April 17: Mary Magdalene Encounters the Risen Christ
♫ Music:
Day 48 - Monday, April 17
Bright Monday
Mary Magdalene Encounters the Risen Christ
Scripture: John 20:11-18
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her.
Poetry:
"Christ as a Gardener"
by Andrew Hudgins
The boxwoods planted in the park spell LIVE.
I never noticed it until they died.
Before, the entwined green had smudged the word
unreadable. And when they take their own advice
again – come spring, come Easter – no one will know
a word is buried in the leaves. I love the way
that Mary thought her resurrected Lord
a gardener. It wasn’t just the broad-brimmed hat
and muddy robe that fooled her: he was that changed.
He looks across the unturned field, the riot
Of unscythed grass, the smattering of wildflowers.
Before he can stop himself, he’s on his knees.
He roots up stubborn weeds, pinches the suckers,
deciding order here – what lives, what dies,
and how. But it goes deeper even than that.
His hands burn and his bare feet smolder. He longs
To lie down inside the long, dew-moist furrows
and press his pierced side and his broken forehead
into the dirt. But he’s already done it –
passed through one death and out the other side.
He laughs. He kicks his bright spade in the earth
and turns it over. Spring flashes by, then harvest.
Beneath his feet, seeds dance into the air.
They rise, and he, not noticing, ascends
on midair steppingstones of dandelion,
of milkweed, thistle, cattail, and goldenrod.
IN THE GARDEN
In the beginning of the world, God walked in the Garden with Eve and her husband, Adam. They walked when the evening was cool, in that beautiful hour when the sky comes to life with color and the air tastes delicious.
Then it all was ruined. Humanity was banned from paradise and thrust out into a world now sorrowing under the weight of weeds and thorns, cankering rot and stinking sores, grasping lust and violent cruelty.
The sorrow lasted, generation after generation. No one man or woman had to bear the entire weight of the sorrow, no one person had to suffer the horror of every murder, every theft, every rape; but each human had more than enough to bear in his or her own lifetime and—this is the catch—caused enough suffering, inflicted such a heavy burden of hate, and jealousy, and violent anger, and cold indifference on family and neighbors, to be crushed on one side with unbearable pain, and on the other side with heart-destroying guilt.
Even when we did find our way into gardens, and were refreshed by the common graces of sunlight and rain, we dragged with us our cloud of pollution, dimming the light and poisoning the ground.
There was light, but it did not purify. Fruit, but it did not assuage our bottomless hunger. Water, but it could not quench our endless thirst.
Then the Son of God became Man.
He was light, and no pollution could abide in His brightness.
He became the food that could truly feed us, and He Himself was the living water—the water that could flow over the dead lands and call life out of them once more.
He took our sin upon Himself, and burned it all away.
And because He is very God and very Man, He could once again meet us in the garden. Not figuratively, but literally.
Savoldo Giovanni’s picture of Mary Magdalene reminds us of this. When God walked again in a garden, looking for His straying people, it was a real garden and real people He sought.
And found.
Mary. Peter. The other disciples. The light Giovanni depicts on Mary’s face and robe really did shine on the face of the real Mary Magdalene. I don’t know if the garden of the tomb had “milkweed, thistle, cattail, and goldenrod” of Hudgins’ poem, but it had real plants and real dirt and if you were there, you could have smelled them.
You have a real face, too, and if you belong to this Man, your face will behold the light of His countenance. Your eyes, and not another’s.
On the day that He rose, the Lord met His people in a garden. It was not a mistake, or a coincidence, or a fortuitous accident.
He created us in a garden. And what we did in the first Garden was a disaster, a catastrophe, a tragedy. We have all been bent and disfigured and ruined by the weight of it.
But the Lord bent the whole weight of history towards our redemption, lent His very Self to the effort, entering into our tragedy and turning it into a comedy, where “journeys end in lovers meeting.”
Listen to the musical piece today, listen to how it grows in power as it progresses, swelling in glory as more and more voices join the song. In the same way joy grows throughout this passage of John. The good news is hinted by the angels, declared by Jesus Himself, and then spread to disciple after disciple after disciple. As the news spreads, the joy grows, unfolding tendrils and bursting forth into blossom.
The Lord is, as Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, “a dayspring to the dimness of us,” enlightening our hearts and bringing water to our thirsty souls. We labor alongside Him now, in the garden of the world, planting seeds that will grow and ripen and be harvested at the end of the age.
In that day when He returns, we will worship Him in the beauty of holiness. Not with the tears of Mary in the garden of the tomb, nor the weeping of Eve as she is driven from the Garden of Eden, but with the joy that the Son of God Himself had with the Father, in the unity of the Spirit, before the world began.
PRAYER
Almighty God, by the Passover of your Son you have brought us out of sin into righteousness and out of death into life: Grant to those who are sealed by your Holy Spirit the will and the power to proclaim you to all the world; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
(From the Book of Common Prayer)
Jessica Snell, alumna ‘03
Editor of Let Us Keep the Feast
About the Artwork:
Mary Magdalene (1535-40)
Savoldo Giovanni
Oil on canvas
National Gallery of Art, London, England
About the Artist:
Savoldo Giovanni (1480-1548) also called Girolamo da Brescia, was an Italian High Renaissance painter active in Venice, Italy. He is noted for his subtle use of color and chiaroscuro, and the sober realism of his works, which are mostly religious subjects. His Mary Magdalene, one of several versions Savoldo painted of this subject, is a masterpiece of lighting. The Magdalene is shrouded in a white satin mantle that covers her head, leaving her face in shadow, with the silvery expanse of drapery relieved by the merest glimpse of a red sleeve.
About the Music:
“I Know That My Redeemer Lives”
Lyrics:
[Verse 1:]
I know that my Redeemer lives;
What comfort this sweet sentence gives!
He lives, He lives, who once was dead;
He lives, my ever living Head.
[Verse 2:]
He lives to bless me with His love,
He lives to plead for me above.
He lives my hungry soul to feed,
He lives to bless in time of need.
[Verse 3:]
He lives to grant me rich supply,
He lives to guide me with His eye,
He lives to comfort me when faint,
He lives to hear my soul’s complaint.
[Verse 4:]
He lives to silence all my fears,
He lives to wipe away my tears
He lives to calm my troubled heart,
He lives all blessings to impart.
[Verse 5:]
He lives, my kind, wise, heavenly Friend,
He lives and loves me to the end;
He lives, and while He lives, I’ll sing;
He lives, my Prophet, Priest, and King.
[Verse 6:]
He lives and grants me daily breath;
He lives, and I shall conquer death:
He lives my mansion to prepare;
He lives to bring me safely there.
[Verse 7:]
He lives, all glory to His Name!
He lives, my Jesus, still the same.
Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives,
I know that my Redeemer lives!
About the Lyricist:
Samuel Medley (1738-1799), though raised by a family of faithful Christians, chose not to embrace religion during his youth. However, in 1759, he witnessed a miracle, and it changed the course of his life. Medley, a member of the British navy, was aboard a ship that was engaged in heavy battle with the French. The fierce battle left his leg severely wounded and the ship’s doctor declared that the leg must be amputated to save Medley’s life. Medley spent the night pondering his faith and praying fervently that his life and leg might be spared. The next morning, the doctor examined the leg and found that it had miraculously improved so much that amputation was unnecessary. The miraculous healing was the catalyst for Medley’s decision to live a Christ-centered life. He went on to preach many sermons, and to write religious texts.
About the Performers:
The Millennial Choir and Orchestra was founded for the purpose of encouraging excellence in quality sacred and classical music. Its primary focus is to fulfill the need for more refined music education and to bring God back into the concert hall.
https://www.millennial.org/
About the Poet:
Andrew Hudgins (b. 1951) is an American poet. He is the author of numerous collections of poetry and essays, many of which have received high critical praise, such as The Never-Ending: New Poems (1991), a finalist for the National Book Award; After the Lost War: A Narrative (1988), which received the Poets' Prize; and Saints and Strangers (1985), a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. Commended by critics for his striking ability to embody the Southern Gothic tradition of American literature, his poetry is filled with sanguinary images of guilt, sacrifice, and powerlessness.
About the Devotional Author:
Jessica Snell is a writer who graduated from Biola University and the Torrey Honors Institute in 2003. She’s the editor of Let Us Keep the Feast, a book about celebrating the Christian church year at home. Her work has appeared in Touchstone Magazine, Christ in Pop Culture, Daily Science Fiction, and more. She and her husband live in sunny Southern California with their four children.