Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Mary Magdalene

Getting back on the train of monologues...I'm trying to make something of the fact that there are very different lists of who was there at the crucifixion in the gospels but that they always include: a) Mary Magdalene and b) another person named Mary identified alternatively as the "wife of Clopas," "the mother of James the Younger," and the Virgin Mary herself.

They agree on Mary Magdalene.

I wrote a bit about her at the crucifixion last time, but, well, let's see what I can do with this.

MARY MAGDALENE

I heard speeches later, I heard stories later, I read it in gospels later. I was there, with other women, while He died. The gospels said I was there. The stories, the speeches to crowds, described me, Mary Magdala, Mary the Tower. The Tower of Strength.

Because I did not crumble? Because I never stopped praying? Because I was there at all? I suppose that would be impressive to those who could not bear it. But I was breaking, shattering. I made no bones about telling them when I told the story myself.

But He did not break. So I would not fall apart. He saved me once, from seven demons that made war in my body. He gave me back possession of it. He taught me how to stand. How to take ownership of my body so no demon could ever take me again.

My limbs felt like jelly but they obeyed me. My knees creaked with the strain, but they held. My eyes flowed with tears, but I could always blink them clear enough to see Him. My breathing was rough and shallow, but my chest never heaved and I never lost control of my breath.

I never wanted to know - I never wanted to think - why He was preparing me to stand on my own. I never asked why He wanted me to know that I had all of my self back before I chose to follow Him. I never asked why He taught me so carefully. So carefully they mention me, the men who write the gospels. So carefully they know they cannot go without mentioning me at all.

It was for this. So I could stand. So that I would know. I wasn't trapped in the tower. I was the tower. The Tower of Strength, even when I felt like all the mortar was gone and soon the bricks would all come tumbling down. I was the Tower of Strength, and seeing me many would know the glory of God.

So I watched as He bore seven wounds, for seven demons and countless sins. I stood, strong and true. As He taught me. Because He knew that someday I would have to stand. He knew I was a Tower long before I did. He gave me back my body and my mind, He showed me how beautiful was my soul, how precious it was to God.

The least I could do was stand for Him.