The Apostle to the Apostles

Pitch blackness greets me this early morning.  The daylight hours tell me that Fall has begun, but the Summer heat appears to have not received that message.  September seems to be even hotter than the traditional "dog days of summer." Yesterday afternoon, I caught a bushy tailed squirrel seeking relief from the edge of our pool, lapping up the water as if it were his last chance to ever quench his thirst again.  Even Goldyn prefers our indoor air conditioning to his outdoor spots of shade. 

I made my way up the road, feeling the sun's intensity piercing through my back, but it was balanced out with a gentle, easy blowing breeze. I pondered the past days as I pedaled at a steady pace. I was weary from the week of work, the never endless electronic medical records in which you are constrained to instantly reply or then at home must continue to complete. Gardening tasks remain undone, as once again the weeds are winning in the front flower beds. Why do they thrive so well in the drought?  It seems to take me longer to finish my tasks of home life, washing, cleaning, cooking all fill up my precious daylight hours.  Life swirls around me like a whirlwind and I am somehow moving with it. 

It was pitch black that early morning Sunday, when Mary of Magdala and other women made their way to the Savior's tomb.  Just wanting one more time to show their love and devotion, they brought spices to anoint his body.  But the tomb was open and an angel stood in the vacant tomb, telling them "He is risen! Go and tell the others!" They did just that, even though their words were not believed because of being female witnesses.  Some of the disciples ran and saw the empty tomb, but they didn't understand the meaning of it all, so they didn't stick around.

Mary, hung around though, her emotions frayed and frazzled.  Nothing made sense through the horrific weekend she had just experienced.  Standing with the mother of Jesus at the crucifixion, seeing His dead limp body, the very one she had come to trust and believe, and now this.  An empty tomb, an angel with this unusual news, where is He really? The tears poured out, unable to control her weeping, she needed an answer, a concrete answer to what this all was about.  She just needed to know if He wasn't in the tomb, where had He been taken?  In that moment of desperate exhaustion, she turned around to find the One standing before her. Unable to recognize him until He called her by her name, "Mary". . .

An apostle is a disciple who was an eye witness of the risen Jesus.  Mary qualifies as actually the very first.  In fact, she was among the very last ones to see Him, as He was taken from the cross, when all of His other followers had scattered.  Now, she alone was the first to see Him.  Jesus had to tell her to "stop clinging to Him," as no doubt she never wanted Him out of her sight or grasp again! It is interesting that some of the greatest faith or most intimate moments with Almighty God are granted to women. They exhibit the very words of Jesus, that the last will be first, and the very least of the ones on earth, will be the greatest in God's kingdom. Even His mother Mary, as a young teenager on her own willingly accepted God's course of life for her, no matter the hardships, pain or shame that would come with it. God values women, their devotion, endurance and faith.

I can find myself exhausted, emotionally frayed and frazzled.  But in my whirlwind of life, God is in the midst.  Reminding me that I am valuable, despite living in a culture that wants to diminish me by its standards of less pay, politically charged derogatory comments, and look upon me only as an object.  No, if I see it right, God chose women to reveal his mercy and grace.  And for that one historic morning, He first showed His risen glory to Mary, an apostle to the apostles...  

"The Lord your God is in your midst.  A victorious warrior; He will exult over you with joy, He will renew you in His love, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy."  

(Zephaniah 3:17)