To all who wonder if the darkness will ever lift,
My name is Mary. From Magdala.
You may know me as the woman from whom Jesus cast out seven demons. That is true. I was once bound, broken, and left in the shadows of society. But Jesus saw me. He spoke my name with compassion, not contempt. He healed me, and I followed Him with everything I had.
I was there. I saw the nails. I heard the final cry. I watched Him breathe His last. I watched them bury Him—quickly, quietly—before the Sabbath began. And then came the silence. A deafening, crushing silence.
We rested on the Sabbath, as the Law required. But our souls were anything but still. We longed to anoint His body properly—to do something, anything, to honor Him.
So early, while it was still dark, I gathered the spices I had prepared and made my way to the tomb with the others. The air was heavy. Our hearts heavier still.
But when we arrived… the stone was rolled away.
The guards were gone.
And the tomb—was empty.
My breath caught in my throat. I ran. I ran to find Peter and John. “They’ve taken the Lord out of the tomb!” I cried. “We don’t know where they’ve put Him!”
They ran too. John reached the tomb first, then Peter. They looked inside. Linen strips. The burial cloth, folded separately. Strange. Ordered. But no body.
They left, unsure what to believe. But I remained. I stood outside the tomb, weeping. Grief and confusion swirled in my chest like a storm. I leaned into the tomb once more—and saw two angels in white.
They asked me, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” I said, “and I don’t know where they have put Him.”
Then I turned—and saw a man. I thought he was the gardener.
He asked me the same question: “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
I pleaded with Him. “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have put Him, and I will get Him.”
Then… He said my name.
“Mary.”
And everything changed.
I knew that voice. The voice that called me out of darkness. The voice that calmed storms and cast out demons. The voice that spoke life and truth and love like no one else ever could.
“Rabboni!” I cried, falling at His feet. Teacher.
He was alive. He was alive.
He told me not to cling to Him, for He had not yet ascended to the Father. But He gave me a mission: “Go to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
I ran again—but this time with fire in my bones.
“I have seen the Lord!” I told them.
And I will never stop saying it.
I saw Him. Alive. Glorified. Triumphant. Death could not hold Him. The tomb could not keep Him. The cross was not the end—it was the beginning.
Later, I heard of the others. How He walked beside two of His disciples on the road to Emmaus, opening the Scriptures to them. How He appeared in a locked room to the apostles, breathing peace into their fear. How even Thomas, who doubted, fell to his knees and confessed, “My Lord and my God.”
This is not a story we made up. This is not a myth to ease our grief. This is truth. A truth that walked, talked, touched, and ate in our presence. A truth that reigns forever.
Because He lives, everything has changed.
The fear I once knew—gone.
The shame I once carried—gone.
The power of sin and death—broken.
So now I live to tell the world:
He is risen.
He is risen indeed.
And because He rose, so shall we.
With all the joy of one who saw the empty tomb,
Mary Magdalene
Closing Thought:
Resurrection Day is not just the day the stone was rolled away—it is the day everything shifted. Grief turned to joy. Doubt turned to faith. Death turned to life. The Risen Christ changes everything—for those who believe and for those still searching. The question remains: Have you seen the Lord?
Share this post