They have taken him away. They have taken my Lord away. Why did they have to do it? Wasn't it enough to kill him? Why did they have to steal his body? He isn't any threat to them any more, if he ever was, and neither are we. Why couldn't they just leave us alone to tend his grave?
He didn't do anything wrong. Everybody knows how good he was. Practically every person in Judea has heard him teach. Only last week when he came up to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast the whole city came out to see him, they were lining the road up from Bethany, spreading out their cloaks on the road for him and shouting "Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest!"
But it was just a show. They didn't mean it. They didn't love him like we did.They didn't know him like we did. They're just like children at a party, you know? They'll clap and shout for anybody as long as they're on top, just because everyone else does. But not one of them stood up for Jesus when he needed their support.
Three days ago the Sanhedrin sent the Temple guards to arrest Jesus. Did you know that they had to sneak about in the dark to do it, because they were afraid the people of Jerusalem would riot if they took Jesus away in front of them? That's a laugh, that is. When Pontius Pilate offered to free either Barabbas or Jesus for the Passover amnesty, the people chose Barabbas. Barabbas' followers were more loyal than Jesus', can you believe it? Oh - maybe you don't know who Barabbas was. He led a revolt against the Romans here in Jerusalem not too long ago. As far as I'm concerned, he deserved whatever he got. He killed a Roman soldier, and what good did it do? Whenever anybody does something like that the Romans just crack down harder and things get worse for the rest of us, even those who only ever wanted to live in peace. But the people wanted Barabbas freed instead of Jesus. The same people who were shouting "Hosanna!" for Jesus last Sunday were shouting "Crucify him!" on Friday.
So they killed him. They killed Jesus.The Sanhedrin and the Romans between them, they killed him. And the people let them.
They didn't know him like we did, of course.
I suppose I can't blame them for not wanting to stick their necks out. We knew him, though; we came up from Galilee with him, for the Passover, Peter and James and the others. Joanna and Salome and Susanna and I all came, this time, and so did Jesus' mother. There're a lot of us Marys around; there's another one in Bethany whose house Jesus always stays at when he comes to Jerusalem. I'm from Magdala, that's in Galilee just south of Capernaum, which is what I suppose you'd call Jesus' home base. This is the first time I've been to Jerusalem. Women don't, usually, especially if there are children at home; it's expensive, and crowded, and only the men have to make the temple sacrifices. Women aren't usually allowed to become disciples, either. Joanna and I, especially, were always getting called names and having to fend off indecent suggestions. Most people thought we were loose women, because we were following the Master instead of staying home. But I don't care. I never did, once I made up my mind.
I never thought I'd ever do anything like that. I got married when I was 15, right on schedule, to a weaver in Tiberias named Baruch, and expected to have a nice quiet life raising a half dozen or so children and taking care of my husband just the way every good Jewish girl is supposed to do. But it's not that easy. I don't know if you know anything about Galilee? It's called Galilee of the Gentiles, because we're so mixed. It's only in the last hundred years or so that we Jews have really settled there again since the exile.
It's pretty hard to live as a good Jew when half your neighbors are engaging in all kinds of heathen practices, doing business on the Sabbath and so on, and your trade depends on keeping on good terms with them all no matter what they do. I saw the struggles my friends had as their children were growing up. All the little boys want to go to the gymnasium to wrestle and race with their friends, but it's the Greek custom to do that sort of thing naked, without even a loincloth for decency's sake, and of course they make fun of our boys because they're circumcised. So instead of being proud of the sign of the covenant, many were ashamed. Some of my neighbors' sons departed from the law, saying that it was old-fashioned, that we had to move with the times. But the Zealots were even worse, in a way. Herod was supposedly our king, but he was half a goy himself and didn't care two shekels about obeying the law, and besides everyone knew it was really the Romans who ruled. The Zealots were all for running the Romans out, and they kept staging uprisings, or ambushing the Romans when they travelled. So the young men who weren't turning into little Greeks were turning into revolutionaries. And so I started wondering what point there was in trying to raise a family.
I tried to explain to Baruch how I felt, but he thought I was making a fuss about nothing. We'd just live quietly, ne said, minding our own business, keeping the Sabbath and teaching our children to live according to the law, and everything would be fine. Of course it was all in God's hands anyway. Pretty soon I had a son whom we named Samuel; he grew, a few years passed, and I got pregnant again, and then Baruch and Samuel were killed on a routine trading trip over to Sepphoris. And my little girl was born early, and never breathed.
I was so angry at God. I raged at him: Why do the wicked prosper and the innocent perish? Why do peaceful, decent, godly men like my Baruch get cut down? I cried out, "How long, O LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen? Or cry out to you, "Violence!" but you do not save? Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrong? [Hab 1:1-2] I went to the leader of our synagogue for answers to these questions and he told me to get married again and raise a family and I'd have no more time for such foolishness. Such questions, he said. were best left to the men.
But I wouldn't do it. I didn't want to get married again; I wouldn't get anybody better then Baruch if even as good, and besides the same sort thing would probably just happen all over. Or worse. My neighbor Abigail is married to a man who is so rigid about every detail of the law that her life is a misery. He's got her convinced that they don't have a son because God is punishing her for being careless about the Sabbath rules. Catch him being proud of their two pretty little daughters! Not a chance. No indeed, I didn't want to get married again. And I stopped going to the synagogue, too. The rabbis say that there are 637 separate laws that you have to keep in order to be acceptable to God. There's no way I can do all that even if I wanted to, so why try? And then the president of the synagogue started dropping in and lecturing me about my duty to get married again. At least he said that's why he was there but I didn't like the way he looked at me. But when I raged at him to leave me alone he accused me of being led astray by demons,
So I turned the workrooms and shop over to a manager and moved back to Magdala to think things over. It seemed to me that I had only three choices. I could wrap myself in a straightjacket to try to get in good with God, I could throw myself into making so much money that I could do anything I wanted, or I could join the rebels. But none of them were any use. I cried out with Job, "Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come...? [Job 3:20] The sun had gone out, and yet it kept on rising again every day.
And that summer I heard Jesus preach for the first time. What caught my attention first was what he said about the Pharisees. He was lambasting them for their hypocrisy, and I found myself saying "Yeah, right on, brother, you've got their number, all right." So I started listening to the rest of what he had to say.
And when he said, "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," it seemed that he looked right into my soul, and I started to cry. I sat there on the hillside and wept as if my heart was breaking. I wept for my beautiful babies, and for my good, kind husband, and for myself. I didn't hear anything else he said that day. But I went back the next day. And the day after that. And I knew that here was the answer I had been looking for, about who God was and what life was about. So the fourth day I went to Jesus and asked him straight out if he would teach a woman and he said the oddest thing, he said, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head." I didn't know exactly what he meant but I said, "That's ok, I can pay my own way." And he laughed, and introduced me to Joanna Chuza's wife and said I could come along if I liked.
So we followed him, Joanna and the other women and I, along with the men. It was awkward, sometimes, and now and then even unpleasant; like I said before people mostly thought the worst. But the disciples never laid a hand on us, or even made any snide comments, and after a while I think they started getting used to having us there, at least the Twelve did. Maybe they complained to Jesus privately, but if they did we never heard about it. But since we didn't get sent out on field trips like the men we took over the domestic arrangements, and I think they appreciated it. But the rest of the time, Jesus treated us just the same.
And I tell you he turned everything we'd ever thought upside down. Most of the people we saw as Jesus went through the towns preaching and teaching were just interested in the healings, and didn't listen to what he was really saying about God. I think he was disappointed, but he never got impatient with them, and always had time for them, especially people who nobody else had so much as a kind word for. He was just as likely to spend the evening with the town bum as with the head of the synagogue. The only times I ever saw him get angry was when people twisted God's law to their own profit or thought they were too holy to help people who were in trouble. He made us who were with him rethink everything we had been taught. He taught us not to judge by appearances. He taught us never to seek revenge, but to do good even to those who had wronged us. He taught us that we had to forgive other people if we wanted God to forgive us.
That was really hard for me. I asked him if that meant I had to forgive the Zealots who had ambushed my Baruch's trading party, and he said yes. "But why?" I said. "What they did was wrong! The Torah forbids murder! How can you tell me to forgive them?" And Jesus said, "Are you angry in your heart at them?" and I said yes, and he said, "Are they Zealots because they're angry in their hearts at Rome?" and I said yes, and he said, "What's the difference between your heart and theirs?" so I said, "But they actually killed people, and I didn't!" and Jesus said, "it's your heart that matters to God." And he told me to love them, and to pray for their good. So I did. And I felt myself changing, and the anger going away, and I started grieving for them. Because, you know, they faced the same choices I had, before I started following Jesus.They must have been as messed up inside as I was. How I wished they could meet him, too, and learn to live differently!
Because he was different. Other teachers used to quote the rabbi Hillel, or the traditions of the elders. Jesus spoke as if directly from God. He forgave sins, he banished demons, he rebuked the teachers of the law for neglecting the poor. And when he touched someone you could see them change right in front of your eyes. I saw crooked arms and legs grow straight, I saw bleeding stop, I saw clouded eyes clear, I saw lepers healed and the dead raised. I heard the voice of God, and I saw the hand of God, and now he is dead! Who will raise him?
I will never forget his death, never. It is burned in my mind like a brand. They had taken away his clothes, and beaten him. . . . There was blood on his face, from the thorns, and spit. He asked John to take care of his mother. And then he said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." He asked me to forgive the Zealots because I was no better than they were. But he forgave the ones who killed him because he was better than they were. He couldn't even hate his murderers.
He was the Messiah, I know he was. He was sent from God, I know it, to save us, to redeem Israel, to restore us to God. What went wrong? Was it something we did? Could we have stopped it? Peter's killing himself with shame and guilt because he ran away. I tell myself that I wouldn't have run, I would have died for him, I would have, I think I would have. . . I would have followed him until I died and done whatever he said; what am I going to do now? How shall I live, what shall I do?
[pause]
(Voice offstage) Mary... Mary, why do you weep?
[pause]
Did you see? Did you hear? He's not dead! He's alive? They couldn't kill him! They can't kill him! He has risen from the dead! He is alive! I will, I will follow him until I die! Come with me! He has told me to go tell everyone that he is alive. Come with me! Tell the world,
He is risen!
He is risen!
He is risen!
