The Province of Joy series - Lenten Reflections 2015 - The Other Mary Remembers: Meditating on Mary Magdalen and the Impact Jesus had on her Life

The evenings are the best time for me - this is when I sit and remember,

those treasured moments that formed such a part of my life

that made me the woman I am now.

They dance and flicker in my mind,

just like the oil lamps that bless my evenings with warmth and light

a gentle and kindly light that plays upon the stone walls,

sometimes gold, sometimes ruby, making friends with the darkness

and fill the air with the fragrance of a sweet oil, heavy with memories.

This home, this dwelling, so loved by him,

blessed and warmed with his presence,

a place where he found friends, kindness, care, and a tenderness

that touched his heart and stung his eyes with tears.

His love is for every woman,

for every man, for all living beings,

children, animals, beasts and birds,

freely given, poured out, filled to overflowing,

a love that pierces the heart with delight,

and leaves a wound

that only love can heal,

and wound again and heal.

Gently waiting in the shadows,

another memory requests an audience,

and asks to be invited and held for a moment.

A dusty place, a dry and barren earth

where stones abound.

And dark figures and pointed limbs quietly steal away,

while a figure stoops and writes upon the earth,

and as the tiny dust clouds settle they dance and catch the sun.

And as the tears flow, a heart is cleansed and flooded with new life,

and the gaze is so tender and filled with compassion,

a compassion so deep that it wounds once more

and heals and wounds and heals.

At times, I love to run my fingers through my hair

those tresses that he loved and touched and stroked,

and it was all so natural and right,

yes, he gave me dignity, and he needed me, he needs me.

The alabaster vase is placed gently in the little nook,

a remnant of the linen cloth carefully folded,

one a sign of his life, the other a gesture of my love

a love that was too deep to be poured out,

a love that was too tender to bear, and still it wounds and heals and wounds.

They still come to my home, this dwelling that he loved,

and this is my delight,  they too love him,

they want to hold the vase, to touch the cloth, to treasure the memory.

“What was it like?” they asked, “do you remember how you felt?”

“What did he say to you?”

And time and time again, as I share this blessed story,

I taste once more the tears,

the pain, the delight, the love, the pleasure that was mine

that flooded my heart at the sound of my name,

and knew at that moment that I had found him

whom my soul had been seeking,

that he had found me.

And when I stop and listen, I still hear his voice,

a voice as gentle as the breeze,

a breath of stillness,

so softly, gently, as he says

“Come with me, my love,

for winter is passed,

the rain is over and gone,

the flowers appear on the earth,

the time of singing has come”.

Kathryn Williams pddm

- A reflection by Sr Kathryn on Mary Magdalene