She’d gone to the grave. She didn’t stay long; not as long as she had intended when she set out early that morning. She’d gone there slowly; she had a purpose in going, but weighed down with grief as she was, her feet would only take dragging steps. She dreaded to see what she knew she would find there, as if seeing would make it real, and there are times in one’s life when the sorrow is so dark and desperate that delaying the reality is attractive. She knew he was gone—she’d been there through the bitter end--only she didn’t want to bear witness to his loss, not yet. But she also longed to see him, to touch him, even just this one last time.
She’d gone there slowly, but returned running as fast as her legs could carry her, and wishing she could fly, to go that much faster.
When she first saw what had happened to the grave, she wanted to run right then. How can anguish heap upon anguish; how can an already-dark night grow even more chill and ominous? To lose that person dearer to one’s heart than life itself, and then the desecration of a tomb…it was almost more than she could bear. But she loved him, and so she had to go look, she had to know, she had to try to make sense of the senseless.
The ice that seemed to surround her entire body as she edged close to the defiled grave cannot be fathomed; it is the ice of a deep winter that does not end, of hope that does not grow. Yes, it was as she had feared. How and why had this happened?
A man stood nearby. She did not want to speak to him; she did not trust that any sound would come from her throat. But he might know, so she approached him gingerly and tugged his sleeve. He turned, and though his face was kind, she could not say why she was suddenly so terrified. But for the sake of the one she loved, she drew up her courage and asked her question, hoping this man would have an answer.
The answer came in his utterance of her name, of a sudden blinding flame that seized her body from the inside out, and the endless ice that had formerly held her did not melt but seemed to explode, as she knew. Her legs failed her—indeed, it felt like every organ in her body did—and she fell to her knees, weeping tears that streamed from her eyes as abundantly as the blood had flowed from his ravaged body only days before. She reached for him, but he stopped her with a few gentle words and a loving outstretched hand that did not quite touch her. And without knowing how, she found herself vertical and running for all she was worth, longing for wings because what she had to tell could not wait for the slowness of mortal feet. Why had she not believed until that day? Why had none of them believed? Why had she gone to the tomb with spices for a body that would never need them? She laughed jubilantly, knowing she would never doubt again.
She arrived in the town looking like a madwoman, her clothing indecorously mussed, her headcovering lost somewhere on the road and her hair flying like a wild lion’s mane, her eyes blazing. No wonder they did not believe her when she told them. But they would. Oh, they would, for they too would see him and then they would know.
She’d gone to the grave. She’d gone there cold and dead as stone. She returned more full of life than she’d ever thought possible.
She’d gone to the grave. She didn’t stay long. How could she remain in a tomb where he had not?
For as long as she lived, until the faithful servant returned to the loving master with joy, the fire did not leave her eyes.
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. 8Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other 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.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” 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 Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because 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 she told them that he had said these things to her.
--John 20:1-18 (NRSV)
(Sorta a rough draft. Yes, I've taken some poetic license as it's not 100% true to Scripture. I cried as I wrote this, and tears still well up just about every time I read it.)
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