by Michael E. Shaughnessy
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.
Over time it becomes easier to know whom to entice and how to do it. As in any profession, the experts perform naturally, instinctively, so smoothe. I was used to being told how attractive I was, sometimes with words, more often with eyes. With a man, first capture the eye, the rest will follow. How many men said they loved me? Who knows? Hundreds, thousands maybe? How many have ever meant it? None.
I was highly competent in my profession. I was incompetent in love. I almost never spent a night alone, but I was alone every night, ...some nights desperately alone. I could not understand why was never loved. Even when I was with my "lovers" I might as well have been watching. They touched the hair and the flesh, but they never touched the heart. They didn't know me. They didn't want to. No one really knew me. They recognized my face. They knew my name, Mary of Magdala, but no one knew me inside: what I felt, what I thought, what I needed.
I began to wonder how long can work like this last? Beauty is fleeting. Even I know that. How long could I succeed in selling myself? Five more years? Seven? Then what? There was no work I could do. What family I had wouldn't admit it and I would not go back to them on my knees. How much longer? Five more years? No, even if my body could last that long my will to live such a life wouldn't. Every new day was growing more empty, futile. I considered just ending it all as a way to be rid of the depression, anger, loneliness, fear, hurt and confusion. I didn't know what to do, so I kept doing what I was doing.
It was then that stories about a young rabbi, named Jesus, were spreading in Galillee. In small towns the rumor market is always more crowded than the vegetable market. I might have made more money by selling the stories about me than I did making the stories. Like everyone, I assumed these rabbi stories had been expanded in the telling. The human mind is a fertile environment. 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. What I had heard was that this rabbi was a miracle worker - 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. 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 after some self proclaimed Messiah. I was cautious. I had to be. I had to look out for myself. No one else did. I was careful, skeptical, distrusting, always. I had to be.
My "work", had taken me to the city of Nain. I was about to leave again when I was distracted by a crowd near the city gate. Some people had gathered around a rabbi, who seemed to be answering questions. As I neared the gate, I heard a funeral procession approach. People were wailing aloud, crying, sobbing. A woman, who was already a young widow, had now lost her only son, leaving her alone in the world.
In respect for the dead, the crowd began to make room for the procession to pass. As they passed in front of me, 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, 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 aloud stopped mourning and wailing, then the rest of the 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?" I thought. "Why would he touch the bier?" Touching a dead person makes you unclean. Ritual law forbids it. Rabbi's always avoid the dead unless they absolutely can't. This did not make sense to me.
I asked a woman near me, "Who is this man?"
"Jesus," she replied.
I recognised the name of the rabbi mentioned in the rumours.
He stood there in patient confidence. When all was quiet, he pulled back the cloth over the young man's face. Looking at him, he said, "Young man - I tell you - arise."
The people around him widened their eyes in shock. Only a fool speaks to a dead man, and only a greater fool would tell him to rise - in public. But then the body moved! Now people fell back in shock. "Did someone bump the bier?" NO! The young man sat up and began to speak. Fear seized us all.
Not everyone could see because of the number of people in the streets, but very quickly the word spread. The crowd started buzzing. As those in the back heard what had happened they pressed forward to see. In the meantime, 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.
I could not believe what I saw, although I knew I saw it. "Was he really dead?" I asked some of the mourners. They assured me that he was. They asked me who this rabbi was. I told them what little I knew.
I left Nain questioning. "Who is this man? He had authority in his voice to raise the dead. All he said to the young man 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?"
I couldn't answer the questions I was raising. The scene kept coming back into my mind: how he related to the widow, his sympathy, his concern for her. He didn't even respond to the multitudes who were acclaiming him a prophet. He simply ignored them! He brought the young man to his mother and was concerned about her. Was he that unselfish? Was he really that concerned for others? That's usually not the case with the high and the mighty. It certainly isn't the case with the high and the mighty that I know.
The report about the raising of the widow's son spread throughout the region. Like many others, I was interested in knowing more and went to hear him. He began by speaking 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.) 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. When he addressed exactly this, I didn't know what to think. He said, "I am the way, the truth and the life, come follow me." The response demanded was to him personally, not to a teaching or a method.
Just then, some of the disciples of John the Baptist came. They had been sent to find out if Jesus was the one that John had predicted would come. Jesus didn't answer them. He looked at them thoughtfully and then 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, upon opening his eyes, the man could see and proclaimed it to all who could hear. Those around him drew nearer, amazed, and asked him questions. Jesus, however, backed further away and beckoned the disciples of John to follow him. He approached a woman with a withered arm. She too was instantly healed. Next to her was a man hunched over sobadly that he was always 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.
Jesus must have healed a half dozen people before he spoke to John's disciples, saying, "Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them." When the messengers of John had gone, he began to speak to the crowd concerning John: "What did you go out into the wilderness to behold? A reed shaken by the wind. What then did you go out to see? A man clothed in refined clothing? Behold, those who are gorgeously appareled and live in luxury are in kings' courts. 26 What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is he of whom it is written, 'Behold, I send my messenger before you, who shall prepare the way.'
The whole day he continued to heal people. I saw the crippled and paralyzed walk. I saw the blind, ... no, not just the blind but those lacking eyes, have their sight restored. There were people with painfully revolting diseases fully cured at once, but what struck me most was a man who was delivered from an evil spirit. No one would talk to him. He was a raging, foaming internal battlefield, slashing his own body with stones and shrieking uncontrollably. Jesus went directly, fearlessly to him. Then he stopped and looked at the man as though he were examining him.
"You are not diseased, but under torment of an evil spirit. Yet his reign in your life is at an end, and the kingdom of God is come."
The man started to shake violently, as the spirit struggled to keep his reign. Jesus continued to look right at him, and then said,
"Satan, release him."
Suddenly, with a great shout, it left, the struggle ceased, and the man grew peaceful.
"Who is this man?" I asked as questions flooded my mind. "Who can perform miracles like this? It's as if God is present. These people, the poor and the helpless, the lost and the frightened, they are changed by him, not just healed. It's what he does in them, not just what he does for them. The bitterness, the disillusionment, the anger - many of them were miserable inside more than outside, but when he touched them or spoke to them, they were changed. Bitterness became compassion. The disillusioned found hope. Angry rejection of God became love for him. I know these wretched people. And this Jesus... he loves them. It's all over his face. ...And his joy at seeing people healed."
"Me, too." The words just appeared in my mind. "I need his help." Suddenly it all became personal. "No! I can't expose myself to that. I don't need him disturbing my life. I'm not going to make myself vulnerable to him! He's no ordinary man. He's dangerous."
I thought I had convinced myself, but I hadn't. The thoughts kept coming. "But he is kind. He understands people like me. I need that."
Something in me fought back, "No! Stay away from him. He knows too much. He will expose everything you want to keep hidden. You don't need him shredding your life like a piece of old cloth."
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 and heavy laden and find rest from your trials." The more I resisted the more heavy laden I felt. The misery of my life was weighing on me. 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. Again I went to hear him, 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 absolutely improper. I was not invited, nor would I ever have been invited to a Pharisee's house. 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. Yet that was all I could do. It was as if he was 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 as well as 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..."
A tear fell 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 also brought 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. 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.
Then, Jesus turned toward him, and spoke.
"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. Look at her! 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? ...But Simon, one who loves little, is forgiven little."
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 that 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. As I left, I thought, "What happened? Was that real?" I don't go around crying uncontrollably and kissing people's feet. I began to wonder, but even as I did, his words came back to me with force. "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."
I believed him. Inside I knew what he said was true. Suddenly, I knew peace inside. The war with myself had stopped. No more anger. No more bitterness. Even the empty, biting loneliness was gone.
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 could 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.
The story of my life had been exactly that, the story of my life, my life and virtually no one else. Suddenly, the story of my life was no longer about me. I felt like I was no longer the main character. Now it was Jesus. I became one of his followers, and the story I must tell is his.
It began 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.
Very early on Friday morning of that week I was awakened to the sound of knocking, no, pounding on the door. A voice I knew was crying out, 'Wake up, wake up, they've arrested Jesus.' I hardly comprehended but I got up and answered the door.
"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."
I quickly dressed and headed for the Praetorium. When we arrived at Pilate's courtyard, we had to wait for the trial, the Roman 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 embedded 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 Mary, the mother of the Lord, 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 extremely 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 ceased, 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!" I cried out, but again the crowd went wild, their anger had 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 we stood and 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 at what we were seeing.
To breathe Jesus had to prop himself up on his feet taking the pressure off his arms and shoulders so he could inhale. After a while he would tire. The pain in his feet from supporting himself would become so great that he would drop again to hanging by his arms. Gradually the reality of the moment sank in. There wasn't going to be a miraculous escape. Jesus was dying.
I did not want to lose him. My life had been a life of misery, resentment and bitterness. I had faced deep loneliness every day. When I looked in the mirror in my eyes I saw emptiness. My life had been a sham and I knew it, ...until the day that I wept at his feet. The day I wept over my sins.
Jesus changed my life. He delivered me from the oppression of seven evil spirits. They had coloured my view of life, dominated and controlled my attitudes, my behavior, my emotions, my thoughts. I thought I was free. No one could tell me what to do! Yet, all the while, I was in great bondage. I was a slave until Jesus freed me. My mind was a tangle of serpents poisoning each thought and every emotion. They kept me in bondage to their lies. I thought the only solution to my loneliness was making love, but the more I was "loved" the lonelier I got.
Every morning I arose to face severe depression. I had nothing to live for. My first thought was, "No, not another day of this?" Then I would remember the events of the night before. "You worthless woman!" I couldn't escape self-condemnation. No matter what I did, good or bad, I hated myself and I was angry at almost everyone else. No one could do anything right as far as I was concerned. I was critical of everything and everyone, and I refused to forgive. I certainly would never forgive those who had hurt me in my family.
That is what Jesus freed me from: deception, loneliness, depression, self-condemnation, anger, bitterness, unforgiveness.... I lived in that poison every day. A brood of vipers hissing their lies to me and slithering through my emotions. Do you understand what it means to be set free of that? And now, he who rescued me was being tortured and killed, and I could do nothing.
[She should bring the audience back in time with her.]
I began weeping. 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' physical 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.
That afternoon and evening there was a great void in my life. It seemed an ever growing emptiness. It was a grief that I was certain would never leave. A grief that lay heavily upon us all.
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. It didn't help when we were told that Judas was dead as well. His betrayal was known by all fairly quickly. None of us could understand why he did it. It made no sense, and then to hear that he had committed suicide afterwards... Nothing was making 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.
I sat for a while beside Matthew.
[She now plays the part of Matthew.]
"Mary, of all the people here, you and 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. 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 their injustice and for leading the charge to put him to death. They were mad at the Romans for crucifying him; at Pilate for his cowardice and weakness in giving in to the crowd and for allowing an innocent man to be condemned to die. But they were really mad at themselves. None of them had done anything to defend Jesus or save his life except Peter.
Peter had drawn a sword, but Jesus had told him to put it back. Yet, his reaction was hardest to understand. There was something deeper in his grief. His mood that day was very sullen. He was normally so expressive. He was impulsive. Instead he just sat in a corner alone, very quiet. His head in hands, shaking his head, 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 that 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. Mary brought along some myrrh. It had been given as a gift at Jesus' birth. She said, "Some we used when we buried Joseph. The rest we had saved for my burial. Instead we'll use it today."
[In the following section Mary plays many parts. She also comments on the parts she is playing.]
"Mary, how could God let this happen? It makes no sense. It makes no sense."
[She continues with the story.]
When we got to the tomb, something was wrong. The guards were gone. The stone was rolled away. We feared the worst. We quickly looked inside, but the body was gone. Then we saw an angel.
[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, came into 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 left in haste, ran down 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 to me as if he were the 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 the grounds' keeper but it was Jesus. He called my name, Mary. I didn't recognise him. Then I did. I kissed his feet. He picked me up and spoke to me. 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. I could tell it when they came in the door 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." We 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. Simeon continued with their story:
"I was dumbfounded with belief. The way he put it all together made so much sense. I was regularly saying, 'Yes! Yes! I see it!' Well, finally it was getting late in the afternoon. We wanted to stop to have something to eat before nightfall. So we said, 'Would you stop with us?' But he said, 'No, I need to be somewhere later tonight.' We 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 like that, but I know it was Jesus."
Just then Jesus appeared right in the middle of the room with us. We were dumbfounded. 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 looked right away at Mary, the mother of the Lord. As Jesus appeared, she was sitting quietly as she had been all day long. She saw and recognised him immediately. Her joy was instant,... but much deeper than ours. Oh what love moved in her as she looked at him; love as only a mother could have, seeing her son who was dead, now risen again to life. Looking at her, 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 be believing." 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, how easy it was to believe. Never again did I doubt. Not that I wasn't tempted, but I couldn't doubt, not after what I saw.
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? It makes no sense. Why not Peter or James or John? They were his closest followers. They were to become the leaders of the church.... Or why not his mother? She loved him so much, and he loved her.
Why me? Why was I given such a privilege, such an honour? It makes no sense. 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
(c) 1996 Michael E. Shaughnessy