Called By Name | An Easter Thought

There is something about our names – yours and mine that is – that is curious to me.  When we hear our name, something stirs in us; in our heart, near the core of who we are.  Something touches our identity in a way not many things can and we’re reminded that we are known; even loved, and we kind of like it?  Do you know what I’m talking about? 

It has been said, “One of the strange commonplaces of life is that the most penetrating utterance one can understand, no matter by whom, is his or her personal name.” 

And on the very first Easter morning, the morning Jesus was resurrected from the grave, I suspect no one knew this better than Mary.

“Mary” was a common name during the first century.  In the four written accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry we are introduced to no less than six different Mary’s, most of whom are mentioned in passing.  But not the Mary we’re going to meet today.  This was Mary from a small town on the west bank of the Sea of Galilee, just north of Tiberius.  This was Mary from Magdala.  You probably know her better as Mary Magdalene. 

Mary Magdalene was healed by Jesus early in His ministry.  She had been an invalid with seven demons…all cast out.  And that’s about as much as we know of her for sure…until she met Jesus. 

Many think she was a social derelict; a promiscuous young lady, perhaps for hire.  Perhaps not.  More likely, Mary Magdalene was a woman with some means.  She became a leader among a handful of women who helped out with the ministry of Jesus and His disciples. 

No doubt Mary Magdalene was present in the background when Jesus called Lazarus from the grave.  No doubt she was present when Jesus called himself the Bread of Life and emphasized the importance of belief and the necessity of resurrection.  No doubt she was present when Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd:  “I call my own sheep by name and they know my voice.” 

We know for certain she was present at the cross.  She saw Jesus stagger and stumble while dragging it.  She saw him winch in pain as he was nailed to it.  She saw him forgive the people from it.  She saw him die on it.

And now, with Passover in the rearview mirror, Mary Magdalene, along with a couple other women, set out for Jesus’ tomb.

It was early in the morning on the first day of the week.  They met near the crossroad that leads out of the city.  It was less busy in the early morning.  The ladies had their spices prepared from the night before.  They had waited for this day, to anoint Jesus’ body with myrrh and aloes; an act of worship and honor. 

Their mood was light, but their steps were determined.  They shared stories and memories.  Maybe they joked as they went along.  “How many women does it take to move a tombstone?”  They laughed hysterically before the punch line was even drawn. 

Then they saw the tomb. 

You can imagine the mix of emotion that raced through the group of them when they realized the stone had already been moved:  Relief.  Curiosity.  Fear. 

One of the women peaked in.  “He’s gone?”  She looked around one more time.  “He’s gone!” 

Mary Magdalene turned and ran. 

Moments later she burst into the house where Peter and John were staying.  Breathless and panting at the same time. 

“They’ve taken the Lord out of the tomb!  He’s gone!  We don’t know where they’ve put Him?!” 

Peter and John darted for the door.  Mary followed.  Peter and John ran neck and neck right up until the home stretch.  Mary just tried to keep them in sight.  John ended up at the tomb first.  He glanced into the tomb and noticed the linen grave clothes.  He didn’t go in.

Then Peter arrived and ran passed John, right into the tomb.  He stopped abruptly when the emptiness of the dark space hit him. 

He surveyed the scene.  The grave clothes where lying on the stone bench where Jesus’ body would have been.  The cloth that would have been wrapped around Jesus’ head was folded neatly.  The chill of the empty tomb caught up with Peter.  He shivered. 

Finally John joined Peter in the tomb.  He studied the scene.  He understood.  He believed. 

After several minutes John and Peter came out.  Mary Magdalene was there with the other women.  They looked at each other in amazement.  Not disbelief, but amazement.  They didn’t say much.  They just headed home.  But Mary Magdalene stayed behind.  Not for any reason in particular.  She just couldn’t leave yet.  Her heart was soar.  She began to weep uncontrollably.  She had to see for herself.

Her shoulders and knees felt weak as she shuffled toward the opening of the tomb.  The emotion of the weekend; the combination of grief and fear and anticipation, it drained her.  She bent over to look in:  Two angels, sitting on the bench where Jesus would have laid!  They were white, like light…or dressed in white maybe but it was bright.

They asked Mary why she was crying.  The moment was strangely casual. 

“My Lord; they have taken my Lord,” Mary told the angels, “and I don’t know where they’ve put Him.”

There was silence; reverence even.  Mary collected herself.  She dried her eyes as she turned away from the tomb.  There was a man standing there…also in white.  Not an angel though.  Not white like the people in the empty tomb.

“Perhaps the gardener?” Mary thought.

“Woman, why are you crying?  Who are you looking for?” the man asked.

“The gardener should have a clue,” she thought. 

“Sir,” Mary began, turning and pointing insistently at the empty tomb, “If you’ve carried him away (assuming of course the Gardener knew exactly who she was talking about), tell me where you’ve put him.  I’ll go and I’ll get him. Please, tell me where He is.” 

She stared into the dark hole.  It was quiet for a moment.  Then…

“Mary,” the man said.

It wasn’t the gardener.  It was Jesus.

Do you know what I love about Jesus, among other things of course?  I love that Jesus calls us by name. 

Mary froze, caught up in a single ecstatic moment of recognition.  Within the timeframe of mere seconds more than two years of following Jesus’ ministry flashed-back through her mind and penetrated her heart; event after event, miracle after miracle, right down to Jesus casting out demon after demon from her burdened body.  And, just as clear as if it were yesterday, she recalled His gentle voice over her exhausted frame:  “Mary.”

“Teacher!” Mary cried, spinning around back in the present moment. 

And compelled beyond any rational consideration that perhaps, just perhaps she was seeing things, she fell to her knees, face near the dirt, clasped onto his feet, and she worshiped Him, joyously weeping at the reality of the resurrected Christ Jesus.

“Mary,” Jesus began, “Don’t hold on to me.  I have only a short time here before going to the Father.  I need you to do something for me, Mary.  I need you to go and tell my disciples and the other women about this.  Mary, tell them you saw me, tell them I’m alive; tell them I’m resurrected.  Tell them that now – because of my suffering, because of my death, because of my resurrection, and because of their belief in me – tell them that things are different.  Tell them our relationship has changed dramatically.  Mary, you tell them they are now my brothers and my sisters.  Tell them I’ll be going back to my Father and their Father soon; to my God and their God, but not before I see them too.  And tell them this is only the beginning Mary.  There is so much more.”

Mary wasted no time.  She jumped to her feet and ran.  And again she burst into the home where Peter and John were.  “I saw the Lord!” she shouted in celebration.  “He’s alive!  He knew me!  He called me by name!  I held Him!  I worshiped Him!  The resurrected Christ Jesus called me by my name!”

The curious thing about our names is that when we hear someone calling it, something stirs in us.  Something touches our identity in a way not many things can and we’re reminded that we are known, even loved.  Mary caught this.  Have you? 

The Bible says from the day we’re born, we have this natural tendency to do things out of pride and selfishness and fear.  Essentially we make ourselves enemies of God, deserving death; living separate from God both today and forever. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but it is.  The Bible says no one is without sin, not even one…except Christ Jesus, God’s Son.  And the fact that He is God’s Son; the fact that He lived a holy sinless life qualified Him to be the one to set things straight. 

Jesus’ death and resurrection was far more than a static historical event.  It was the beginning of something amazing.  It was the means by which He is setting things straight. 

His death on the cross paid the price for all our sin.  And His resurrection from the grave gives us the right to a brand new life. 

They are inseparable.  They are incredible.  They are the means by which Jesus is calling you by name.