On this All Saints day, I (of course) am thinking of Mary Magdalene. I keep imaging what it was like for her, to be a woman of her times, to be tasked with going to tell a group of men that the Savior has risen from the dead. On her walk from Jesus’s tomb to where the apostles were, did she stop and hesitate? Did she have a feeling the men wouldn’t believe her? Was she scared or nervous? Either way, she did the bidding of Christ. She did what was asked of her—in a time when a woman’s testimony was meaningless, she gave her testimony to a group of men who had just been through the unthinkable, a group of men who turned their back on the only person who truly cared for them. Of course they did not believe her. Of course they went backed and saw for themselves the empty tomb. And some did not believe still until long after that, until Christ Himself came and showed them his wounds. What was it like for her to witness all of that? To have seen Christ die, buried, resurrected, to know the Truth firsthand and to live in the Truth, while simultaneously watching the men around you lose faith, to hear their sighs of unbelief. What was it like to believe as hard as she did? I imagine that they called her crazy, as women through the centuries have been for being committed to the Truth. But she never let go, she did what was asked of her, she preached and with her testimony she changed the whole world! And even though the centuries have tarnished her legacy with lies, the truth of who she is stands tall, towering over the gospels. She is Apostle to the Apostles, she is the saint closest to my heart.
