Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there opposite the tomb. Matthew 27:61
Can you picture the two Marys, as described in that little
verse of Matthew 27?
Having soaked our minds this past weekend in the great
truth of Jesus risen from the dead, I have been looking back a little on the
immense sadness of the gap between his death on Good Friday and his rising
again on Easter Sunday – not, of course, that we should ever allow the
greatness of the resurrection to fade from our minds, but rather that we should
always remember the wider context in which it is set: one of sorrow, pain and
deep suffering.
It’s hard to imagine what that “Easter Saturday” must have
been like for the followers of Jesus.
Where were the disciples staying in Jerusalem, a city they will
have known only from occasional visits “up from the country”? How did they
spend their time as the weary hours dragged by? What did they talk about? What
in fact was there to say after the dashing of their hopes? I can’t help but
picture them just sitting around in abject despair. Jesus had built up their
hopes to such a pitch, and they had trusted him so implicitly, that they simply
didn’t know what to do with themselves. “Stunned”, I think, is the word to
describe their state of mind.
The closing verses of Matthew 27 in fact take us back
before Saturday to the end of Good Friday itself. Joseph, “a rich man from
Arimathea” who had “become a disciple of Jesus” has shown his quality of
character by boldly approaching Pontius Pilate and making himself responsible
for the proper disposal of Jesus’ body, and placing it in a tomb originally intended
for himself. He reminds us of the good person who quietly gets on with doing
whatever he or she can in a time of crisis. Thank God for such people.
But focus on the two women. They’re not doing
anything – what could they do? No, they’re just sitting there, watching. But
just like Joseph, they can speak to us. Two things strike me…
First, we are reminded in a general
sense of the role of women in the life and ministry of Jesus.
We all know that at that time and in that social setting
women were very much what today we might think of as second class citizens; it
was “a man’s world”. But the Gospels remind us that the two Marys were just
part of a group who, albeit in the background, contributed significantly to
Jesus’ work.
Think, of course, of Mary the mother of Jesus. We can only
guess what kind of things he learned from her as he grew up: can you imagine
him as a young teenager (not that any such social category existed in those
days)? Yes, she experienced extreme pain, including serious wobbles of faith,
as the mother of God’s son. But can we doubt that she also imparted to him many
precious things?
Mark, in his Gospel, also refers to the role of female
devotees (chapter 15:40-41), who had “followed him and cared for his needs”
(what a warm, homely expression that is!). Then there are Mary and Martha, the
sisters of Lazarus (John 11); and moving on into the later New Testament, the
frequently mentioned Priscilla (whose husband Aquilla several times takes
second place to her), and the quietly faithful Lydia (Acts 16). The part of the
New Testament I like best in this regard is Romans 16, where Paul sends
greetings to Christians in Rome whom he knew and particularly valued: out of a
list of some twenty-five people nearly ten seem to have female names.
Paul has the reputation of having a down on women; but no,
I don’t think so. Women played a full part in the lives of the churches he
founded. But Paul was not a revolutionary - though he devoted his life to
proclaiming the most revolutionary message ever heard, he was keen that the
church should not transgress the ordinary social customs of the time and thus create
an unnecessary stumbling-block.
Second, the two Marys sitting at the
tomb on the Friday evening remind us that there are times when we can genuinely
do nothing – but we can just be there. The male disciples had,
perhaps understandably, gone to ground as Jesus was crucified, but the women
were determined to be there. We perhaps sometimes talk jokingly of “offering
moral support”, as if silently adding “even though I know that’s a fat lot of
good!”. But who knows what comfort and reassurance our mere presence may pass on
in various situations?
Among my best memories as a pastor are times, in the
aftermath of a crisis, when people would say “Thank you for everything you
did”. I felt like protesting “Well, thank you for saying that – but in fact I
didn’t do anything! I was just, well, around”. A humbling
situation to be in.
The poet John Milton (1608-1674) lost his sight in his
middle years. He wrote a short poem beginning “When I consider how my light is spent…”
(sometime known as “On his blindness”) reflecting on how he will never now be
able to fulfil his full potential as a poet. By the end he finds comfort in the
thought that “They also serve who only stand and wait” - as if to say “Yes,
perhaps my days as a prolific writer are over, but I still, by God’s grace,
have something to offer”.
Well, the two Marys, on that first Good Friday, didn’t
“stand and wait”, but they certainly sat and waited. As models of loyalty and
devotion – as models of love – what better examples could one want? We cannot
know who, seeing them there, were changed for ever by their silent witness.
Christian, never say “I have nothing to offer”!
Lord, help me to understand that however
limited my powers may be as circumstances
conspire against me, I still have something to offer for every day of life you
give me. Amen.
