My very favorite story in all of Scripture is John’s retelling of Mary Magdalene encountering the risen Jesus in the garden after leaving the empty tomb the morning of the Resurrection. A grieving and heartbroken Mary assumes the man inquiring about her well-being (”Woman, why are you weeping….”) is the gardener, and she begs of him to tell her where he has taken the body of her beloved Jesus…
“Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him and I will take Him away.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
She turned and said to Him, “Rabbonni!”, (which is to say, Teacher).…and John’s words give the impression that she runs to embrace Him.

As a little girl, my eyes would well with tears as my mother’s sweet voice spoke, as Jesus did, Mary’s name. She would lower her voice to almost-a-whisper, say, “Mary…”, and then let the sound of Mary’s name gently trail off. “Mary…” ~~ I can hear it now. Just this past week, my mom, remembering how that story would make me cry, sent me an e-mail asking if it still did. When Noelle, my now almost-22 year old daughter, was very small, my mother read her that passage of Scripture, and told her how it would always bring tears to my eyes. Later that week, my mother found this note, written in Noelle’s child-like printing, safely tucked into John, chapter 20: “Read verse 16 to mom.” Apparently, Noelle wanted to see for herself.

What is it about that passage of Scripture that makes me weep, and has for as long as I can remember? As I’ve grown, I’ve realized that, at least in John’s retelling, Jesus didn’t softly speak Mary’s name as my mother did when she read it to me. There’s an exclamation point after it in the translations I read most-frequently (I haven’t checked all of them), indicating excitement, or perhaps volume. Maybe Jesus shouted her name ~ “MARY!!” ~ to shake her from her grief, much like when you see someone slap another person in the face to bring them back from the brink of hysteria. Maybe He said it to her in the same way I would say my children’s names when they parade across a freshly-mopped floor with their dirty shoes on - you know, that “you-gotta-be-kidding-me” kind of way. “Mary!”, as if to say,”For Pete’s sake woman ~ its ME.” Maybe John only added the emphasis because that is how Mary told the story to him. He wasn’t there - he only had Mary’s words. Maybe it was Mary that added the excitement in her retelling that caused John to want to do the same in his. Who knows? Does it matter? “Mary!”, or “Mary…” ~~ He still spoke her name. And that is what moves me.

We are instructed in Scripture to “claim the name of Jesus” ~~ when tempted, when angry, when scared, and when broken-hearted. But what does it mean for us when God claims our name ~ when God speaks our own name to us? “Barbara!”, or even softly, “Barbara…..”

I can so relate to Mary, on so many different levels, but this remains my favorite story of her in Scripture. She is so overcome with grief, her eyes so blurry with tears, that not only does she not remember her Lord’s promise of the third day, but when face-to-face with Him, she still does not remember, or see…until He speaks her name. I picture her begging this “stranger” to tell her where he has taken her precious friend. I hear her cries. I feel her tears. I know her pain. She just simply needs to know what has happened. The last three days have made no sense to her (despite His teachings) and now, on top of everything else, He is gone. Her Savior is gone. Her friend is gone. I’ve sooooo been there…

Why doesn’t he want me?
Why did I lose my baby?
Why did she die?
Why can’t my family understand?
My spirit is defeated.
My heart is broken.
The road is not clear.
I don’t understand.
Why me?

Those circumstances in my own life have evoked in me the same sense of bewilderment and pain that I believe Mary must have felt all those early mornings ago. “Why did this happen?”; “What is going on?”; “Where is He?”. Many sleepless nights, and early mornings, have accompanied the times in my life when I have asked those same questions. I’ve come to “the tomb”, time and time again, on many-a dark and early morning, only to end up crying out to strangers, and to a seemingly invisible void, “Where is my God?! Where have you taken Him - just tell me where He is!”….

And only to hear, time and time again, “Barbara….”

“Barbara…”

Is there a sweeter sound anywhere than that of the Savior, calling you by name?