Photo credit: grinchgirl_images

Lord, let me be a Mary.

Not Martha’s sister, who sat at your feet, although I find most days I’d much rather be there than in the kitchen. 

Mary has chosen the best part; it will not be taken away from her. (Luke 10:42)

Not the mother of our Lord, whose greatest honor brought forth her greatest suffering. 

A sword pierced her own soul just as Simeon prophesied. (Luke 2:35)

Let me be a Mary Magdalene, forever and always the first eyewitness to see an empty tomb.

Early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. (John 20:1)

Let this news move my feet. Every Resurrection Sunday, from sunrise to sunset let me proclaim your holy name to those who deny you and those whom you call beloved.

He isn't here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen. (Matthew 28:6) 

And in our private moments of intimacy, let me recognize your voice the instant you say my name.

“Mary!” Jesus said. 

She turned to him and cried out, “Rabboni!” (which is Hebrew for “Teacher”). (John 20:16)

Let me remember the desperate times in my past only so much as they show me my very real need for you.

For only in our great need do we come to appreciate a Resurrection Sunday. 

After Jesus rose from the dead early on Sunday morning, the first person who saw him was Mary Magdalene, the woman from whom he had cast out seven demons. (Mark 16:9)