embracing grace in the midst of motherhood
The ones to break
news of Jesus’ resurrection
were the women —
Mary Magdalene, Joanna,
Mary, the mother of James
Jesus approached them in the garden
when the women spoke out
some did not believe them
Even now, women speak truth
and many refuse to accept it
My most sacred confessions
have been to women
When I was dead inside,
women resurrected me.
They said I believe you
It wasn’t your fault
You are good
I couldn’t believe in myself
but I believed them.
One of my favorite Bible stories is that of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb. Her grief still fresh and sharp, she believes a visit to Jesus’ burial site promises a private space to mourn.
But when Mary arrives, the stone has been rolled away. The perfume still lingers, but the grave is empty, save for a couple angels. They ask her why she weeps. “They have taken away my Lord,” Mary sobs, hot tears flooding her cheeks.
Nearby a gardener lingers. Mary rushes toward him and begs him for answers. Then, and this is what makes my heart catch every time, the supposed gardener — Jesus — calls Mary by her name. She hears his tender voice, turns to him and cries out, “Rabbouni!” (Teacher.) Jesus is alive; he has risen! Mary sprints to spread the good news.
This moment at the tomb defies all logic and reason and sense. Yet I cling to the resurrection promise because I need Jesus — the master gardener whose radical, inclusive love nourishes new life — alive in my heart today.
If we listen and look closely, signs of the resurrection abound: in the verdant moss covering a fallen tree trunk, the friends who call us by name and hoist us out of depression, in all our endings that offer a fresh beginning.
God, give me eyes for Easter now and all my tomorrows. Alleluia. Amen.
Erin Strybis 