I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Teresa Calpino’s reflection on wisdom from Mary Magdalene as the apostle and prophet of grief
“I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive, to keep them with us. I also know that if we are to live ourselves there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go.”
― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking
Joan Didion is one of our prophets of grief. She testifies that grief is an unknown land that we must find our way through without a map. It comes in waves and paroxysms that bring us to our knees without warning. I was no stranger to these feelings after losing my beloved husband Barry. The first two years after his death I was awash in grief; out to sea without an oar. I had to sell the house where we raised our family and was living in temporary housing. I was mentally numb, emotionally wiped out, and financially broke. I felt like I had left everything at God’s feet and had laid my own body on the sacrificial altar. On the bad days, breathing itself hurt let alone teaching, doing laundry or speaking to a cashier at the grocery store. When it all felt like too much, I retreated to bed. There I could pretend that he was not really gone. All I wanted to do was call him back into being so I could say one last thing, get one last piece of wisdom, hold him one last time. I was clinging to his image, hanging on for dear life.
As I entered my third year of grief, I started to think maybe I could live a life that was not constantly focused on loss. But I was cleaving to the relationship with my dead husband. I still wore my wedding ring and spoke to him daily and cried when I felt lonely. I had no plans to change anything and was perfectly content to carry on like this forever. But then, without warning, the familiar story of Mary Magdalene (John 20:1-18) hit me squarely between the eyes making me rethink everything I thought I knew about living with grief.
Let me explain. I teach in a college Theology department. I was trained as a biblical scholar and spent countless hours studying and interpreting the stories of the New Testament. I can tell you what year the gospel was written in, its themes, the significance of the Greek words it contains, and its social and political context. I maintained a “healthy” academic distance from the text. But as a good friend recently reminded me, my academic training can only take me so far, the Holy Spirit is there to take me the rest of the way. I was not prepared for the way that scripture can knock you off center and break open your life, making you feel as if God is speaking directly to you. Having this happen during the Easter season, a season of transformation and renewal, made it even more significant.
As part of my Lenten preparation for Easter, I was participating in a communal reflection ritual at my local church on Jesus’ appearance to Mary Magdalene. It is a gospel story that we read every Easter and one that I truly love for myriad reasons. After listening to the story read aloud, I closed my eyes and sunk into the meditative music that was playing in the church. But to be honest, I was analyzing the story like the academic that I am: the way that text lifts up Mary Magdalene’s role in understanding the resurrection appearances, the almost comic way that Peter and the Beloved Disciple compete in a footrace to see who can get to Jesus’ tomb first, and how Jesus revealing himself to Mary is one of the rare and clarion pronouncements of female apostleship in the New Testament. I was completely in my head when the leader of the reflection asked us to focus on verse 20:16 where Jesus calls Mary by name. That is the moment when the Holy Spirit broke through.
It is not until Jesus calls Mary by name that she recognizes him. He calls her by her Hebrew name, Mariam and she responds with Rabboni, a title that is both respectful and intimate suggesting a relationship that has been built through many discussions and perhaps even some arguments. Is there anything more intimate than having a beloved say your name? At that moment in the meditation, I heard my husband calling out to me, “Honey,” the name he always used for me, even when we were angry with one another. I heard his voice; I knew it immediately and palpably. I sobbed because it had been so long since I heard his unique inflection. I did not know how much I craved to hear Barry call my name. Mary Magdalene longed to have that one more lesson, conversation, argument with her beloved teacher and friend. I longed for the same. Mary fell to the ground and put her arms around Jesus’ knees, pleading with him to not leave her alone again. She wants to hold onto this moment for as long as possible. Who can blame her? Not me who had spent so many hours wishing for the same thing. But Jesus tells her, “Do not cling to me (noli me tangere).”
After Barry died, I felt angry, lonely, and numb. I could not let God in because I was mired in grief, but also guilt. I had been caring for my husband for 3 years while he battled cancer, but the last year of his life required a lot of hands-on, heavy lifting type of care. I was exhausted between work, taking care of family and really everything on my own. I felt guilty because when he died, I also felt relief. I was relieved that he was no longer suffering. I felt relieved that I would no longer be so bone tired in body and soul. But how could I be so selfish? I should be a better wife, a better human being. As I sat in that pew, I was transported to another time when I was clinging. Hands stretched out for last rites. Hands intertwined through the metal bars of a hospital bed. My hand stroking his arm and face telling Barry that I loved him. My hands were clinging tightly as I sat at his bedside. At the moment of his death, I felt him drifting away, leaving his body. As I held on, clinging to him and our life together, I felt myself floating up toward the ceiling, I felt nothing but immense love. But at the same time, I knew that I had to let go. I could not cling to him any longer because he was ascending to the Father. I yearned to stay in that place of divine love, to be with my husband, and to avoid the aching sadness that awaited me on the other side. Releasing him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I wanted to cling, but knew that I had to go on living, struggling, and moving through the grief even when it threatened to swallow me whole.
I opened my eyes at the end of that reflection and knew that I would never hear the story of Mary Magdalene in the same way. I knew that I would never be the same after this encounter. A few days later, I took off my wedding ring, put it in the jewelry box and promised my husband I would no longer cling to the image of what was, but allow the possibility of a future, my future. This does not mean that I have moved on—what does that even mean—or that I do not cry when I think of Barry or that I do not miss him every day, but that I live in hope instead of despair and trust that God has more for me.
As we celebrate Mary Magdalene’s feast day on July 22nd, may we look to her as an apostle and prophet of grief. May we truly abide in this life with all its flaws, joys and sorrows. May we see and savor all that is around us right now and speak what is on our heart, our Truth. May we remember our most beloved who have passed on, but never cling to what they were or who we were so that we can become who God so deeply wants us to be.
“O lamp of the world and gleaming pearl, who by announcing Christ’s resurrection merited to become the “Apostle of the Apostles,” Mary Magdalen, be ever our loving advocate with God who has chosen you.” Amen.”–Traditional antiphon for MM
Teresa Calpino holds a Ph.D. in New Testament and Early Christianity with a focus on women in the New Testament writings. She is currently a Lecturer in Theology at Loyola University Chicago where she is also the Director of Mission Integration for the College of Arts and Sciences. Teresa is a graduate of the Spiritual Direction program at the Siena Center in Racine, WI with a busy practice accompanying seekers on their journey through the spiritual life.
