Devotionals

One Morning in a Garden Mary Magdalene's Story

by Anne Adams
07/07/26
Free to Share
Author requests article critique

  Message Writer
  Hire Writer

Tweet

The spring sun was peeking over the Jerusalem hills as I silently trudged through the streets of the city, deep in thought about the task before me. I shifted the bundle of fragrant spices I carried, at the same time fully aware of the desperate sense of gloom and loving grief I felt for the beloved Teacher.

Just hours before we watched as, carrying the rough-hewn long beam that would be the crossbeam of his cross, he was marched out of the city by the Roman troops.  The other women, his mother and I watched from a short distance away as he was nailed to the board he’d carried and then lifted up into position.

I stood there numb with shock and grief as I saw the man who had freed me from the demonic spirits hanging there in such misery. Yet he held his head high, despite the obvious pain as his back – lacerated from the flogging – rubbed against the rough wood behind him. Already the blood that trickled from his hands and feet had stopped flowing. However, surely the pain was mostly in his magnificent heart that held such deep love for the very people who now rejected him. In fact, even now a rabble crouched at the foot of his cross, yelling insults.

 “Come down!” the lingering taunters shouted up at him. “You’re supposed to be the Son of God! If that’s so then come down – you’ve got the power!”  I knew they were being sarcastic but we knew that actually he could still come down if he wanted to.

But he did not.

Instead, he continued to hang there, his head still held high and his narrowed eyes scanning the crowd. Then as he saw us where we huddled a short distance away his eyes were soft in appreciation and compassion.

Their work done, the Roman soldiers sat down and started to throw dice for his clothing as the crowds began to disperse. Though a few of them tossed back a few verbal slurs, soon they too were gone. Then only the ever-faithful John and we women were left, waiting until he died.

With the Sabbath approaching quickly, we knew we had to work quickly Though there were just a few believers to witness his death other followers materialized, among them Joseph of Arimathea, That noble man offered us his nearby family tomb and we hastened to prepare the Teacher for burial. We wrapped him in the traditional linen bands, and placed him reverently on the ledge in the cave. Sliding the immense stone disk into place, we closed the tomb then hastened home to observe the Sabbath. Now that the holy day was over, I arrived to complete the ritual of depositing spices in the burial cloths.

But as I came into the garden area, a natural concern was how I could follow through with my task with the heavy tomb door in place.  However, as I stepped into view of it I saw the morning light glint off the stone disc already rolled off to one side, revealing the open tomb. Curious, I moved closer, and then bent to enter.

Everything seemed as it should be with the body shaped wrapped cocoon still on the ledge where we had left him. Still, I sensed something was wrong and as I leaned forward, I saw what it was. The wrappings were only a shell – the body was gone.

Then I realized I was not alone, because seated on the ledge were two ethereal glowing figures. One of them spoke to me: “He isn’t here!  He has risen – as he said he would. Go tell Peter and the others.”

All I remember was that I backed out of the tomb and somehow found myself hurrying away to find the disciples. When I returned with Peter and John the strange figures were gone, but the empty wrappings confirmed my story. Then, intent of telling the other disciples, Peter and John scurried away, leaving me alone in the garden.

 As they left I stood next to the tomb entrance, deep in thought, as I felt my eyes began to mist. So much to think about as the events of the last few days all seemed to overwhelm me. The Teacher was dead – we’d all seen him die then we had so carefully and lovingly wrapped the body and placed it on the now empty ledge. But where was it now? Who would want to take it? And why? The reality was there of course but then I remembered the words of the figure in the tomb. “He has risen as he said he would.” And that brought the vague memory – he had frequently spoken of that possibility of…..how could I say it… resurrection?

“Mary! Why are you crying?”

I blinked back tears as I heard the voice. Something familiar…

I whirled to see the figure but it was only a vague form. Who was it? Then I decided – and it was the only logical conclusion. This must be the garden caretaker - maybe he had removed the Teacher’s body. I was about to ask him when the voice came again.

“Mary!” Then I knew…

“Teacher!” My voice was a breathless whisper as I fell at his feet – the solid, nail pierced feet. Then as I lifted my eyes to his, I saw the familiar slight smile on his lips and in his eyes.

As I gazed up into his face and saw the familiar face of my resurrected Teacher. Once dead and now alive. . Teacher, yes, but also Lord – and Savior.

He is not dead! He is risen!