A Personal Reflection by

Dr Muriel Porter OAM

at the Mass on the Feast of Mary Magdalene 2004


Texts: Song of Songs 3:1-4
          Ps 63
          2 Cor 5:14-21
          John 20: 1-18
St John’s Camberwell
22nd July 2004

The Sermon . . .

Dr Muriel Porter
Dr Muriel Porter

Mary Magdalene has had a chequered history in Christian theology. For centuries she was falsely depicted as a prostitute, a highly immoral woman, a great sinner. Services for fallen women were notoriously identified as "Magdalene ministries". Contemporary theologians have restored Mary to her rightful Scriptural place as undeniably pre-eminent among Jesus' disciples. Some suggest she was in fact a key leader in the early Church, eventually wrested from that position by a patriarchal takeover that elevated Peter at her expense. Whatever the truth of that theory, today's Gospel names her as first witness of the empty tomb, first witness of the Risen Christ, first to tell the other disciples that the Lord had risen. St Augustine identified her as "the apostle to the apostles".

Given the readings set for her feast day, it is no wonder the Christian Church has found Mary Magdalene such a troubling figure. The readings resonate with energy, passion, sensuality, and intimacy. For me the verbs - longing, seeking, thirsting, clinging, weeping, holding - are all closely associated with earthiness, femininity, and all that is most deeply human.

The scene in the resurrection garden where Mary meets her Lord is for me one of the central, key passages of Scripture. I come back and back to this powerful story, and always find it deeply moving. It is the Gospel in a nutshell for me, always offering fresh insights about my own pilgrimage. The garden story demonstrates not just Mary's priority as an apostle, but more importantly, her personal closeness to Jesus. She is the person, the woman, who was closest to Jesus throughout his ministry. His mother had been perplexed by him and wanted him to come home and behave himself; Mary Magdalene, on the other hand, had been consistently beside him, with the other women disciples, providing for him out of her own resources. Unlike the male disciples, she did not betray him, deny him or abandon him. She waited by the cross; she came at daybreak to his tomb to anoint his broken body.

I imagine she was so faithful in her loving devotion even when the situation was so desperate because she was overwhelmed with gratitude to him. Luke's Gospel says that Jesus had healed her of "seven demons". When she first met him she was obviously a very sick woman, perhaps a victim of severe depression or mental illness. Jesus restored her in body, mind and spirit; he made her whole. She responded by following him and ministering to him. Her gratitude knew no bounds; her love for Jesus was the motivation for her whole life, even when all hope seemed gone.

My recent meditation on this story has helped me realise that thanksgiving for our own healing and redemption is perhaps the primary Christian response to Jesus. Without it, I don't think it is possible to enter deeply into the new life offered by Jesus' resurrection. If we are really conscious of how much we have been forgiven and restored, then living a life of forgiveness ourselves begins to be possible. Giving thanks always is a sure antidote for a multitude of evils.

I have also found myself focussing particularly on Mary as she stayed on in the garden, weeping, after the male disciples had disappeared once more. Confused, distressed, in an agony of grief and pain, she nevertheless stayed there. And there, in the place of her anguish, even as she cried, her Lord came to her. I feel great anguish for our Church at the present time - internationally, nationally, in the diocese, it is a place of great pain. But as Psalm 126 reminds us, those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy. I hold onto that promise. In this place of pain and promise, I am tentatively, I hope prayerfully, trying to enter more fully into Jesus' seemingly harsh words to Mary: "Do not cling to me; go!" Resurrection life, he seems to be saying, is radically different. It demands terrifyingly new ways of living. In the risen Christ all things, including the Church, will be made new, in ways we cannot begin to imagine. It is beyond words, so I fall back on the words of Psalm 126 again: "The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy!"


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