John 20:1-18
April 9, 2023 - Easter
Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
The little girl stood at a distance. Her mother’s words still echoing in her ears from when she had left the house, “Don’t dawdle!” She had a habit of lingering. Showing up. Watching. Wondering. Staying even when she wasn’t quite sure why.
And today was no different. The little girl heard her mother calling, “Miriam! Miriam? Where are you? I told you to hurry back!”
And still, the little girl stayed. She stood by the edge of the water, tucked back into the reeds. No one could see her, she was sure, and so she was safe.
But her baby brother was not safe. That, she was sure of.
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, her mother had made a little basket for him and placed him in it. That morning as the girl had gone out for the day her mother said, “Don’t dawdle!” but now, here she was, lingering at the edge of the river. Because her baby brother was IN the river. Floating along in that basket. Where was he going? What was happening? Nothing made sense.
Miriam, ignoring her mother’s calls, quietly and deftly followed the little basket down the river.
Her brother! Her baby brother! She couldn’t let him out of her sight. She loved him. Oh, how she loved him! His little, toothless grin. The way his eyes lit up as he watched her dance and play. The sweet, soft sounds he made as he slept - little grunts and coos. And his smell - like freshly baked bread and rich, earthy soil - somehow all rolled into one.
Where was he going? What was happening? She couldn’t just LEAVE him!
And so she lingered with a watchful eye. She didn’t know quite what to DO, she just knew she couldn’t LEAVE. As he floated further and further away from the safety of their home, her eyes began to fill with tears. What would happen to him? She couldn’t save him. She was scared, confused, angry, and so very sad.
Through her tears she saw a woman appear at the side of the river. Hand over her eyes, the woman squinted into the sun and looked at the floating basket. She called out to her companion and before Miriam knew what was happening, the baby was drawn up and out of the water. “This must be one of the Hebrews’ babies,” she overheard the woman say. Miriam recognized her as the Pharaoh's daughter and tucked back further into her hiding place, not wanting to get in trouble. But then, impulsively, she stepped out from the reeds. With a shaking voice she said, “Shall I go and get one of the Hebrew women who can nurse him for you?”
“Yes,” said the woman, holding the basket somewhat awkwardly. “Please. That would be helpful.”
Miriam ran as fast as her little legs could carry her - all the way home. “Mother! Mother!” she cried out, breathless. And the whole story came tumbling out. Together, they ran back to the baby and the stranger holding him. The Pharaoh's daughter asked if Miriam’s mother would be willing to nurse the baby - she would pay her good money.
And that is how Miriam, her mother, and their baby came to be snuggled in together at home that night. As she blew the candle out, Miriam’s mother looked at her young daughter with thanksgiving and puzzlement. “You know,” she said, “Your name means rebellion. Earlier today, when I couldn’t find you I was worried. I told you not to dawdle when you went out. And then I called for you and called for you and couldn’t find you. You’ve always been a rebellious child. Perhaps it’s my fault for giving you that name,” she laughed.
Miriam nestled in tight next to her mother, nuzzling her face against her arm. And the three of them drifted off to sleep. Jochebed, the mother, whose name means “God’s glory.” Miriam, the Rebel who would grow up to be a prophet. And the baby, who would come to be known as Moses, meaning “drawn out of the water.”
And this, my friends, is how a story that should have been an ending turned into a story that was actually a beginning, instead.
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Many centuries later there was another named Miriam. Another rebel, you might say. This one was not a little girl, but a fully grown woman. The stories that have been passed down about her are convoluted, perhaps even intentionally confusing. It seems that some of our faith ancestors may have been uncomfortable with this Miriam’s strength and the role she played among the early followers of Jesus. And so stories about her may have been altered here and there to obscure the fullness of Miriam’s life. [1]
Miriam means “rebellion” but it has also been said to mean “bitter sea” and this Miriam’s life was certainly full of hardship. We are told that when she first met Jesus he cast seven demons out of her. [2] Perhaps her gratitude for that act of salvation was what led to the unshakable, towering love she had for him.
Miriam also means “strong waters,” “exhalted one,” and “ruler.” Because there are so many women in our sacred texts named Miriam, Maria, Mary - this particular Miriam was known as Miriam the Magdalene. Or as we more commonly know her, Mary Magdalene. It’s unclear if “Magdalene” was a reference to her place of origin or a title. Biblical scholars have noted that the place she was purported to be from was not called Magdala in the first century. And some of the earliest writings we have use Magdalene as a title. It means “Tower.” And so, some believe that just as we have Simon Peter the Rock, we also have Mary Magdalene the Tower. In our various gospel accounts, these two apostles - Simon the Rock and Mary the Tower - had the distinction of being the ones who named Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah. [3]
Which brings us back to our second Miriam - Mary Magdalene, Rebellious Tower. As you might expect, the accounts of that first Easter are jumbled and weird and a bit incoherent. There are different people present in all four gospels. In some versions we have angels, in others earthquakes. In some the first witnesses are shocked into silence and in others they run and tell their friends - who sometimes believe them and sometimes don’t. The ONE consistency in all four gospels is Mary the Tower. She is there every single time.
In John’s gospel she’s there doing what rebellious women have always done best - pushing the bounds of appropriate behavior. We are told that she arrives at Jesus’s tomb in the dark of night - alone. [4] We can imagine her mother whispering to her as she left under the cover of night, “Miriam! Don’t dawdle!” Or perhaps, a while later, her mother went out into the dark streets frantically looking for her rebellious daughter, ““Miriam? Miriam! Where are you? I told you to hurry back!”
But Miriam did not hurry back.
Instead, she lingered. Ignoring the cries of her mother, she sought out her beloved friend. She wasn’t quite sure what she would do when she got there but she just knew in her bones that she had to go to the tomb. She had to stay close. She loved him so. The way his eyes sparkled when he told stories. The way he always said the unexpected. The kind look in his eyes when he gently corrected friends who missed the mark. His insistence on feeding any and everyone who came near. The way he listened to her. The way she felt completely loved in his presence. She missed him so much already.
Her love for her friend was so overpowering that she lingered. She stayed.
When she reached the tomb and found the stone rolled away, confusion descended like a slap in the face. Where had her friend’s body gone? What was happening? Nothing made sense.
Stumbling backwards, she ran to find the others. “Help!” she cried out, “They’ve taken our Lord out of the tomb and we don’t know where they’ve put him!” Two of the other disciples ran back with her to Jesus’s tomb. Sticking their heads inside and seeing the burial cloths empty and folded neatly, they concurred with Mary that the body was missing. They did not linger. They went home.
But Mary - but Mary! - Mary lingered. She did not have the answers. She did not understand what was going on. She was worried about her beloved friend. What would happen to him now? She couldn’t save him. She was scared, confused, angry, and so very sad.
And so she did what most of us do in our times of great loss and confusion. She wept. A bitter sea of tears fell from her eyes. And through her tears she saw two angels sitting where Jesus’s body had been. “Woman, why are you weeping?” they said. She responded, “They have taken away my Lord and I do not know where they have laid him.”
And when she said this, she turned and saw Jesus standing there, but she didn’t recognize him. She thought he was the gardener instead. “Woman, why are you weeping?” he asked. Pulling herself upwards, she grew in stature. Mary, the Tower, spoke again, this time with more authority, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him and I will go there and take him away!”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.” And something about hearing her own name from Jesus’s lips unlocked absolutely everything in her. This rebellious, strong, bitter, exalted tower of a woman looked into his eyes and recognized him. “Teacher!” she exclaimed.
The two friends sat and talked for a while. They lingered. As the sun rose, clarity dawned in her heart. Mary’s tears, that bitter sea, dried up. Her love, her grief, her confusion - they had led her to this place. They had cracked her heart, mind, and soul wide open. And she had ears to hear. When she was finished listening, she did as she was told. “Go and tell the others,” Jesus said.
And so Mary the Tower became the “apostle to the apostles,” going to the others and telling them, “I have seen the Lord.”
The end was not the end after all.
In love, in lingering, in longing - space was created for possibility, new life, a clearer hope to emerge.
And this, my friends, is how a story that should have been an ending turned into a story that was actually a beginning, instead.
Happy Easter, beloveds. Alleluia, Christ is Risen. Christ is Risen, indeed.
NOTES:
[1] https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/mary-the-tower
[2] Luke 8
[3] If you’d like to do a deep dive on the Magdalene you could read these, in addition to the Diana Butler Bass sermon above.
[4] This week I listened to the Bible Worm podcast and LOVED the connection that Rabbi Amy Robertson made between Mary’s journey to the tomb in the dark of night and chapter 3 of the Song of Songs. In the Song, the Shulammite is so desperate to be with her lover that she goes out into the city at night - a dangerous place for a young woman to be unaccompanied. But her love for him is so passionate that she acts in an improper manner. Perhaps Mary Magdalene at night echoes this rebellious streak in the Shulammite.
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