(From the Prologue of the Passion of Mary Magdalene, by Kayleen Asbo)
I am the first and last.
I am the scorned one.
I am the holy saint they’ll call the whore
In the first years, they called me the Apostle to the Apostles. In the early scriptures, the ones hidden for sixteen hundred years, they called me the Woman Who Knew All,
the Embodiment of Sophia,
the Companion of the Savior.
But as for Jesus, my teacher, my rabbi- what did he call me?
Jesus called me anthropos, meaning:
I sat at his feet to drink of his wisdom.
Through his words, this is what he taught me:
The kingdom of Heaven is within.
And so is the kingdom of hell.
Healing is possible for the least of us, for
Each one of us possesses an unquenchable spark of divinity.
We lose our way when we forget the good that is in us-
and the good that is in our midst.
If we bring forth what is inside us- it will save us.
And if we don’t, it will destroy us.
In the end, his message was simple,
just one four letter word:
I sat at his feet again after all the men had fled and hid
I watched him weep, and moan and bleed.
I held him in my unwavering gaze as he cried out in pain and then surrendered, his arms stretched out
Wide enough to hold the whole world
with the love that was in him.
With his grieving mother, I cradled his tortured body
after his last sigh had left his lips.
I kept vigil that night
And in the darkness before dawn,
I journeyed alone to the tomb to hold his feet once again,
To wrap him in clean linen
To anoint him in death as I had in life.
And then the Mystery came.
Through his broken and remade body, this is what he taught me:
The darkness and the light,
life and death
are inseparable companions of one another.
And yet even when all seems lost, God finds a way.
To heal, to hold, to rewrite the end of the story in a way we could never have imagined.
Remember, Jesus said, Remember.
We must return, again and again, to who we really are and what we were really made for:
Begotten out of love, begotten for love, begotten to love.
What I come to tell you is this:
Behold the pain
But open to joy
Gaze upon death
But never lose hope
For Love is as strong
Love is as strong as death,
In Rumi's Footsteps