Easter Morning: Mary Magdalene's Story

April 19, 2025

Dr. K. W. Lanham

From John 20:1–18

Easter didn’t begin with choirs or a cathedral. It began in the dirt.

It began in the dark.

In a burial garden carved from a rock quarry, one woman came to grieve, to weep, and to honor what she believed was lost forever. Her name was Mary Magdalene, and she became the first witness of the resurrection not because she was bold, but because she stayed. Stayed when others left. Stayed when hope seemed gone. Stayed in the dirt long enough for Jesus to speak her name.

This is her story—and ours.

A Garden, but Not a Flowerbed

"Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb..." (John 20:1)

We often picture this "garden" like a tranquil park—a place with lilies blooming and sunbeams piercing morning mist. But the original setting was much more rugged and real.

The tomb of Jesus was located in a private burial garden owned by Joseph of Arimathea. In first-century Jerusalem, these gardens were not decorative, but agricultural plots attached to rock-hewn tombs. Wealthy landowners often used such spaces for olive trees and grapevines, providing both a connection to the land and a symbol of ongoing life. Recent archaeological discoveries near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre—widely believed to be the site of the crucifixion and resurrection—confirm the presence of such agriculture in that area.

So Mary didn’t walk through a floral Eden. She walked through a working vineyard, over dust, rock, and tangled roots. In the dark shadows of dawn, the air likely carried the faint scent of crushed olives and damp earth. And with every step, she carried the weight of grief.

She wasn’t coming with hope. She was coming to mourn a body.

This was a woman who had known darkness. Jesus had delivered her from seven demons (Luke 8:2). That’s not a metaphor—it means she had lived with torment, isolation, and likely complete social rejection. She may have been feared, avoided, or even seen as cursed. But Jesus didn’t avoid her. He spoke to her, healed her, restored her, and gave her dignity.

Her entire life was tied to Him.
He wasn’t just her teacher. He was her anchor. Her hope. The one who gave her a future when she had none. When everyone else had written her off, Jesus looked at her and saw a story worth redeeming.

So when He died—when she saw His body brutally tortured, nailed to a cross, gasping for breath, and finally laid in a tomb—it wasn’t just the loss of a leader. It was the loss of the only reason she had to keep going.

Imagine how disoriented she must have felt.

• The One who gave her identity was gone.
• The One who made her life make sense had been silenced.
• The One she had followed with everything she had was now lying behind a stone slab.

The world had gone quiet. Her heart had broken. Her direction was gone. Her identity shaken.

And still… she came.
Not because she had faith in resurrection, but because she couldn’t imagine not being near Him, even in death.
Because sometimes love shows up when all hope is gone.
And that's exactly where Jesus meets her.

Grief Upon Grief

"She saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance, so she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple..." (John 20:1–2)

Mary arrives at the tomb and sees that the stone has been rolled away.

Her first thought is not resurrection. It is violation.

“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!”

She assumes His body has been stolen. Because when your heart has been broken, you brace for more pain. That’s what grief does. It trains you to expect disappointment.

She runs to tell Peter and John, and they race back to the tomb. John arrives first, then Peter. They enter the tomb, see the strips of linen and the folded burial cloth. John begins to believe—but they don’t yet understand.

And then, they leave.

Mary Stayed in the Dirt

"But Mary stood outside the tomb crying..." (John 20:11)

This is the turning point.

Mary stays.

She doesn't understand. She doesn’t know what God is doing. But she stays in the dirt. In the confusion. In the grief.

This is where so many walk away. And we understand why:

• A man prays for healing, but when the diagnosis gets worse, he stops praying.
• A couple goes to two marriage counseling sessions, and when things don't improve immediately, they give up.
• A teenager begs God for a sign during a hard season, but when heaven is quiet, she walks away from church.

Mary didn’t walk away. She wept. She bent low. And she stayed.

That’s when everything changed.

The New Mercy Seat

"She bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus' body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot." (John 20:12)

This verse is more than poetic. It is theological gold.

In Exodus 25:17–22, God instructed Moses to build the Ark of the Covenant. On top of the ark was the mercy seat (Hebrew: kapporet)—a solid gold lid flanked by two cherubim (angels), one on each end. It was between those two angels, on that mercy seat, that the high priest would sprinkle sacrificial blood on the Day of Atonement (Leviticus 16), to symbolically cover the sins of the people.

That was the heart of the old covenant—a sacred place where blood met mercy.

Now, in this tomb, two angels sit: one at the head, one at the foot. And between them had lain the body of Jesus.

This is the new mercy seat. No longer behind a veil in a temple, but in a garden tomb. The perfect Lamb has been slain. The blood has been shed. And forgiveness now rests not in ritual, but in a person.

And Mary—still crying, still broken—is the first to behold it.

The Gardener Appears

"At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus." Thinking he was the gardener... (John 20:14–15)

This moment is mysterious. Why didn’t she recognize Him? Why did Jesus look different?

Because grief can cloud your eyes. Because resurrection doesn’t always come the way we expect.

She thinks He’s the gardener. And in a way, she was absolutely right.

• In Genesis 2:15, God places Adam in a garden to work and keep it.
• In John 15:1, Jesus says, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener."
• In 1 Corinthians 15:45, Paul calls Jesus the "last Adam" who gives life.

Jesus is the Gardener of New Creation. The One who brings beauty from ashes, fruit from vines, life from dirt. And gardeners don’t avoid the soil. They dig into it. They plant in it. They work with it. They redeem it.

He didn’t rise from polished marble. He rose from dirt.

And He still meets us there.

He Spoke Her Name

"Jesus said to her, 'Mary.'" (John 20:16)

That’s all it took.

He didn’t explain. He didn’t correct. He just said her name.

And the moment He did, she knew. Her eyes were opened. Her sorrow cracked in two.

I once witnessed a grieving mother, in her home, kneeling beside the body of her lifeless child. She wasn’t speaking full sentences. She wasn’t quoting verses. She was just saying the child’s name.

Again and again. A whisper. A plea. A memory. A goodbye.

And in that sacred moment, I saw something in her that helps me understand this story.

There is nothing more intimate than saying someone’s name with nothing else.
No explanations. No speeches. No distractions.
Just the name—spoken by someone who has held that name in their heart.

To speak a name like that, especially in grief, is to hold the weight of a relationship in a single breath. It’s a way of saying, “I remember you. I see you. You mattered. You still matter.”

When Jesus said, “Mary,” He didn’t need to announce who He was.
He didn’t need to explain the resurrection or quote Scripture or prove anything.
All the history between them came rushing back in one word.

That name carried:

• Her rescue from torment.
• Her years of following Him.
• Her heartbreak at His death.
• And now—her awakening into joy.

Because when your entire identity has been wrapped around someone, hearing your name from their lips is like being stitched back together.

Jesus didn’t need to preach.
He just needed to say her name.

Because when you feel like everything is lost—being seen, being known, being called by name—can be enough to bring you back to life.

That’s the power of Jesus.
He doesn’t just save crowds.
He speaks to individuals. One name at a time.

From the Dirt to the World

"Go to my brothers and tell them..." (John 20:17)

Mary is the first person entrusted to proclaim the resurrection.
She wasn’t an apostle, a preacher, or a public teacher—but Jesus chose her to carry the message:
“Go and tell them…”Not Peter. Not John. Not a temple priest. A woman. A former outcast. A faithful witness who stayed.

She had no credentials. But she had a message:

"I have seen the Lord." (John 20:18)

That’s the gospel. Not a doctrine. Not a system. A person.

She was sent from the dirt to the world. From the garden of grief to the community of believers. And she went running—this time not with panic, but with purpose.

What It Means for Us

This story is not just Mary’s. It’s ours.

• Have you been weeping in the dark?
• Have you stood at a tomb of unanswered prayer?
• Have you misunderstood what God was doing?

You’re not alone. Mary has been there.

And Jesus is still calling names. He is still walking quietly beside olive trees. Still showing up in our lowest places. Still speaking through tears and silence and soil.

The question is: Will you stay long enough to hear Him?

Prayer

"Jesus, You meet us in the dirt. Not when we are polished, but when we are undone. Not in the spotlight, but in the shadows of grief. You are the Gardener of New Creation. Breathe life into our lowest places. Speak our names. And send us with the simple truth: we have seen the Lord. Amen."

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