Easter 2008

My posting this week is a midrash. Midrash is a form of biblical exegesis that enters into a text imaginatively. The Institue for Contemporary Midrash says that "Midrash ... fills in the cracks ... puts flesh on the bones ... reinterprets stories and characters .. gives a voice to those in the story who have no voice." Here I imagine what Mary Magdalen is thinking as she goes to the tomb on the morning of the first day of the week.

Mary Magdalen’s Easter
(based on John 20:1-18)

Seven demons possessed me before I met him. They pressed in on every side until I cried out in fear and pain. Voices, always telling me how bad I was, how loathsome. He called their names, and at the sound of his voice they vanished. They knew him and obeyed.

I followed him, my only desire to serve and to comfort him in any way he would allow. I heard him teach. I saw others healed. I looked into those eyes, and they searched out my soul. I followed him until the end. Accused and tried, he was blameless, a perfect man. But they didn’t know him. Those rulers of men couldn’t understand. He was mocked and beaten. I followed as he stumbled under the weight of the cross. I held Mary in my arms as they nailed his hands and feet. We wept as the sword pierced him and us.

When he died the world went dark and the ground shook beneath my feet. The demons gathered round whispering - “It’s all an illusion.” “He can’t defeat us.” “See how your perfect man suffers and dies like a treasonous blasphemer.” “Where is his God now?” “ You fool!”

Now I go to perform my last service for him. Now to anoint his body, to touch him for the last time. It is cold this dawn and the others lag behind. I run because the demons hover round again. I must keep them at bay for another hour. When I am done, they may take me. All will be over. The men will return to their boats, and I, I will return to my proper place, the hell from which he rescued me.

Who has rolled away the stone? What have they done with him? Not this, I can endure no more. That gardener may help. Please God, I need help!

“Woman, why are you weeping? Who do you seek?”

I seek the dead, you fool. Who else do you seek in the tomb? And I cry because they have killed him and me, and now they have denied him even the peace of the grave. No, no. I need his help. I must be subservient, civil. The one who permitted the whole truth is dead. I must learn how to grovel again.

“Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

“Mary.”

“Rabbouni!”

He calls my name and now I too know and obey. Yes, and worship. I sought the dead, but have found the Living God. Now, I cry with joy, because he has found me.