Jesus (56 page)

The inclusion of women was a central part of Jesus's ministry. Gerhard Lohfink, looking at the Near Eastern context of the time, calls it “remarkable.” It would appear, writes Lohfink, “that here Jesus deliberately violated social standards of behavior.”
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For her part, Amy-Jill Levine believes the idea of any social transgression is overstated: “A look at the women in the Old Testament should immediately signal this,” she told me. “The Pharisees had women patrons. No one in the Gospels, by the way, finds this kind of friendship surprising.”

The question of whether the inclusion of women in Jesus's ministry broke social boundaries may be disputed. What is not disputed is that throughout Christian history women's contributions have often been downplayed, ignored, or mislabeled. Mary Magdalene, to take one prominent example, often has been identified as a prostitute—though there is no evidence in the New Testament that she was one. The historic mislabeling apparently stemmed from the fact that Jesus was said to have driven “seven demons” from her.
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Mary was thus thought to have led a sinful early life. Also, at one point in the Gospels she is mentioned
near
the story of a prostitute.
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Taken together, this led some early church fathers (church leaders after the time of the disciples), especially St. Gregory the Great in an influential homily, to label her as one. But whatever Mary's “demons” were or had been, it is clear that she was a key member of the disciples. So one of the first witnesses of the Resurrection—in some accounts
the
first witness—was classified as a prostitute.

But although maligned is not the norm for women disciples, ignored may be. One of the most helpful books on the topic is Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza's
In Memory of Her
, a study of how women's place in the early church has been misunderstood. A professor at Harvard Divinity School, Schüssler Fiorenza begins her book by reminding readers that the woman who anointed Jesus's head before his Passion goes unnamed in two of the Gospels.
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As she points out, in Luke's Gospel, which moves the story to earlier in Jesus's ministry, the woman is identified mainly as “a sinner.”

The author suggests that Luke, a man of his times, may have modified this story to fit the expectations of a male-dominated culture. No longer the one who foretells Jesus's death and understands his role as the one who must suffer (more than do the male disciples), the woman who anoints Jesus is portrayed as a sinner. How odd this is when we consider what she did, and how disconcerting when we consider who else is afforded the privilege of a name—like Judas. Schüssler Fiorenza suggests, “The name of the betrayer is remembered, but the name of the faithful disciple is forgotten because she was a woman.”
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The notion of the women finally coming into the light at the end of the Gospels is also noticed by Schüssler Fiorenza:

I'm not sure if I would agree that Peter doesn't understand that Jesus needs to suffer. Perhaps he does, but cannot accept it. Schüssler Fiorenza's larger point is that the women are depicted as more faithful to Jesus as his death approaches. It is the difference between saying and doing. So it may not be surprising that Jesus appears first to the women.

They are also the first to believe. “The Apostles and disciples find it harder to believe in the Risen Christ,” said Pope Francis early in his pontificate, “not the women, however!”
¹⁰
Pope Francis grasped this, but it may have been an uncomfortable truth in the largely patriarchal culture of the early church. But the role of Mary Magdalene in Christian history is undeniable.

The day that George and I visited Magdala, only a few minutes' drive from Capernaum on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, we were surprised by how modest the site was. The location of the town, whose name comes from the Aramaic
Migdal Nunia
(Fish Tower), has been in dispute, but until 1948 there had been a village called al-Majdal (Tower), which preserved the ancient name. Not long ago archaeologists unearthed remnants of a settlement from the time of Jesus, which included an ancient synagogue and, from a later date, a Byzantine monastery. Today in Jerusalem stands a great Russian Orthodox church dedicated to Magdala's most famous daughter. But in Galilee today, where a large modern church is dedicated to Peter, all Mary can claim is a dusty archaeological site. That may change in the future, but it is notable that, at least in Galilee, the one who is more honored is not the one who immediately believed in the Resurrection, but the one who didn't.

A
CCORDING TO THE
G
OSPEL
of John, early on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, alone, and sees that the stone has been removed.
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She races to see Peter and “the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved.” (Again, many believe that this is the evangelist himself, who does not mention his name out of humility, or that the writer of the Gospel was a follower of John, who didn't want his name in the story.)

Confused, Mary tells Peter that the body is gone. Peter and the other disciple race to the tomb. The other disciple arrives first, peers in, but does not enter. Peter arrives and, perhaps exercising his role as leader, enters the tomb and sees the burial cloths. Then the other disciple enters and “saw and believed.” (This account may reflect a subtle competition between two early Christian communities, one who followed Peter, the other John. Here John is depicted as the more believing disciple.) Then the disciples, oddly, return to their homes.

What about Mary? The Gospel of John tells us that she lingers outside the tomb, weeping. Some have pointed to this as a sign of her unwillingness to believe—as the Beloved Disciple had believed—but it may also betoken her great love for Jesus. John initially mentions her weeping twice:
klaiousa
(weeping),
eklaien
(as she wept). I am always reminded of Jesus's weeping at Lazarus's tomb. It is as if John wants to say, “See how much she loved him.”

As Mary weeps, she stoops into the tomb and sees two figures in white. Notice again that the angels have not appeared to Peter or the other disciple, who were just near the tomb, but to a woman. One angel asks her, “Woman, why are you weeping (
klaieis
)?” She answers, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”

Then Mary turns around. We can imagine her peering out of the darkness of the tomb into the dawn. She sees Jesus, but fails to recognize him. “Woman,” he says, “why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?” The Risen One understands her grief and seeks to help her, gently. Then comes a mysterious line: “Supposing him to be the gardener,” she says, “Sir (
kyrie
, Lord), if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

How can Mary Magdalene not recognize the man she had followed for so long? Was she so blinded by grief that she could not think clearly? Perhaps. Were her eyes filled with tears? Perhaps. After all, we are told three times that she was weeping. Or perhaps the position of her body provides a simpler explanation. Mary has stooped inside the tomb and, at the sound of Jesus's voice, peers out. So perhaps she is staring into the bright light of dawn, and Jesus's body is silhouetted against the light, making him hard to recognize.

Or is there a more theological explanation? The “glorified body,” never seen by human eyes before now, may be hard to comprehend, and even harder for the Gospels to describe. As Stanley Marrow, SJ, a New Testament scholar, aptly notes, “All the resurrection narratives necessarily share this strangeness, for what they recount is, strictly speaking, not of this world.”
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(More about that strangeness in the next chapter.) Whatever the explanation, Mary believes him to be the gardener.

Mary's confusion has given rise to an artistic tradition of portraying Mary addressing a Jesus who is dressed like a gardener, or at least carrying gardening tools. There is also a line of preaching that traces its roots to the early centuries of the church in which theologians and preachers speak of Jesus as the “gardener of the soul.” Jesus weeds out all that is evil and harmful from our lives and instead plants, as St. Gregory the Great says, “the flourishing seeds of virtue.”
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It is, to turn a phrase, a fruitful metaphor. How might we allow Jesus to till the soil of our soul and plant within us his life-giving words?

Mary's inability to recognize Jesus may stem from any of the reasons mentioned—grief, disbelief, or the more theological reason that his glorified body did not have the same appearance as did his earthly body. Or maybe she is just stunned by a dead man suddenly alive. Imagine one of your favorite relatives simply showing up at the grave. We can imagine her standing there motionless, waiting for an answer.

Then comes one of the tenderest passages in the whole Gospel: “Jesus said to her, ‘
Mariam
.' She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘
Rabbouni!
'”

The two words are preserved in Aramaic, transliterated into Greek.
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Jesus calls her by name—
Mariam
. She responds with the Aramaic word for rabbi—
Rabbouni
. Aramaic words, you'll remember, likely reach back to the lips of Jesus, and in this case, of Mary. Imagine her hearing that familiar voice speak her name. The experience would have been unforgettable, and she would have been sure to repeat those very words when she recounted the story, at first to the disciples, perhaps to the evangelist, and to anyone who would listen, probably until the day she died. Her own friends and circle of admirers would have treasured and preserved this Aramaic call and response:
Mariam . . . Rabbouni.

Not until Jesus speaks her name does Mary know him. At first, Mary couldn't recognize him, but she knew that distinctive voice with the Nazarean accent—the voice that called her into wholeness when it expelled whatever demons troubled her, the voice that welcomed her into his circle of friends, the voice that told her she was valued in the eyes of God, the voice that answered her questions, the voice that laughed over a meal, the voice that counseled her near the end of his earthly life, the voice that cried out in pain from the cross. Mary knew that voice because it was a voice that had spoken to her in love. Then she recognized who it was. Because sometimes seeing is not believing. Loving is.

We learn to recognize the voice of God in our lives, but often only gradually. St. Ignatius Loyola said that the voice of God can be recognized because it is uplifting, consoling, encouraging. In time we learn to listen for that voice in our hearts; it becomes easier to identify, and when we hear it clearly, it is easier to answer. It is the voice that calls us to be who we are meant to be. It is the voice that called Peter from the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Matthew from his tax collector's booth, Bartimaeus from the side of the road, Zacchaeus from the sycamore tree, and Mary Magdalene from whatever had kept her unfree. As Jesus says in the Gospel of John, he calls his sheep by name and they know his voice.
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Mary apparently reaches out to embrace Jesus, for he says, “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.'”

That strange utterance must have further baffled an already baffled Mary. Jesus is referring to the Ascension, when he will “ascend” to the Father in full view of the disciples. Somehow Jesus is not in a state where he can be touched—something that changes when Jesus later appears to the disciples. Later Jesus will demonstrate that he is corporeal by eating a fish before his friends and by saying to them, “Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”
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Jesus will even invite Thomas to probe the nail marks on his hands and his feet and the wound in his side, where a centurion thrust his lance during the Crucifixion. But not now.

“Do not hold on to me” may have another meaning. Jesus reminds the woman who loves him so much and who now wants only to embrace him that the more urgent task is to spread the Good News. As much as we want to cling, in a sense, to profound spiritual experiences, they are often given to us so that we might share them.

But Mary asks nothing about the Ascension. She has something else to do first. Jesus gives her a mission, and she immediately carries it out. She races to the disciples to proclaim, “I have seen the Lord” (
Eōraka ton kyrion
), and recounts all that she has seen. Thus my favorite title for Mary is not “prostitute” or “sinner” or even “female disciple,” but “Apostle to the Apostles.” She is the one sent to those who are sent. She announces the Good News to those who are to announce it.

Mary Magdalene reminds us that the most powerful tool for spreading the Good News is not knowledge, but experience. There is place for both in the Christian life, and scholarship and learning have provided inestimable riches for the faith. But the true disciple does not say simply, “I have studied Jesus,” but as Mary Magdalene did, “I have seen the Lord.”