"Woman, why are you weeping?"

(Photo credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Magdalene#/media/File:Noli_me_tangere,_fresco_by_Fra_Angelico.jpg)

A couple of months ago, I had a dream that I was Mary Magdalene. In the dream, Jesus (I knew it was him, though he looked nothing like I have ever imagined him to look) and I were sitting with our feet dangling over the edge of a rock wall, laughing and talking in that easy way between close friends. It was a dream, so the details are fuzzy, but I remember a moment when the conversation shifted and felt intense, and I said something like, "Are you ready for all of this?" He gave a little grin as his eyes flashed with something resembling mischief before he hopped down from the wall without answering.

The dream continued with me as Mary Magdalene following along as Jesus healed and restored and performed miracles like feeding 5000 people gathered to hear him preach, and each time, after the initial surprise and acclaim died down, and he walked on toward the next stop on his journey, I was there to hand him a drink of water with a smile and quick hug or pat on the back to say, "Nice work." I was there when he was betrayed, arrested, tortured, and eventually crucified right in front of my eyes. I remember even through the haze of the dream how I felt so powerless and sad as we walked the road to Golgotha, alternating between grief and outrage and numb acceptance without a glimmer of hope anywhere. I watched him die, and I remember sitting on the ground, wrecked by it but also thinking of what he would want me to do now: go with his mother to safety, figure out what the hell happened to Peter and the rest, and somehow keep breathing.

At that point I woke up and thought, "Huh. Well. That one's going to stick with me for awhile."

I frequently have vivid, powerful dreams. I talk about some of them with a couple of people I trust, some I write down in a journal, and some I keep all to myself. I dream all kinds of things about all kinds of people and situations. They stay on my mind until I make peace with them one way or another.

I dreamed I had a miscarriage the night before a sonogram showed no heartbeat at 12 weeks. I had a dream in which a person I looked to for guidance and support told me, "You need to own your own life," in a situation in which I needed to find my voice and use it--fast. I had a dream that haunted me about something horrible happening to my youngest daughter, so I was watching her with extra vigilance when I saw the door next to her carseat swing open as I was following my mom onto the highway (unaccustomed to having young children in the car, Mom had forgotten to engage the child lock). I honked and flashed my lights until I got Mom's attention to pull over, and then we all trembled at the near miss. For years, I had a recurring dream that I had to go back to high school for some reason, even though it was clear I had graduated years before and finished college and grad school. Still, there was something I missed the first time that I had to go back and complete; I haven't had that dream since I started my first job teaching high school in 2009. The dreams I had while pregnant were so real I would reference dream events in conversations, only to have the other person (usually my ex-husband) look at me with a blank expression until I had to ask, "Did that not really happen?"

There are logical, rational explanations for those dreams and the many others I've had. Our conscious and unconscious minds have to communicate at some level, and dreams seem to be their busiest intersection for me. I try to engage them in that logical, rational space most of the time because keeping them there helps me feel a sense of control over them. Certain symbols have established interpretations, and you can work backwards from those interpretations to understand what's going on--simple as that. I avoid wading too far into the mystical significance of dreams because I get freaked out and dread going to sleep at night for fear of having another one. It's a losing battle: I keep having dreams that leave me unsettled regardless of how much I try to intellectualize them.

My dream of being Mary Magdalene did stick with me, in part because of the strong sense of identification with her and how real the friendship with Jesus seemed. Naturally, the Holy Week observances of the past few days made me think of it again. I don't know much about Mary Magdalene really. She's kind of an enigma, though people have projected a whole lot of different things on and about her. The one thing that's certain is that she was important enough to Jesus to be mentioned in all four gospels, and she (with a couple of others or on her own) is the first person to discover the empty tomb and hear that her beloved friend had overcome death and darkness in the most triumphant, unexpected way.

Here's how John 20:1-18 tells it:

The Resurrection of Jesus
20 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. 2 So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” 3 Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. 4 The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. 5 He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. 6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there,7 and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. 8 Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; 9 for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10 Then the disciples returned to their homes.
Jesus Appears to Mary Magdalene
11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look[a]into the tomb; 12 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. 13 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.” 14 When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15 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.”16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew,[b] “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). 17 Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” 18 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.

I can only imagine her disbelief when she walked up and saw the stone rolled away, and her frustration when Peter and "the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved" threw up their hands so easily. Her tears must have been bitter with confusion and anguish when the stranger broke through them to ask her what was wrong. All she wanted was to walk the rest of the road with Jesus's body, and now she couldn't even do that. Except then the stranger said her name, in a voice she would recognize anywhere, a voice she would follow anywhere, a voice she trusted and respected and loved. And just like that, everything changed.

Last year Easter fell on the Sunday before I had to appear in court to finalize my divorce. I knew the year ahead would be marked by the death and burial of a common life, a final dismantling of dreams that directed and drove me forward for decades, and fighting to hold on to hope. I lit my candle from the Vigil fire and tried to fully absorb stories about Creation and God rescuing his people from Egypt, following the thread of salvation to culmination in Jesus's sacrifice and ultimate victory. I thanked God for the promise that I did not have to get stuck in any of the shitty places along the road I was about to walk. A few days later I stood in a courtroom and answered questions from a judge in one of the loneliest moments of my life, and every day since has been a step further away from that desolate place.

Someone asked me not long ago if I believed that Jesus literally came back to life after being dead for the better part of three days. I gave the most honest answer I could: I don't know. I don't know if his lungs started working again or his heart resumed its beating. I don't know if it is true from a literal, scientific perspective, and honestly? I don't care. I've felt enough of Jesus in my life to know that the Resurrection is TRUE in every way that counts, and I'm happy to let the more fact-driven folks hash out answers to the rest.

Mary Magdalene came away from the encounter at the empty tomb bold enough to contend with the apostles' disbelief and willing to step out into an uncertain future without Jesus physically present to guide her. I wonder how many times over the rest of her life she replayed the sound of his voice saying her name. That precious memory must have run through her mind again and again, whenever she needed to feel connected to the one who showed her the way, the truth, and the life. Sitting here on Easter morning, as the resurrection of my own life gains momentum, I'm grateful for the dream that let me see with her eyes. Because of it, I can almost hear Jesus calling her--and my--name.