He’s alive. I’ve seen Him!
Mary the mother of James, Salome, and Mary Magdalene arrived at the tomb early in the morning. The stone sealing the entrance had been rolled away. Inside they found an angel who declared, “Do not be afraid. Why do you look for the living among the dead? Jesus is not here. He has risen” (Matt 28:5-6).
Mary and Salome fled, trembling and bewildered, not telling anyone what happened. But Mary Magdalene immediately ran to find the disciples.
Did you ever wonder how she would tell her story? Let’s take a few moments and wonder together …
I remember that morning, running back from the empty tomb, rushing to where the disciples were staying. As I think about it now, I’m surprised I didn’t trip and fall down. How did I keep my balance? My heart was exploding. I seemed to be running and falling at the same time. I was shouting and crying and laughing. My lungs were pounding at my throat. I couldn’t breathe.
My Lord, my Savior was alive. Jesus was alive! I had to find the disciples. I had to tell Peter. Where was John? They’re going to be thrilled.
He’s alive!
Only three days earlier, I had stood there watching him die, hanging on that cross like a common thief. Beaten and battered. Torn and cut and crushed like a slaughtered lamb.
They mocked him and ridiculed him, shouting, “You saved others. Come down from there and save yourself.”
And they laughed at him. “Behold, king of the Jews!”
All he ever did was love them. What was he guilty of? He healed them. He gave them mercy … and forgiveness.
The same love and mercy and forgiveness he gave me the first time I saw him.
Oh, I knew what everyone said about me. They whispered loud enough to make sure I could hear. When they avoided me, when they frowned and twisted their heads away, when they scrunched up their noses, I tried to torment them even more. There may have been seven demons in me, but those demons attacked as one, not allowing any peace and quiet when I was around.
Yes, they talked about me. They still talk about me. Every bad thing that happens … every secret scandal … every rumor … every time they think something is inappropriate, I get blamed. “It was Mary. She’s possessed. She’s nothing but trouble.”
Then Jesus came along.
He came to our little town, Magdala, on the western shore of Galilee. We had been hearing stories about him for months. He was traveling from town to town, teaching the crowds and healing the sick. In Capernaum he told a paralyzed man to pick up his mat and go home. The man got up and walked away as everyone watched, amazed. Jesus healed leprosy; he gave sight to blind eyes. In Sidon, a deaf man’s ears were opened allowing him to hear and speak plainly.
So when Jesus came through Magdala everyone quickly crowded around to get close to him. He walked right toward me. I moved back, trying to give him room to pass by, but I stumbled and fell down. He stopped.
I could see his feet. My eyes darted around. People were moving back, gasping and mumbling. I looked up and saw his outstretched hand reaching down to me. His eyes were kind and calm.
He spoke my name: “Mary.”
I reached up and opened my hand. He took it and pulled me up. He lifted me out of my torment. I was free and forgiven. Jesus gave me new life.
After that some women and I followed him and his disciples, helping out whenever we could, listening to every word he said, watching the miracles, right up until … that cross and the nails and those soldiers and …
As Mary, Salome, and I walked to the tomb on that cold, dark morning I felt so abandoned and lost. It’s still a blur really. The stone was rolled back; the tomb was empty; there were angels. They said to tell his disciples and Peter. I went running to get them. Peter and John raced back to the tomb. I finally caught up to them as they were walking out of it. They just kept walking away.
Suddenly I was alone.
Two men appeared and asked why I was crying. I told them I didn’t know what had happened to my Lord.
They must have gone to get the gardener because he came and asked me who I was looking for. At least … I thought he was the gardener.
I turned back to the tomb, fell down crying, and pleaded with him to tell me where they took Jesus. And then …
And then he spoke my name: “Mary.”
I turned and looked up. My eyes squinted; my head tilted. I closed my eyes and opened them, blinking. Was it?
It was Him. It was Jesus. He told me to go and tell his disciples.
He’s alive. He has risen. I’ve seen Him!
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