Easter, Day 3: Why Are You Weeping?

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. . . . [She] stood weeping. . . .

As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb, and she saw two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus.

Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”

Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “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 in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher).

Jesus said to her, “. . . Go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord,” and she told them that he had said these things to her.

—John 20:1, 11–18

LOOK: ‘Woman, Why Are You Weeping?’ by Rebekah Pryor

Pryor, Rebekah_Woman, Why Are You Weeping
Rebekah Pryor, ‘Woman, Why Are You Weeping?’, 2016. Pigment on archival cotton rag, 60 × 59 cm.

Dr. Rebekah Pryor [previously] is a visual artist, curator, scholar, and member of Australian Collaborators in Feminist Theologies. In this photograph of hers, she poses as Mary Magdalene in the garden of the resurrection at the moment when the risen Christ appears to her. Having wept copious tears, represented by the mounds of salt in front of her, Mary kneels in the soil as she converses with this man whom she at first supposes to be the gardener. Pryor writes that “dawn light and the horizon of regrowth suggest the possibility of ‘a new heaven and a new earth’ in which death, dying, mourning and crying will be no more (Revelation 21:1-5).”

LISTEN: “Still Thy Sorrow, Magdalena!” | Original Latin words (title: “Pone luctum Magdalena”) attributed to Adam of St. Victor, 12th century; English translation by Edward A. Washburn, 1868 | Music by Jon Green, 2023 | Performed on Resurrect, vol. 2, a Cardiphonia Music compilation

Still thy sorrow, Magdalena!
Wipe the teardrops from thine eyes;
Not at Simon’s board thou kneelest,
Pouring thy repentant sighs.
All with thy glad heart rejoices;
All things sing, with happy voices,
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Laugh with rapture, Magdalena!
Be thy drooping forehead bright:
Banished now is every anguish,
Breaks anew thy morning light.
Christ from death the world hath freed;
He is risen, is risen indeed:
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Joy! exult, O Magdalena!
For he hath burst the rocky prison.
Ended are the days of darkness:
Conqueror hath he arisen.
Mourn no more the Christ departed;
Run to welcome him, glad-hearted:
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Lift thine eyes, O Magdalena!
See! thy living Master stands;
See his face, as ever, smiling;
See those wounds upon his hands,
On his feet, his sacred side—
Gems that deck the Glorified:
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Live, now live, O Magdalena!

This medieval Easter hymn was retuned by Jon Green, a Texan living in Edinburgh, Scotland, as part of a Cardiphonia project spearheaded by Bruce Benedict to bring new life to some of the old texts found in Resurgit: A Collection of Hymns and Songs of the Resurrection (Boston, 1879). The lyrics follow a longstanding tradition in the church of conflating the identities of two Marys in the Gospels (Mary of Magdala and Mary of Bethany) and that of the “sinful woman” in Luke 7; all three women become Mary Magdalene, characterized as a penitent who scandalously anoints Christ’s feet with expensive perfume and her own tears during a supper at the house of Simon the Pharisee.

None of the Gospels indicates that this anointer was Mary Magdalene. (Matthew, Mark, and Luke do not name her at all, and John identifies her as the sister of Lazarus and Martha.) But popular tradition ascribes to Mary Magdalene this role—hence the references in the first stanza of the hymn.

What we do know, though, is that Mary Magdalene came early Sunday morning to Jesus’s tomb with the intention of anointing his body, only to find the tomb empty. John 20 is, I think, one of the most glorious chapters in all of scripture. John’s is the only Gospel that recounts Mary’s intimate encounter with the postresurrection Jesus. He tells us that she is distraught over the absence of Jesus’s body, which she presumes someone moved to some unknown location. She had wanted to say her proper goodbyes—he had been taken so suddenly—and, as a gesture of honor, to finish the job of treating his corpse with myrrh and aloes that had been hastily performed by Joseph and Nicodemus on Friday. Now unable to do either, she weeps.

It’s then that Jesus comes to her, alive and in the flesh, revealing himself as her Lord and as conqueror of the grave. He bids her to weep no more.

The gladness of this moment is palpable in the hymn text by Adam of St. Victor. “Laugh with rapture, Magdalena! . . . Joy! exult . . . ! . . . Live, now live.” We are called to do the same.

Easter, Day 7: Creation Blooms Anew

LOOK: Magnolias by Stanley Spencer

Spencer, Stanley_Magnolias
Stanley Spencer (British, 1891–1959), Magnolias, 1938. Oil on canvas, 22 × 26 in. (56 × 66 cm). Private collection.

LISTEN: “Creation Blooms Anew” by Nick Chambers, 2020

Again your Spirit sweeps,
a wind over the deep;
a new creation now arrives
to rouse us from our sleep.

The breath of heaven brings
the long-awaited spring
into the fields and seas and skies
and every barren thing.

Refrain:
Creation blooms anew
in fresh and joyful hue.
In Christ’s arising all things rise
to draw their breath from you.

Awaken by the sound
of forging swords into plows.
Come fill the Garden with your light,
and we will till the ground.

The earth is being cleared
for heaven to come near.
From every depth an eager sigh
is all that we can hear. [Refrain]

Nick Chambers [previously] is the worship pastor at Church of the Incarnation in Atlanta and a singer-songwriter whose debut album, Great Cloud, released last year. “Creation Blooms Anew” is not part of that LP, but he shared it on YouTube in 2020. It was inspired by a hymn of Adam of St. Victor, a major Latin-language poet from twelfth-century France:

Earth blooms afresh in joyous dyes;
In Christ’s arising all things rise;
A solemn joy o’er nature lies;
Alleluia!

Now peace the sea, the sky doth fill;
Heav’n’s breath wakes fair each vale and hill;
Spring pours through barren hearts and chill;
Alleluia!

Life wins from death the glorious prey;
The cherub’s sword is turned away,
And Eden’s paths are free today;
Alleluia!

Trans. A. M. E., 1884

Memories of his family’s first Easter in Atlanta in 2017 also influenced the song. “More than anything I remember the magnolia flowers,” Chambers said, “bright white and big as our baby’s head. The branches bent with the weight of them, swinging like bells welcoming us into a new home, a new season of life.”

Chambers reflects further on the image of flowering:

Norman Wirzba, in one of his many reflections on gardening, writes, “It is significant that the material context for creation and for redemption should be a garden, for it is precisely through gardening that we most experience ourselves as created beings, as beings tied to a magnificent creation and to God. . . . [The writer of Genesis 2] is clear that we become authentic and truly fulfill our vocation as we learn to care for the garden which is creation itself.” He continues, “Gardens have long been a place of spiritual nourishment, because it is here that we can sense the vivifying and gracious power of the creator at work in the creation. Without much help from us, and sometimes in spite of our worst efforts, we can plainly see that we are in the presence of a life- and death-wielding power that overcomes and envelops us all” (The Paradise of God, 117).

In the beginning, God creates humanity to till the ground in a garden. Christ suffers anguish and grief in a garden, then to be resurrected in a garden and even mistaken for its caretaker. The story comes to its endless ending in a garden—steady streams in the shade of trees thick with healing leaves. We live from this past into this future, ourselves like flowers nourished by soil and bending toward the sun. Here and now, Easter invites us into this vision, into the wild surprises of spring to be both gardeners and the garden itself.