was wondering, "What happened? Was that real?" ...I don't go around crying uncontrollably and kissing people's feet. But even as I questioned, his words came back to me. "Woman, your sins are forgiven. Go in peace."
Then it came to me, not like a flash of light, but more like a gradual unfolding of the truth. It was as if I was hearing him speak to me again, inside. "Woman, your sins are forgiven, go and sin no more. Leave behind your old way of life. You will not need it. Instead, come follow me."
[She returns to the present, and speaks to the audience.]
I believed him. Inside I knew what he said was true. ...Peace. ...Inside. The war with myself had stopped. No more anger. No more bitterness. Even the empty, biting loneliness was gone. Peace...
I went home, removed my jewelry and makeup, unbraided and brushed out my hair and changed my clothes. I believed him, and I knew I would never go back to my former life. I threw away everything connected to my profession: all of my perfumes and incense, my clothes and jewelry. As I did I remember thinking, "I can't believe I am doing this," but I knew it was right.
I never did go back to my old way of life. Instead, I followed him. I saw him minister to the lost and the destitute, the outcast and rejected, the lonely, the suffering, the despairing. His great love for them never failed to move me.
* * * *
[The play can be cut in half here. If there is an intermission, then Mary should return to the stage having changed costume, make up, etc., no longer looking like a prostitute.]
* * * * *
The story of my life had been exactly that, my life and virtually no one else. Suddenly, the story of my life was no longer about me. I was no longer the main character. Now it was Jesus, and oh, the stories I could tell. I would love to tell them all but time would fail me. Yet there is one story more which I have to tell you.
In the week before the Passover, Jesus entered Jerusalem to such high acclaim that it seemed only a matter of time before he would be acknowledged as the Messiah, but then, as the week went on, there were more and more arguments back and forth about who he was, and where his authority came from. I couldn't understand all of it. I'm not educated, but I still knew that Jesus was right. He answered every one of their objections. Every time they tried to corner him in an argument, he always turned their argument on its head, putting them in the corner instead. They didn't know what to say!
Very early on Friday morning of that week I was awakened to the sound of knocking, no, pounding on the door and crying out, 'Wake up, wake up, they've arrested Jesus.' I hardly comprehended but I got up and answered the door. It was one of the disciples. He came in and said:
[She acts both parts of a dialogue]
"They've arrested Jesus."
"What??"
"They arrested Jesus last night. Judas betrayed him - turned him over - turned him over to the Sanhedrin."
"What do you mean turned him over to the Sanhedrin? He's done nothing wrong!"
"They arrested him and put him on trial last night. The trial is already over and they've condemned him to die. Caiaphas said that the things that Jesus said were blasphemy and that he deserved death. They are taking him down to Pilate, now, for his approval."
[She returns to telling the story.]
I quickly dressed and we headed for the praetorium. When we arrived at Pilate's courtyard, we had to wait for the trial, the public trial that is, to begin. I thought, "Pilate won't condemn him. He's done nothing wrong. They have no case against him."
The fanfare was blown. Pilate came out and took his seat from which his judgments were given. He addressed the crowd saying, "You brought to me a man and claimed he was perverting the people. After examining him before your rulers, I do not find him guilty of any of your charges against him; neither did Herod, for he sent him back to me. Nothing deserving death has been done by him, therefore, I will scourge him and will release him."
I thought, "Blessed be God, he will be freed," but almost immediately the crowd went crazy. They shouted, "Away with him! Crucify him!" A riot was beginning. People were picking up stones to throw. Pilate quickly went back into the praetorium and sent Jesus to be scourged.
Scourging is not a pleasant thing. The Romans used leather whips with glass and nails stuck in the end of the whip to rip open the flesh of your back. Thirty-nine times they whipped him (their theory was that more would certainly kill him).
After a while, things calmed down some. Pilate had not come back out, nor had he released Jesus, so we were waiting. I was talking with one of the other women with my back to Pilate's throne. Suddenly I saw her gasp. I turned around to see what she was looking at. Just then Pilate said, "Behold the man." I was startled. Jesus' appearance was hardly recognizable. He was bruised and had been beaten bloody. He could barely stand. He was so weak from the loss of blood, and so pale. He was also wearing a crown of thorns - not briars but thorns, two and three inch long thorns formed into a crown, and forcibly imbedded into his head. One day earlier Jesus had been so strong and healthy, even commanding in his presence. Now he looked weak and deathly ill.
Pilate said, "Here is your king."
The crowd started hollering, proclaiming their loyalty to Caesar. I couldn't believe my ears. These people hated Caesar and despised everything he stood for. Now they were shouting, "No! We have no king but Caesar!"
When the yelling finally died down, Pilate asked, "What should I do with this king of yours?"
The rulers of the Sanhedrin said, "He is not our king. He is a blasphemer. He claims to be the Son of God."
Pilate was visibly shaken by this. As a Roman he was concerned about offending one of the gods. He went over to Jesus and spoke with him privately, slowly shaking his head. Again he spoke to the crowd.
"He is not guilty, I will release him."
"Yes! Yes! Release him. He is innocent!"
Again the crowd went wild, their anger increased, and they yelled all the more for his blood, hollering, "Crucify him!"
Pilate responded, "Look at him. He can't lead an insurrection. What kind of king could he be? Caesar has nothing to fear from this man, nor do I."
The rulers of the Sanhedrin said, "If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar. Anyone who makes himself a king, sets himself against Caesar. Put him to death!" Other members of the Sanhedrin were in the crowd. They began to chant, "Crucify him," and incited the crowd to join.
Again it looked as if a riot would break out. The mob was yelling louder and louder. "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Then Pilate gave in. "Go ahead, crucify him."
"No!" I shouted as loud as I could. "You can't! Don't let this happen. This isn't right! Somebody stop him!" ...No one did.
Jesus was given a cross to carry. He carried it up the hill to the place of crucifixion. The sky grew very dark and a cold wind blew. When they laid him on the cross and began to crucify him, I turned my head. I couldn't watch. I'm not a weak woman, but I couldn't watch them drive the nails through his hands and feet. Just hearing the sound was as much as I could bear.
For three hours I watched Jesus suffer in agony. Much of the time we spent crying, ...and then I'd get angry. Once I went to the chief priest, "Why are you doing this to this man? Why?" But the answer I got was, "Hold your tongue, woman!" Some of the time we just stood there in utter shock.
Jesus had to prop himself up on his feet in order to breathe, but he could only do it for a while. Then the pain in his feet made him drop down again, hanging from his arms. As I watched I saw him grow more and more weak. Gradually, I began to realise, this time there wasn't going to be a miraculous escape. Jesus was dying.
I did not want to lose him. He had set me free from a life of misery, resentment and bitterness, but there was nothing I could do. I just started crying. I remember praying: "Lord God, don't let this happen. He mustn't die. I still need his help. I cannot make it on my own." I looked up at him on the cross and felt utterly helpless. "Lord God, don't let him suffer like this. It's not fair, it's not fair."
As it neared the end of the afternoon, Jesus' strength ran out. He bore his pain mostly in silence, moving his lips in prayer, while the others crucified around him were moaning and crying out. Finally he could no longer lift himself up on the cross, which meant he could no longer breathe. "Oh, my Lord!" I cried. One final time he lifted his head and said, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." He gave a loud groan, let go of his last breath and yielded over his spirit.
"Jesus, don't die!"
I didn't want to believe what I was seeing. I collapsed in weeping. I was in shock. Just the day before he had been with us. We were all happy and full of life, and suddenly, not even 24 hours later, he was gone. My mind just went blank, empty. The shock was... It was more than I could handle.
In accordance with our law, we buried him before the Sabbath began. Of course on the Sabbath we rested. Most of us didn't know what to say. We sat around in shock. All of this was happening so suddenly. Then we were told that Judas was dead as well. His betrayal was known by all fairly quickly. Nothing made sense anymore. Earlier everything seemed to be going so right. Now it was all wrong - irretrievably wrong.
Each of our lives had been so radically changed by Jesus and now he was gone. Between the periods of silence, some of us talked about how he changed our lives, but that only fueled our grief because we had never thanked him properly.
At one point, Matthew stopped pacing and sat down near me.
[She now plays the part of Matthew.]
"Mary, of all the people here, I most should have thanked him. I was hated by everyone, especially my family. They treated me like a traitor and a coward. I guess I was. I turned my back on my own people. For what? Money? Fffah! The Romans only assigned me a certain amount of money to collect. I kept everything extra that I had collected and everybody knew it. Who was more of an outcast than me? It was worse than being a leper. You know, I never expected it to change, but when Jesus came up to me that day it sure did. I was just working as usual when he came up to my table. He simply said:
[She portrays this brief dialogue, then continues as Matthew.]
"'Levi?'
"'Yes.'
"'Come, follow me.'
"He just looked at me. Mary, you know that look. I couldn't say no. Later that day, I talked with him about my life. I was tired of my meaningless and selfish life. I wanted to live for a real purpose, something that made sense, something that demanded more from me than self-indulgence. In Jesus I found something not just to live for, but to die for. Mary, I came away from that conversation a different man, but I still had all of these people whom I had betrayed. Over the course of the next few days, Jesus helped me to get reconciled to my family and then to all of you. I owe him a tremendous debt of gratitude, and now he's gone. How do I pay him back?"
[She returns to playing Mary.]
All I could say to Matthew was, "I don't know."
As the day went on, some of the men grew angry with what had happened. They were mad at the chief priests for leading the charge to put him to death. They were mad at the Romans for crucifying him; at Pilate for his cowardice in giving in to the crowd, and allowing an innocent man to be condemned. But they were really mad at themselves. None of them had done anything to defend Jesus or save his life except Peter. He, at least, had drawn a sword, but Jesus had told him to put it back.
Yet, Peter's reaction was hardest to understand. There was something deeper in his grief. His mood that day was very sullen. He was normally so expressive, impulsive. Instead he just sat in a corner alone, very quiet, shaking his head in his hands, saying nothing. I asked him, "Peter, what are we going to do?" All he said was, "Mary, I don't know. I just don't know anymore."
Peter used to think aloud, telling us everything, but now, while others were saying we should do this or that, Peter said nothing. He just sat there.
Sunday morning a number of the women rose early to go to the tomb to anoint the body. There hadn't been enough time before the Sabbath.
When we got to the tomb, something was wrong. The guards were gone. The stone was rolled away. We quickly looked inside, but the body was gone. Then we saw an angel.
[In the following section Mary plays many parts. She also comments on the parts she is playing.]
[She plays the part of the angel.]
"The one whom you seek is not here. He has risen from the dead. Now go and tell the disciples."
[She returns to telling the story.]
We didn't know what to think. We hurried back to the room where all the disciples were gathered:
"The body is gone! The tomb is empty! An angel has told us that he is risen from the dead,... but we didn't see Jesus."
Peter and John ran out the door all of the way to the tomb and looked in. I ran after them. By the time that I got there they were talking to each other.
[She does a dialogue between John and Peter, then Peter and Mary.]
John said: "I believe the women."
"But how can you know? I wish it were true too, John. But how can you know? Where is he?" (Then he turned to me.)
"Mary you were the first. Did you see him?"
"No."
"Has someone come and taken the body? You don't believe that he has been raised from the dead, do you?"
[She manifests her uncertainty without speaking.]
Peter and John left. I stood there alone, and started to cry.
"Why? Why did he die? Why isn't he here? If he is alive, why is he gone? Why?"
[She turns as if to leave.]
"Woman why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?"
It was a man who said this. He looked like a grounds keeper so I asked, "Sir if you've carried him away, tell me where you've laid him, and I will take him away." Then he said to me:
"Mary."
"Rabboni? Rabboni! Jesus! Alive!"
[She falls to her knees in astonishment hardly believing what she was seeing. After a moment she seems to be raised from her knees by the Lord.]
"Don't hold me, for I've not yet ascended to my Father, but go to my brothers and say that I am ascending to my Father and to your Father, to my God and to your God."
"You're alive. You're really alive."
"Of course I'm alive. Didn't I tell you that it would be so!"
"But you're alive! Don't you see what this means? You're alive! It means that you're not dead. It means what you said was true!"
"Yes, yes." [Smiling.] "Now go and tell the brethren."
I started to hurry back to the upper room, then I looked back, but by the time I did he was already gone. I ran back as fast as I could. I couldn't wait to tell the others. Everyone was there. I burst in and rattled out everything I had seen without a pause.
"Peter, I've seen the Lord."
"What?"
"I've seen the Lord Jesus."
"Now Mary."
"NO! I've seen him. He looked like a grounds keeper but it was Jesus. He said, "Mary." I didn't recognise him. Then I did. I kissed his feet. He bent down and raised me from the ground. He said, he said..., he said he hadn't ascended yet. He was going to his Father. Then he told me to come back and tell you and that..."
But Peter didn't believe me. No one did.
"Mary, we were just there at the tomb, together, and he wasn't there. You were with us. I even asked you if you believed he had risen. That was just a few minutes ago. We came back here and you walked in the door shortly after us. Mary, calm down."
"You don't believe me."
"In this condition?" [Peter shakes his head.]
"You don't believe me."
"Mary, you were right behind us. If he is risen, where is he now? Why isn't he here? You probably just saw the grounds keeper like you thought."
Still, I knew I had seen Jesus. I knew it, but I couldn't prove it.
Later in the evening two of the disciples who had left for Emmaus returned. The two of them had seen Jesus. When they came in the door I could tell it just by their faces. Everyone else was despondent and downcast. But these two, when they came in, they were alive, full of gladness. They kept interrupting each other trying to tell the story as fast as they could without wanting to leave out a detail.
"We were on the way to Emmaus. As we were walking a stranger came by and he asked us what we were talking about."
I said, 'Don't you know what's been happening?' He didn't answer, so we started to tell him all about the events in Jerusalem.
He said, 'Ah, don't you understand that this is the way that it is supposed to be.' Then he told us all about the scriptures and how the Messiah would fulfill them."
On and on they went explaining how this man was interpreting all the events of Jesus' life. By now, some were wondering. Others were doubting. Some weren't reacting yet at all. They continued with their story:
"I was dumbfounded with belief. The way he put it all together made so much sense. I kept saying, 'Yes! Yes! I see it!'
"But then it got late. We wanted to stop to have something to eat before nightfall.
So I said, 'Would you stop with us?' But he said, 'No, I need to be somewhere later tonight.'
I said, 'Just for a while.' Finally he said yes, so we stopped.
We got out some food. He took the bread and held it in his hands and said - 'Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,' - just like we always do. And then he broke it and handed it to us and said, 'This is my body.' Then we recognized him. It was Jesus. I said, 'Jesus' and just when I did, he disappeared."
Everyone looked at Simeon trying to understand. All he said was, "I can't explain it either. People just don't disappear, but I know it was Jesus."
Just then Jesus appeared right in the middle of the room with us. No one spoke.
The two disciples smiled. Others stood there - their mouths agape, their eyes wide open - caught between grief and joy, unbelief and faith. I started to cry tears of joy. Then Jesus spoke.
He said, "Peace be with you." He smiled and gave the most gentle rebuke, "You have been hard of heart and slow to believe what the prophets foretold. But come now and believe." He then approached each of us individually and greeted us. Then he showed us his hands and said, "Touch, see. Doubt no more. Now it is time for faith."
Suddenly, it was easy to believe. Never again did I doubt. Not that I wasn't tempted, but I couldn't doubt, not after what I saw, not after what I experienced, not knowing what I know.
What I saw... Of all people, I was the first to see Jesus risen from the dead. Why did the Lord choose to appear to me first? Why not Peter or James or John? They were his closest. They were the future leaders of the church.... Or why not his mother? She loved him so much, and he loved her.
Why did he first appear to me? Why was I given such a privilege, such an honour? Why me? A sinner, a harlot, an outcast, a failure, a nobody, ...
[She pauses, thinking.]
Maybe that is exactly why he did it.
THE END
Copyright ©1995 by Michael Shaughnessy s.w.