I am called Mary the Magdalene. I know it's a strange name.

It's only because I come from Magdala (mag-da-la),

an important Gentile town, 

on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee.

It’s a city of considerable wealth and business,

known for its fishing, ship-building and agriculture.

I am a professional woman, myself engaged in trade,

I know the business of the streets,

how to barter and buy with the best of them.

The scoundrels try to take advantage and cheat me;

they say I have no business in the marketplace--

just because I am a woman, an outsider...

all except for one, who invited me to follow him,

Jesus the Teacher.

I follow him, I support his work, I give money to his cause,

I'll go anywhere with Jesus,

to the river Jordan, or the hills in Judea,

even to the towns of Samaria, or the shores of Genessaret (Ga-ness-a-ret.

I give him sound financial advice:

"don't trust Judas; his money-keeping records are suspicious.

Why don't you save for retirement and old age?"

But they all say, don't listen to Mary the Magdalene;

what does she know; she's only a foolish Gentile woman.

There's only one who's Friend to all, Jesus of Nazareth.

Everyone I meet in the streets stares at me;

don't think that I cannot hear what they are whispering about me.

They gossip about my town's unsavory reputation;

the Jews murmur about all that prostitution,

and they say I am one of them...all rumors and lies!

I'll pay them no attention and give them no satisfaction.

They say these things because I am a sensuous girl,

Mary the Magdalene, an unmarried lady

who wears her hair long, and jewelry about her arms,

defying their silly customs and laws to rule over women.

But secretly, in their hearts, all those Jewish men

would like to be my friend and ardent companion.

But now I am a follower of just one Man,

Jesus, the Holy One.

I must admit, I have a past--

it's no secret; I don't try to hide my life.

I once was much depressed, I had no purpose for which to live.

I had fits of anger, I threw my money away on wasteful schemes.

I wandered about in the streets and walked along the beach;

people kept their distance then--

They all said, "that Mary the Magdalene, she's a crazy one!

I heard it said, from those of good repute,

She's possessed of seven demons; she's the devil's woman!"

But that was many years ago,

before I met the one who was not afraid of me,

who came to the hills of Magdala,

who looked into my heart and loved me,

Jesus, the healer, the master physician.                          

Since that day I've seen his miracles,

many of them great wonders, but none more wondrous

than that which restored my sanity,

and gave me back my life.

On days when I have not been following

my carpenter friend from Galilee,

I have been testifying of his strength and gentleness

to my dear friend Joanna,

the wife of Chuza (choo-zah), Herod's personal steward.

She too would follow,

but she is afraid of what they'd say in court.

Her husband has been warned--

don't let your wife have anything to do with that rabble-rouser;

or that itinerant Gentile woman, Mary the Magdalene.

And I also laugh with Susanna,

but she cannot follow just yet;

she has responsibilities in the home.

And there's Mary, the mother of James and John,

who's become a sister in the faith.

But none of them have the freedom I enjoy,

that of a single woman, financially-independent.

I think they envy me.

But the only one who is truly free is Jesus,

Son of God and son of man.

I followed him last week, through the streets of Jericho--

the man Bartimaeus (Bar-tih-may-us), Jesus gave him sight;

the man's a beggar no more.

To Bethany we came, and stayed there for a meal

in the home of dear Martha, who toiled in the kitchen

and Mary who sat at his feet, in the small room,

and anointed him with her costliest perfume.

In Jerusalem we finally arrived

to observe the Passover, even I a woman, Mary the Magdalene

though I was not in the upper room, nor in Gethsemane Garden.

I watched all else that transpired on those last days,

the arrest, the trial, the crucifixion--

it seems like a distant haze.

They hung him on a cross to die,

"Behold, here is Jesus, King of the Jews!"

It was all over, we thought, my friends and I,

Three women who loved him, his disciples and children:

Jesus is dead:  why did we follow him here?

But we came to the grave, our final journey,

early on Sunday, before the sun would appear.

To anoint him with spices, or to say goodbye--

But the tomb was empty, I ran to tell Peter,

I don't know why. Whom else could I tell?

Then I lingered in the garden, after the others had left.

A man walked by on the path.

I thought him to be a caretaker, the gardener.      

So I said, "Kind sir, if you have carried him off--the body I mean;

tell me where you have laid him."

He said to me only a word, "Mary."

At that moment I knew who this was,

and why I had followed him here:

to go to his brothers, to Peter, to Bartimaeus and all;

to my sisters, Joanna, Susanna, and to Mary his mother;

to the widow of Nain, and the spinster who begged a crumb from his table,

to Martha and Mary, and the daughters of Zion:

"I have seen the Lord!

He is alive and is ascending to the Father,

to my God and your God."

And they all believed, for it is I who told them,

I, who am called Mary the Magdalene.

                                       David A. Schneider

                                        5-10-92