That Sunday Through Her Eyes

It is the darkness before the first rays of the morning sunrise peeking over the hills.

The whole world is still - and yet, my whole world has changed. I cannot begin to understand all that has happened in the last 48 hours.

Moving slowly while trying to balance the heavy jar of spices in my arms, my mind is running rampant.

I feel so lost and sad that I don’t even know what to do.

Anger. Confusion. Devastation. Fury. Pain. Grief. Despair. Fear.

How could it have ended this way?

Where were all the others, his closest disciples? How could they?

I lost my dearest friend - how can I ever be the same again?

What will happen to our beloved community? To his mother? To all those we ministered to?

What will become of all of us now?

He is dead and gone - how can the mission be fulfilled? 

Wiping the tears off my face, I am coming closer to the place where we buried him.

Deep breath.

I am doing this because I love my friend. It is the last act of love I can offer him.

But something looks different. Panic floods my entire body.

I am left speechless, Where is the stone?

In shock, my jar falls to the ground shattering into pieces with the spices mixed with oil.

I hesitantly draw closer and see that the stone covering the place we laid him has clearly been moved. Trembling, I look into the tomb and his body is gone.

My whole body is shaking now. Where is he? Jesus, where are you?

In an instant, from the depths of my heart I hear the stillness of these words:

The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day.

I remembered. I remembered what he told us, told me.

He kept his promise. He really meant it all those times.

The next thing I know, I am running back to Jerusalem. 

Hair blowing in my face. Tears wildly streaming down my face. Tearing down the road with strength I feel is not my own.

I am laughing, crying, and almost out of breath.

As I run back to tell them, all I can think about is how everything has changed and how life will never be the same again.

One of the few friends of Jesus at the foot of the cross. The first to come to the tomb early that morning.

What possibly could it have been like for the beloved daughter of Magdala called Mary? 

Can you imagine what her experience might have been?

So many thoughtful and profound things have been spoken and written about the Resurrection of Jesus. But what if this Easter morning, we imaginatively put ourselves in Mary of Magdala’s experience?

May the depth of her love and belief inspire us this day and into this Easter season.