When was the last time something completely unexpected overwhelmed you? For me it was just a couple of days ago. While making dessert for a family gathering a knock came to the door. The one person I longed to see more than anyone else at that moment was standing on my porch. Not anticipating their arrival, I collapsed in their arms, sobbing, overwhelmed by their presence. Tears of joy and love that they had come.
I can't get past Christ's one word today. Actually, any and every word from Jesus should always grab our attention with the same force, but just think about it. In the middle of grieving with unimaginable loss and agony, Jesus speaks her name.
Seconds prior to Mary's encounter with Christ her emotions must have been overwhelming. Death brings such heartache. I know that as believers we do not grieve as those without hope, but that doesn't deny the pain of temporary separation. Jesus was crucified. Mary watched him die. We cannot live in a broken world and not feel grief, and yet we are prone to fight this emotion, often identifying it as a weakness instead of recognizing it as honest sorrow.
We don't do death a favour with attempts to minimize its impact. In fact, so fearful of it, we rephrase its finality with words like "passing" or "moving on". We want to soften its blow in a ridiculous effort to pretend its collision with our every breath isn't as tragic. We publicly portray that we have accepted the loss, and as believers, we chorus declarations of being reunited one day. Truthful words, but at that moment they are betraying a soul in need.
Being at the foot of the cross days before, watching Jesus excruciating execution would stir in her heart the worst pain imaginable. As a mother of a son, I can't write these words without tears flowing. I feel the depth of this so deeply. Although Mary Magdalene's life testified of her obedience and trust in God, she was human. The Friend she treasured was gone.
Coming to the tomb that day, the unwanted companion of grief accompanied her. She just wanted, no needed, to be near the last place where Jesus had been alive. She was compelled to be close. Love cleaves. Her deep, deep sorrow speaks of a great, great affection. Mary's heartache didn't mean she was hopeless, it simply meant she was hurting. "Lament is how we worship when we're asking why." (Steve Smith, Highpoint Church)
Attempts to numb the pain of grief are fruitless. We may have temporary success as we hide in activity, work, busyness and a variety of other futile substitutions, but at some point we have to acknowledge the loss and come face to face with our feelings.
Then the sound of His voice. One word. "Mary". A moment forever remembered in her heart. Instead of identifying Himself, He revealed who she was to Him. She knew without any doubt who spoke her name. Who her eyes failed to see, her ears perceived. As Spurgeon writes, "Mary" became a one-word sermon, confirming death to life of her Saviour, and also resurrection of her own heart. In that instant everything changed. He called out her name.
I wonder how His voice sounded as he spoke life back into her loss. What tone did He use? There's nothing like hearing a friend speak your name. With tenderness and devotion He calls her by name. Nothing more. It's just a name, but it's her name.
Christ still makes Himself known by His word. Continuing to see our sorrow, He will unexpectedly enter our day calling out our names. Listen. His sheep hear His voice.
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