By Max Lucado
A party was the last thing Mary Magdalene expected as she approached the tomb on that Sunday morning. The last few days had brought nothing to celebrate. To her the last few days had brought nothing but tragedy.
In the early morning mist she arises from her mat, takes her spices and aloes, and leaves her house, past the Gate of Gennath and up to the hillside. She anticipates a somber task. By now the body will be swollen. Death’s odor will be pungent.
A gray sky gives way to gold as she walks up the narrow trail. As she rounds the final bend, she gasps. The rock in front of the grave is pushed back.
When she stoops down and sticks her head into the hewn entrance, she sees what looks to be a man, but he’s white—radiantly white. He is one of two lights on either end of the vacant slab.
“Why are you crying?” An uncommon question to be asked in a cemetery. In fact, the question is rude. That is, unless the questioner knows something the questionee doesn’t.
“They have taken my Lord away, and I don’t know where they have put him.”
She still calls him “my Lord.” As far as she knows his lips were silent. As far as she knows, his corpse had been carted off by grave robbers. But in spite of it all, he is still her Lord.
Such devotion moves Jesus. It moves him closer to her. So close she hears him breathing. She turns and there he stands. She thinks he is the gardener.
“Why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” (John 20:15 NIV).
He doesn’t leave her wondering long, just long enough to remind us that he loves to surprise us. He waits for us to despair of human strength and then intervenes with heavenly strength. God waits for us to give up and then—surprise!
And listen to the surprise as Mary’s name is spoken by a man she loved—a man she had buried.
“Miriam.”
God appearing at the strangest of places. Doing the strangest of things. Stretching smiles where there had hung only frowns. Placing twinkles where there were only tears. Hanging a bright star in a dark sky. Arching rainbows in the midst of thunderclouds. Calling names in a cemetery.
“Miriam,” he said softly, “surprise!”
Mary was shocked. It’s not often you hear your name spoken by an eternal tongue. But when she did, she recognized it. And when she did, she responded correctly. She worshiped him.
When He is calling your name in the lowest places you find yourself in, how will you respond?
Excerpt from On Calvary’s Hill by Max Lucado
Matthew 28:1-8
John 20:14-18
