We are surrounded by myriads of voices each demanding our immediate attention. Some within, most without. Some with sound, others consist of data, image, and fonts of various sizes and shapes all competing to communicate their version of truth with each tap of the finger upon the keypad. We are a culture that is proving more dysfunctional and anti-relational in the midst of the greatest advance in networking and social media structures designed to help us converse and “stay connected”. We are multitasking ourselves into sickness as though there were seven of us instead of one.
Mary of Magdala knew about voices. Raging accusations against light, goodness, holiness, health. She had seven ghoulish quarrels battling for dominance at any given moment of the day. Each of them despising her frame, scorning her worth, terrorizing her soul with the reality-she let them in. Seven, until the day she encountered the power of silence with just one word from The Christ.
Mat 8:16 And when even was come, they brought unto him many possessed with demons: and he cast out the spirits with a word, and healed all that were sick:
She went from the cacophony of blasphemy to the holy hush of new birth. I wonder who had the vision to see her whole? Who brought her to him? Or, did she run like the demoniac from the Gatarrenes who at the very hope of the name of Jesus upon his shore, fought the legion of darkness to fall at the feet of Christ?
Luk 8:1-2 And it came to pass soon afterwards, that he went about through cities and villages, preaching and bringing the good tidings of the kingdom of God, and with him the twelve, and certain women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary that was called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out-
Seven. Gone. Silence. What did it feel like to hear the sound of her own voice again? To be whole in her intentions, motives, conversations? What was it like for the Creator of the Universe to say her name?
Is it any wonder we find her here in Luke, attending to the needs of her Savior? In the company of the one who opened her prison, and shone his light into darkness and declared: “Let her be…” Is it any wonder that angelic presences straight from the throne room of God could not persuade her from her mission of finding Him at the tomb, this one who was her world of peace, was missing. Nothing but Him would satisfy no matter how glorious. She had come to dedicate her life to mourning, to perhaps pray away the fear that without the presence of his name the voices would return. In her agony she couldn’t see, she looked toward her savior and saw a gardener- In a sense He was. The Second Adam come to the garden of mankind’s heart, to tend and to till. He came first to this garden.
Joh 20:16 Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and said unto him in Hebrew, Rabboni;
Her name, upon his lips. That familiar sound of the Master setting her free. The one true voice in a myriad of noise. Her name spoken with resurrected life. It was he, and that is all that mattered.
Lord say my name. Silence is the beginning of sound. Speak your truth through me, that resurrected life would be my portion.