She heard her name, at first soft, a voice she didn’t quite recognize. Mary. Mary, whose eyes were dim with disappointment and blurred with grief and tears and whose imagination couldn’t reach as far as Risen from the dead–
Mistook Jesus the Christ for the gardener until he called her name. “Mary” he said again, and his voice rang in her like a bell—opened ears she didn’t know she had, both stunned her and embraced her in depths she had never plumbed.
“RABBOUNI” she gasped, perhaps In a voice she didn’t recognize as her own. In that moment, all had changed. Jesus wasn’t just Jesus –and she was not plain Mary anymore.
She was not to cling to, to hold onto that Just-Jesus; and she was Mary-with-a-message: GO. TELL. And the message the likes of which had never come from her mouth before—its source a place deep within, a groan, a shout of exultation, a sweet, sweet song.
Go. Tell my friends…..Mary, the Apostle to the apostles, the first evangelist.
I HAVE SEEN THE LORD.
…. his name and hers, entwined in an exchange of delight and power that would forever be true.
One thing Mary knew. The only name that now mattered was spoken in that piercing, lovely ringing, singing exchange. MARY. RABBOUNI. Recognition and transformation. Given, giving, taken, taking, she became what he was for her: Teacher. GO. TELL.
In our gardens, we too hear our name called, so tenderly, so melodically, a lifetime of forming and transforming. We catch it, tuning in, humming the parts we can follow–a song around us, a melody flowering within us, a call and response, a harmony made of earth and heaven united.
Our name and God’s name, resounding through time and space, a perfect chord embracing the One Name we share in Trinitarian bliss: