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| Courtesy of M Nota, Free Images |
I
hide among the olive trees, gazing at the weeping woman, Mary Magdalene. She
stoops, peers into Jesus’ tomb. Her chest and abdomen shudder with every sob.
I
want to run to her, take her in my arms, tell her what I already know, but
something restrains me. So I wait in wonder for the moment I know is
coming.
Then
she spins around and sees Him! But sadly, through tear-filled eyes, she doesn’t
recognize Him.
Jesus
realizes this and plays along. “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you
seeking?” A mix of tenderness and firmness fills His voice.
Thinking
He is the gardener, she says, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where
you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.”
I
smile from my hiding place. My heart swells at her persistence, much like
another woman, Anne Graham Lotz, who generations later would write, “Just give
me Jesus; you can have this whole world but give me Jesus!”
I
wonder where Mary will take Jesus if she finds Him. I get the impression in her
crazed grief, in her frantic search, she will do anything. She’s not thought
through all the details; she simply wants her Lord. She wants the security of
knowing where He is, so at least she can be close to His body.
“Mary!”
The one word that breaks through her grief and ends her search. The one word
from the Voice she knows and loves, the Voice that quiets the singing birds who
lean in to listen to their Creator. The loving Voice of authority which she’s
chosen to follow. The Voice that spoke to her troubled soul, delivered her from
sin, and established her identity in Him.
“Rabboni,
Teacher!” is her joyful cry as she falls to her knees, grips his feet, and washes
them with her thankful tears. She peers into His reassuring face. His hand
extends, lifting her.
“Do
not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father; but go to My
brethren and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, and to
My God and your God.’”
I
shrink into the shelter of the trees, pondering His words. Clearly, He loves
Mary, but He redirects her display of physical affection with a commission.
Time to focus, Mary, on the task at hand. There will be plenty of time for
embracing when I call you to my heavenly Kingdom; for now, go and tell what you
have seen and heard. Tell them, remind them, that I must go and prepare a place
for them, but I will come back for them, for you, Mary, and take you to heaven
to be with Me.
I
touch my cheek. It’s wet. I’m weeping! Are my tears a result of watching this
tender, personal encounter that I’ve read so often in Scripture unfold before
my eyes?
Or
do I weep because the risen Christ chose to first appear to a woman, one who
clearly sought Him with her whole heart, who loved Him much because He forgave
her much?
Or
do I cry joyful tears at Jesus’ promise to her, to all His followers . . . to
me?
Yes,
on all counts. Yet, I sense an even deeper reason for my tears: Holy Spirit
conviction. The gift Jesus would soon give Mary and the other disciples. The
member of the Godhead who would fill her with power from on high, who would be closer
“than breathing and nearer than hands and feet,” writes poet Alfred Lord
Tennyson. Her Comforter, Teacher, Counselor, Helper . . . Friend. The Holy
Spirit—Jesus’ down payment on her heavenly inheritance.
Among
the shadows, I sigh, thankful that though conviction stings, it’s also a
comfort, affirming that I, too, am one of His disciples. I breathe deeply,
square my shoulders. I must stop hoarding Jesus in my house. I must go and tell
others what I have seen and heard, assured by His Spirit within me that Jesus is
with me wherever I go.
With
robe lifted, Mary sprints past me. Our eyes lock for a moment. Is that a
twinkle in her eye? I cock my head. She knows something. Something more.
I
blink, sweep the tears from my cheeks. For a second, it seems she wants to run
to me, take me in her arms, tell me what she now knows from her heavenly
grandstand, centuries removed from this garden encounter. Things I do not yet
fully know as I look through a glass dimly. But she presses on, perhaps in
wonder, waiting too for the moment when her Lord and my Lord will break
through the blue to gather all His redeemed children to Himself for all
eternity.
So,
I too run.
And
tell.
For
further reflection, read John, chapter 20 and John 14:3.
