Resurrection Coming, Ready or Not

It has been Lenten darkness for so long this year. There has been illness, grief and death since Christmas. The Epiphany starlight sustained me through the beginning of the season. That light faded into distant memory and I am stumbling on my way through the crucifixion. It often is not the weight of grief and sadness that puts nails in my cross but living with my imperfect self and through the daily problems that come my way. I long for resurrection...
I love the Gospel of Mark. It is so straightforward... just the facts...tells the story without much theological embellishment and leaves the reader to draw their own conclusions. The crucifixion story in Mark is graphic... full of details that help me see the people involved... the naked young man wrapped in linen in the Garden... Peter weeping... the countryman Simon, father of Alexander and Rufus, who was compelled to carry the cross for Jesus...Joseph of Arimathaea, an honorable counselor...Jesus, beaten, dying, forgiving... and the women. Mark devotes two verses to listing the women who were there... Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem. They are the ones who stand by, who wait for the death and who see where his body is placed. I find it interesting that the only man mentioned by Mark who actively participated in the burial was Joseph of Arimathaea... no male disciples, just the women who followed him, ministering to him in death as they had in life. Their discipleship was rooted in love that would not let them deny him in death or in life.
I wonder about all those nameless women who followed Jesus. Mark says they followed him in Galilee. Mary and Martha, sisters of Lazarus, must have been there as well as Jesus’ mother, his sister perhaps? Aunts, nieces, wives, young women, old women, women restored to a state of grace by Jesus’ unconditional love that ignored the prevailing masculine superiority of his culture, women healed by his touch in ways that never made it into the gospel stories... women were always welcome to be a part of his extended family of disciples. Jesus was so particular in the attention he paid to women, including them in his vision of heaven on earth. The early church recognized the value of steadfast women and they become leaders themselves, many of their names lost as the church evolved into a male dominated hierarchy that bore little resemblance to the first band of followers. How did they keep the resurrection light burning when they were shut out, blamed for original sin, sent to the back seats of the church bus, not allowed to be who Jesus had called them to be? What can I learn from them that will help me find my way out of the darkness into the Light?
The first lesson is the gift of presence. They came and they stayed. The horror of the execution, the grief of the death, the loneliness when the men left did not chase them away. They came during the good days, were touched in ways that changed them forever, and were bound to this man in life and death. His teachings, his love, his vision were so important to them that they could not leave without leaving their hearts behind. So they stayed. I must stay... stay with the messes I make, clean up after myself, forgive myself and ask for forgiveness, live in the darkness awhile longer, remembering all that has come before and giving thanks.
The second lesson is the gift of watching. They not only stayed, they watched. They watched the death, knew where his body was laid, they knew who arranged the burial. They watched the whole process, knew who was there and what happened. They did not let their grief and anger cloud their vision or cause them to turn away from the man they loved. So, I must watch and see... see what my truth is in this time of darkness... where am I and who am I when all is covered with the grey clouds of imperfection. Let me have eyes to see. I want to see the whole of who I am... created in God’s image... moving through my own Garden of Gethsemane... suffering through crucifixions of my own devising... dying that I might come alive once again as I have done before, with God’s help.
I want to watch and remember... watch and prepare... watch and wait... watch and hope... watch with Mary and Martha, Jeannie and Leisa, Dianne and Amy and Cindy, Pam and Celeste and Dorri, Jackie and Fran and Pat, Mary Beth and Noel and Jeanine and Ann and all the women who watch and wait with me for the coming of new life after death. Thanks be to God that death is not the last word... love is.