Mary of Magdala

In the midst of the Lenten season, I have been wanting the Lord to open my eyes in new ways to the Easter story, that I have become so familiar with since I came to faith. Writing poems on different scenes from the Easter journey has been helpful to remind me how precious (and by that I mean, dear, expensive, costly…not cute like a newborn babies clothes or like a little baby chick) Christ is!

Mary of Magdala

It was as if life had begun only three short years ago,

The other years seemed like a bad dream, long since let go.


The days spent in His presence seemed to all but erase

The deep-set lies and demons that eat joy, leaving no trace.


Her eyes that once were dull with weariness and isolation

Had learned to look to Him with contagious joy and expectation.


But with Him, her Deliverer, all those hopes had died.

It seemed the years of peace were trapped with Him inside.


Tears of isolation and despair came flooding as never before.

The shadowed years were creeping back, as she came to the stony door.


Looking up through pooling tears, things went from bad to worse.

The body was not there, she felt enveloped by the former curse.


The angelic guards, alerted by her weeping uncontrolled,

Questioned her deep sadness at the stone that was unrolled.


Remembering in fear and dread those years without her Lord,

The longing tears became a river that none but He could ford.


A world again without her Jesus would be no world at all,

She sat frozen in despair when the gardener came to call.


“I have no time to waste with you, just tell me where he’s laid.

I must at least go to Him, to see that due respect is paid.


Then piercing the enveloping gloom, as He had done years before,

She heard a voice familiar like sweet balm to a soul that was sore.


No one else said her name that way, in such gentle and familiar tone.

Hope swelled within her heart; maybe He had not left her alone?


Oh, what a fitting welcome it was, that He be received in her embrace,

Never had such shock and awe, such relief flooded a human face.


She knew not how to react; all she knew to do was cling;

Here again was her rabboni, alive from death was her King.


Jesus received the adoration, but knowing they’d many more days,

Entrusted her with a labor of love, infusing purpose into her praise.


Mary, formerly oppressed, Mary Magdalene would carry the news,

It wasn’t a dream, the time with Him, He was indeed King of the Jews!

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