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Mary Remembers
by Kate Hurley "She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she did not recognize him. 'Dear woman, why are you crying?' Jesus asked her. 'Who are you looking for?' She thought he was the gardener. 'Sir' she said "if you have taken him away, tell me where he is and I will go and get him.' 'Mary!' Jesus said. She turned to him and cried out 'Rabboni!'" John 20: 14-16 It was in the garden, near the tomb, where I was the first to see him risen. But I did not recognize him I had been weeping The tears blurring my eyes, my memories, my hope And so I did not recognize him. I didn't know who he was because I was overcome with grief My heart was somewhere else Remembering the first time that I saw him. It was in another garden. He looked like any other man But there was something in the way he moved A rhythm that you could feel when you were near him A weaving together of things that did not make sense He was so meek, so deeply gentle, and yet he his presence was fierce. You feared him, were overwhelmed by him, yet you were drawn to him, like fire. He was so beautiful that it hurt to look at him, like love. He called out my name before I even told him what it was. Mary And when the name came from his lips It was as if I heard it for the first time As if he was calling it out on the day I was born Before my wounds And my sadness And my harlotry. Before my name had been spoken on dozens of men's lips Who loved themselves in my presence But never loved me. He spoke my name for the first time And the name fell from his lips Like the waters covering the seas. And I knew I knew that the name he really meant was Beautiful. "Do you know me?" I asked "Yes Mary, I have always known you," he answered. From then on, I didn't leave his side All I wanted to do was be near him For he saw me lovely And he called me beloved Slowly, in his presence, I was remembering who I was Who I was always meant to be. When others looked to him as the future king Who would rescue them from their slavery and make them powerful I saw him and knew That he had already rescued me from my slavery. I didn't need anything more than that. I wanted to give him something back. Something precious Not just a physical outward thing But something that resided in my heart I wanted to show him that I believed Not what the world said about me But what he said about me I chose the night Jesus ate at the Pharisees house I burst through the door with no invitation, As I knew I would never be welcome In a place such as this. But I had to come I had to see him. Just as I suspected, as soon as I came through the door, They called me harlot, sinner But I didn't even hear their words Because my Jesus was there. And all I could hear Was his voice calling my name Just as he did on the day that we met. I held the gift I had, the flask of oil, before him I said "I am broken, I have so little to give to you." He said "Vessels must be broken to pour out an offering." So in my brokenness made beautiful I broke the alabaster jar I poured out the oil, I kissed his feet I covered him with tears. As I did this, the Pharisees whispered "If he was a prophet he would know that she is a whore." He stood up and looked at them. Steadily, but with indignation, he said "Her name is not whore. Her name is not worthless or wretched or broken, as so many people have called her. Her name is Mary." He stood me up and looked me in the eyes. He said "You have been forgiven much. That's why you love so much. Your sins have been forgiven." I didn't deserve this kind of love. But I knew that he didn't care if I deserved it or not He wanted to give it to me. He said something to them about how When the good news was told My story would be told as well As a remembrance. What could he have meant? On the day Jesus died, one of the disciples told me That he had washed each of their feet the night before. Imagine- the most powerful man on earth Bending low Making himself a servant Showing that power is not found In bloodied battles and kingdoms conquered. It is found in a quiet strength That pours out forgiveness when forgiveness is not deserved. Demonstrating that love is a better way. I couldn't help but wonder If he thought of me when he washed their feet. If my gift had made an impression on him. If this was somehow a remembrance of what I had done. I pondered all of these things as I stood here, In the garden near the tomb But now my Savior, my Beloved, my Hope Had been nailed to a cross three days before. All that I had left was the memory of this beautiful man All that I could do was to mourn him well. So I brought the oil again. Another flask, another offering. And in my grief, I did not recognize the man in the garden, asking why I was weeping Until he said my name. Mary. And my eyes were opened. This was Jesus Risen from the dead. He could have chosen anyone to reveal his resurrection to. He could have chosen a king, for he could tell the world of Jesus' power He could have chosen a religious leader, for that is what everyone expected But he chose me. The poor whore That he called beautiful Who had been forgiven so much So very much That she had learned how to love. He chose me to remind the world That he reveals mysteries And lavishes love On the ones that have been called Broken, sinner, worthless. He calls us by our real name. The same is true for all of us. The infinite became flesh He died He rose again All so that we could remember who we are All so he can look past our sin And call us Beautiful. -Kate Hurley Easter 2014 Mary Remembers "She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she did not recognize him. 'Dear woman, why are you crying?' Jesus asked her. 'Who are you looking for?' She thought he was the gardener. 'Sir' she said "if you have taken him away, tell me where he is and I will go and get him.' 'Mary!' Jesus said. She turned to him and cried out 'Rabboni!'" John 20: 14-16 It was in the garden, near the tomb, where I was the first to see him risen. But I did not recognize him I had been weeping The tears blurring my eyes, my memories, my hope And so I did not recognize him. I didn't know who he was because I was overcome with grief My heart was somewhere else Remembering the first time that I saw him. It was in another garden. He looked like any other man But there was something in the way he moved A rhythm that you could feel when you were near him A weaving together of things that did not make sense He was so meek, so deeply gentle, and yet he his presence was fierce. You feared him, were overwhelmed by him, yet you were drawn to him, like fire. He was so beautiful that it hurt to look at him, like love. He called out my name before I even told him what it was. Mary And when the name came from his lips It was as if I heard it for the first time As if he was calling it out on the day I was born Before my wounds And my sadness And my harlotry. Before my name had been spoken on dozens of men's lips Who loved themselves in my presence But never loved me. He spoke my name for the first time And the name fell from his lips Like the waters covering the seas. And I knew I knew that the name he really meant was Beautiful. "Do you know me?" I asked "Yes Mary, I have always known you," he answered. From then on, I didn't leave his side All I wanted to do was be near him For he saw me lovely And he called me beloved Slowly, in his presence, I was remembering who I was Who I was always meant to be. When others looked to him as the future king Who would rescue them from their slavery and make them powerful I saw him and knew That he had already rescued me from my slavery. I didn't need anything more than that. I wanted to give him something back. Something precious Not just a physical outward thing But something that resided in my heart I wanted to show him that I believed Not what the world said about me But what he said about me I chose the night Jesus ate at the Pharisees house I burst through the door with no invitation, As I knew I would never be welcome In a place such as this. But I had to come I had to see him. Just as I suspected, as soon as I came through the door, They called me harlot, sinner But I didn't even hear their words Because my Jesus was there. And all I could hear Was his voice calling my name Just as he did on the day that we met. I held the gift I had, the flask of oil, before him I said "I am broken, I have so little to give to you." He said "Vessels must be broken to pour out an offering." So in my brokenness made beautiful I broke the alabaster jar I poured out the oil, I kissed his feet I covered him with tears. As I did this, the Pharisees whispered "If he was a prophet he would know that she is a whore." He stood up and looked at them. Steadily, but with indignation, he said "Her name is not whore. Her name is not worthless or wretched or broken, as so many people have called her. Her name is Mary." He stood me up and looked me in the eyes. He said "You have been forgiven much. That's why you love so much. Your sins have been forgiven." I didn't deserve this kind of love. But I knew that he didn't care if I deserved it or not He wanted to give it to me. He said something to them about how When the good news was told My story would be told as well As a remembrance. What could he have meant? On the day Jesus died, one of the disciples told me That he had washed each of their feet the night before. Imagine- the most powerful man on earth Bending low Making himself a servant Showing that power is not found In bloodied battles and kingdoms conquered. It is found in a quiet strength That pours out forgiveness when forgiveness is not deserved. Demonstrating that love is a better way. I couldn't help but wonder If he thought of me when he washed their feet. If my gift had made an impression on him. If this was somehow a remembrance of what I had done. I pondered all of these things as I stood here, In the garden near the tomb But now my Savior, my Beloved, my Hope Had been nailed to a cross three days before. All that I had left was the memory of this beautiful man All that I could do was to mourn him well. So I brought the oil again. Another flask, another offering. And in my grief, I did not recognize the man in the garden, asking why I was weeping Until he said my name. Mary. And my eyes were opened. This was Jesus Risen from the dead. He could have chosen anyone to reveal his resurrection to. He could have chosen a king, for he could tell the world of Jesus' power He could have chosen a religious leader, for that is what everyone expected But he chose me. The poor whore That he called beautiful Who had been forgiven so much So very much That she had learned how to love. He chose me to remind the world That he reveals mysteries And lavishes love On the ones that have been called Broken, sinner, worthless. He calls us by our real name. The same is true for all of us. The infinite became flesh He died He rose again All so that we could remember who we are All so he can look past our sin And call us Beautiful. ***You can reach me through www.katehurley.com. Just hit the contact button. Kate Hurley is a writer, worship leader, and teacher. She writes the popular blog The Sexy Celibate and wrote a book called Cupid is a Procrastinator: Making Sense of the Unexpected Single Life. The mission statement of her life is "To paint an accurate picture of a passionate God." Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |