Dear Mary Magdalene,
About that woeful, bone-lonesome dawn. The gaping tomb. I have questions . . .
Take the man you mistook for the gardener. Was Jesus wearing unfamiliar clothes — perhaps on loan from a kindly local, out watching the sun rise? The risen one minus His seamless robe might have looked visibly chilled.
Or did a vestige of hell’s filth linger beneath broken fingernails?
Was His face weathered by heartbreak?
Perhaps those dark eyes blazed bold with hope: a visionary gaze, consecrated to growth.
But no, you recognized God when He called your name. I’ve read the stories. I wish you could tell me more.
Freed from your hellish past, when did the flashbacks finally cease?
Did your thoughts break into blossom whenever He spoke? And when did your dear, new, sapling-self first begin to flourish?
Between the early and latter rains and seasons of drought, your prayers must have overflowed: sorrows and shocks and joy-sprung awe. Was it hard to embrace such rigorous training?
And did Jesus ever mention espaliered trees? Ancient Roman gardeners would curb a plant’s growth to maximize yield in a limited space. Picture a fig tree growing in one plane, like a hieroglyph on the wall of a tomb.
Mary dear, imagine the process . . .
First, choose a sunny spot, bounded by a trellis or wall. Plant your sapling beside it. Clip away suckers; they siphon strength from the roots. Snick.
Shear off any limbs thrusting themselves forward. Lop.
Gently now, lest a bough break, bind the remaining side growth to the lattice at the key cross points.
Does this sound familiar? The cutting back. The unrelieved stretching. The waiting, waiting, to bear fruit. Pears or citrus, perhaps. Or figs, first grown in Eden.
Mary, Mary, how did your garden grow? Inch by inch, I imagine, as natural tendencies conformed to the chosen framework. Espaliered trees, like disciples, abound via tender, vigilant patience. Care is paramount. Consent is all.
Dear Marry-the-moment Magdalene, first to herald the resurrection, you embraced the reshaping. Again, and again.
May I do no less. Alleluia, amen.
Friends, what would you ask Mary M?
To learn more about espalier (from 1400 BC tomb paintings to present-day practice) start here: https://hort.extension.wisc.edu/articles/espalier/
From the archives: Reflections
Photo of Figs by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash
“S” espalier photo, yours truly
Thanks to Kate Bowler for her thoughts on the Easter gardener, in her new book, Good Enough
Your writing breathes fresh insight into my soul and leaves behind the aroma of wonder, Laurie. God has given you a glorious gift with words, and you use it sublimely. I’d love to know how Mary M’s life changed after the resurrection and ascension. I wonder what role she played in the burgeoning church?
Oh, isn’t wonder the best? And to think of it having an aroma! Wonder (almost always) nudges me across the prickly boundary of self, straight into praise.
Thank you, Nancy, for seeing grace in the words and letting me know. And yes, I too would love to hear MM’s stories . . .
Her one word, “Rabboni!” (Beloved Teacher) always gets to me. Today’s essay has me covered in a shroud of goose bumps, especially in the light of everything I’ve revisited in this long Lenten season. Oh, Beloved Savior, Healer, Deliverer!
Thank you again, Laurie Klein Scribe for your golden words.
Pacia, I get chills just reading that name and its translation. Seven letters transport me to the garden tomb. Don’t you love the symmetry of the story arc, garden to garden?
I woke to snow, then off to our dawn bonfire service to celebrate resurrection. Then I splurged on two bunches of tulips! And now, I am off to my favorite chair with a steaming cup of creamy decaf. Wishing you beautiful blessings all day long, my friend.
Learning more about Mary or relearning I should say- such anguish, turned to joy. Thank you Laurie your words come at just the right time.
Anguish to joy, how true! I have been moved and surprised, repeatedly, by the actress portraying Mary M in “The Chosen.”
Anne, your words about timing are oil for this writer’s soul. Thank you, friend, for letting me know.
So beautiful and insightful!! It had to be the ultimate faith in God to get through this horrific death of Jesus Mary’s beloved son! Hard to imagine! All hail to our Lord and King!
Dear Mary, “ultimate faith . . . beyond imagination” expresses the marvel so well.
Your responsive heart is a blessing to me. Thank you for writing. It’s just lovely to hear from you today.
I so love reading your writings…such depth and beauty. Thank you Laurie-no questions but lots of pondering for the soul.
Ah, Georgia, the timing of your words is perfect, SO encouraging (offsetting less desirable news received today). Thank you, thank you! And blessings on you and yours this Holy Week.
Snick
Lop
Bind
Cut
Stretch
Wait
Wait
A life in 7 words . . . Katy, thank you for gathering those vital verbs! You help me see the process pared back to essentials. So grateful to see it through your eyes, thank you!
Laurie: how beautiful! I love the photo and I love your word pictures. How Mary was shaped into someone beautiful. And so can we.
Yes, let’s yield to the process — even when it means being pinned, yet again, into oh-so-awkward places. : )
I don’t have any questions or requests for Mary M. I do think it would have been interesting to watch her, to see how she kept her “house swept clean” of demons, who are want to return. I imagine her to be, as with most people, both complicated and simple. I’d watch that dance in her. Take notes.
Agreed.
The “dance,” yes. Thinking of all I might learn makes me catch my breath. I picture her dancing with her broom . . . and see that old image afresh.
What would I ask Mary?
I think your shared muse covered it for me.
What would I ask myself?
“You done controlling Ricky?
You willing to wait, in hope, of His faithfulness?
Can you see Him?
Stillness prompts clearer vision, growth.
It hurts.
A good hurt.
He’s worth it.
So are you.
Rest, on His shoulder.”
Thank you for prompting my own muse.
Clear to the bone, these questions you pose. I’m feeling them. So glad you asked them. Onward to His shoulder, by way of the deep lean.
ps I’m seeing a particular cross point on the trellis like a good shoulder now . . .
What a gorgeous photo you took, Laurie. And so many beautiful phrases and thoughts captured here. The line I keep coming back to is, “Did your thoughts break into blossom whenever He spoke?” What a hopeful image for the spring of Mary’s new life. Thank you for sharing all of this.
Bethany, thank you. I felt lucky to be there with camera in hand and the light so fair and that living belle lettre thriving against the wall with its archway and garden beyond. You’ve highlighted that line for me as well, and I thank you. I shall hold it in mind as I fall asleep . . .
The character of Mary Magdalene has been richly enfleshed in the television series The Chosen (oh, I do hope you’ve seen it.) The scene where Jesus says her name is
e v e r y t h i n g…. https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cb5Q5n6lNcq/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
What would I ask her?
“What was it like tramping about with all those boys?” (the male disciples…)
Thank you again for the provocative ponderings this Holy Week.
Jody, we too have been watching. (Seems my eyes brim at least once during every episode.) And yes, Elizabeth Tabish embodies Mary’s story with truth and nuance. Just marvelous.
About “the boys”: I’m thinking she held her own — being so deeply held by Him.
Bet there were eye rolls and moments of shared laughter, too . . .
I wonder if took awhile to win their unguarded affection and respect?