But Mary stayed. A Reflection

*Most verses included are taken from the New American Bible Revised Edition, with the Psalm verses taken from the Grail Psalter, 1963

But Mary stayed.

Your Resurrection from the Dead, According to Holy John:

1 On the first day of the week, Mary of Magdala came to the tomb early in the morning, while it was still dark, and saw the stone removed from the tomb. 2 So she ran and went to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and told them, “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they put him.” 3 So Peter and the other disciple went out and came to the tomb. 4 They both ran, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and arrived at the tomb first; 5 he bent down and saw the burial cloths there, but did not go in. 6 When Simon Peter arrived after him, he went into the tomb and saw the burial cloths there, 7 and the cloth that had covered his head, not with the burial cloths but rolled up in a separate place. 8 Then the other disciple also went in, the one who had arrived at the tomb first, and he saw and believed. 9 For they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead. 10 Then the disciples returned home. 11 But Mary stayed outside the tomb weeping. And as she wept, she bent over into the tomb 12 and saw two angels in white sitting there, one at the head and one at the feet where the body of Jesus had been. 13 And they said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken my Lord, and I don’t know where they laid him.” 14 When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but did not know it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” She thought it was the gardener and said to him, “Sir, if you carried him away, tell me where you laid him, and I will take him.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni,” which means Teacher. 17 Jesus said to her, “Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” 18 Mary of Magdala went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and what he told her.

“On the first day of the week,” the chief day of the week, “Mary of Magdala came to the tomb.” We know why it is the chief day of the week. He has risen, alleluia! Alleluia! John recounts what he knows…“on the first day of the week,” the day on which Christians celebrate the Holy Mass, “Mary of Magdala came to the tomb.” Who was she? She was Mary, of Magdala. A lover of the Lord. A friend of the Lord. One touched by him. A faithful friend. There ‘til the end. And even now…

It was “early in the morning…still dark”. The day, according to the Jewish way of seeing it, had been underway since sunset hours long before. Twilight had not yet begun…or perhaps John emphasizes the lack of the fullness of the light penetrating up to this moment. She came to the tomb and “saw the stone removed from the tomb”. She peers through the darkness. The heavy stone no longer covers the tomb of our Lord. She runs. Did she glimpse the burial cloths before leaving? Did she give herself the time? Or was it too much to see the stone removed, and to have conceived the worst? Had she conceived that which she came to announce to Simon Peter and John, “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they put him”? Even had she seen the Shroud of Turin, and marveled at what was now left behind in the wake of Jesus’ missing body, would she not have still suffered? Already believing that he was a holy one of God - now confirmed once more in this great sign, this miraculous image - would she not still be in distress, that the body of her loved one is gone, taken by those who couldn’t possibly have good intentions?

So she told Peter and John, and they ran. They feared the worst, that she was right. And when John arrives first, he does not go in. He sees that Jesus’ body is gone. And he sees the burial cloths there. Then Simon Peter arrives. “He went into the tomb and saw the burial cloths there.” Now John goes in. He recounts the moment, “and he saw and believed. For they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead.” Saint Augustine remarks, “And what else could they believe but what she had told them, and what she had herself also believed?” Did John see and believe, with Peter, the Lord is gone? Was his heart seized with the thoughts “they took him. Someone took him”? Even for the miraculous image before them (the Shroud venerated in the Church today, and the sudarium not yet revealed), were their hearts pierced with the thought, ‘our friend is gone’? Was Peter trying to hold himself together? Was he suffering from the accusation of our Accuser that not having been there for his friend at the Cross, as John had at least been, he had now failed to be there to protect the body of his friend - his Lord - from being stolen? Was he suffering from the accusations, “You weren’t good enough. You’re not good enough”?  Is John, with Peter, breathing heavily from their rush? Has John dwelt on the worst and now confirmed it? Even for the miraculous Shroud left behind as a sign he was from God, is John now bewildered, overwhelmed, grieving anew? Is the thought settling in, “The body of our Lord is gone”? “For they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead.” Were they unable to realize this was it? Were they unable to see past their grief and the apparent darkness before them? Were they thinking, “Mary was right. Our friend is gone. He’s gone”? Is this how they returned to their home?

Praise God, while it was still dark (remember it was dark, John describes), Mary stayed at the tomb…weeping…And in her devotion, ‘relentless as the netherworld,’ as she weeps, she bends over into the tomb, and sees two angels sitting there in white, who ask her with knowing joy and compassion, “Woman…” you who were there with our Blessed Mother at his willing sacrifice, who participate with her in his Passion for us and in the crushing of the serpent’s head, “…why are you weeping?”

Could this account be an opportunity for us to see that stark challenge to our faith sometimes? When we allow only the worst to enter our hearts? When we can’t see past the evil afflicting us, and the suffering allowed us by God? When we can’t answer why? Are we not like Peter and John, who run to the tomb to find our Lord is gone? Do we not sometimes believe of Jesus the thought, “Our friend, our loved one, the one who believed in us, raised us up, called us to be better men and women, called us to greatness, called us because he loved us, called us his friends…he’s gone”? Are we not sometimes unable to understand how such evil is allowed to happen? Are we not sometimes suffering from the accusation of our Accuser that on top of the crucifixion, on top of our betrayal, on top of our abandoning him in the garden, and especially on top of our not being there for him when he was crucified, after he had been slandered and unjustly condemned to such a death (“a shameful death”), “where were we, those of us who boldly told him that night, ‘Even if I should have to die with you, I will not betray you’?” For all this, we’ve failed again. He’s gone. We weren’t there for him. The burial rites of our people will pass him by. We couldn’t even be there for him in death, when he had been there for us”? Yet for all our weakness…are we not receiving his firm hands on our shoulders, the same hands that were wounded so that we may be healed? Are we not caught by his firm and tender gaze, even when we feel it is far? Are we not sometimes that same child whose father “caught sight of him while he was still far off”? Are we not within his gaze, as he reassures us with a look “stern as death, devotion relentless as the netherworld”? Is he not giving us new heart with his words over the waters of our fears and accusations, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid”?  Is he not telling us again and again, thirsting for us to be with him now and in eternity, “I am with you. I, myself, am with you”? Has he not now come back for us, like a hero returned, riding down the hill, coming to our assistance? Do we not hear the voice of the angels, “Woman, why are you weeping?” Do we not hear the confident voice of our Blessed Mother, “The voice of my beloved! Behold, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills”? Does he not know us like no other? Is he not coming after us? “On the first day of the week, Mary of Magdala came to the tomb early in the morning, while it was still dark, and saw the stone removed from the tomb…” “Behold, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills…”

This Gospel account which we hear at Easter (Holy Pasch), is always capable of renewing us. He is with us, and he will sustain us in that dark valley we sometimes find ourselves in, with the thoughts that plague us and the lies that hound us. “Dogs surround me; a pack of evildoers closes in on me.” (Psalm 22, verse 27).  Let us be with Jesus, who gives us strength to pray our Father with the same psalm, “But you, LORD, do not stay far off; my strength, come quickly to help me. Deliver my soul from the sword, my life from the grip of the dog. Save me from the lion’s mouth, my poor life from the horns of wild bulls. Then I will proclaim your name to my brethren; in the assembly I will praise you…” We need not let our Accuser win. We need not let him play on our failings, consume us and drive us toward despair. We need not question if we have lost everything. No. Not yet. Not ever. Stay. Like Mary. “But Mary stayed.” At the tomb. With the body gone. With his body gone. With the cloth. With the Shroud. With what was left of him. A faithful lover with years gone by. Still visiting. Where was she? She was devoted, stricken, mourning, and longing. Stay, with the sign of all God has done. Stay, with that cloth, with his image…burnt into cloth, his bloody image staining the cloth. Stay, with the memory of his suffering, his Passion for you and for me. Stay. This isn’t the end. It can’t be. We won’t believe it. We have to stay. What else can we do? Where else can we go? To whom shall we go? It has to be him. It’s all or nothing.

“You are my God, for you I long; for you my soul is thirsting. My body pines for you, like a dry, weary land without water…So I gaze upon you in the sanctuary, to see your strength, and your glory. For your love is better than life, my lips will speak your praise. So I will bless you all my life, in your name I will lift up my hands” (Psalm 63, verses 2-5).

Our Father, let us remember the words of the Exultet we have been graced to receive, chanting it never alone but in the assembly of our brethren, with tear-streaked faces, stricken but bound up…healed and joyful, smiling so hard it hurts, with that knowing joy of the angels, that confident smile of our Blessed Mother “while it was still dark…”

“This is the night, when Christ broke the prison bars of death, and rose victorious from the underworld!”