OPENING WORDS

the green of is breaking the ground, and the sweet smell of delicious Jesus is opening the house^ and the dance of Jesus music has hold of the air and mm - > the world is turning ~~'> in the body of Jesus and the future is possible.

;cSpring Song," by Lucille Clifton MARY'S STORY

Marilyn Sewell

Because of the description in our newsletter, the-iiF¥efl£-Steps," many of you may be thinking that I'm going to preach a sermon on Mary, the

Mother of God. Actually, I'm going to preach about another Mary, Mary

Magdalene. I thought, "Would they rather hear a sermon about a saint or a sinner? An icon or a prostitute?" Since evil is always more interesting, more complex—let's face it—evil is juicier than good, I decided on Mary

Magdalene. Now what is your picture of ? Western art depicts her as a loose woman, a wanton woman, with unbound breasts and long golden or perhaps red hair.

But it was after I did my research that I discovered there is absolutely no evidence that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute—actually, she was given a bad rap by the church hierarchy. So I'm going to begin today by telling you who Mary really was, according to the best contemporary scholarship. She likely came from a prosperous fishing village on the northwest bank of

Galilee. Today a rusting sign by the lake tells tourists that this is the birthplace of Mary of Magdala who "followed and ministered to Jesus."

/ Mary was one of Jesus' disciples, the leader among a group of women -v from Galilee who followed Jesus throughout his ministry and-ministered to him. Mary helped support Jesus materially, so she was a woman of at least some means. She was healed by Jesus of "seven demons," the scripture says, and these demons refer not to sin, but to some physical malady such as epilepsy. She is present, along with other women, at the crucifixion; she »v *"** ** •— leads them to the tomb, at some jeopardy, to anoint Jesus' body and finds the ~- - -- ) tomb empty. Jesus appears first to her and so she is the first to know of the resurrection. When she sees the risen Jesus, she calls him "Rapbo^i," a term of intimacy. She is told to bring the news back to Jesus' male disciples, who have fled the scene. These things we know from the .

But the most interesting treatment of Mary Magdalene is in the Gnostic , gospels that were written about the same time as much of the New

Testament, but not included in the canon, or the approved books of the V "^ "* —i. m. church. This ancient writing was discovered only in 1945, when an Arab peasant dug4h@m up in Upper Egypt. He took the 13 papyrus books, bound in leather, and dumped them on the floor. His mother burned much of the text to kindle her fire,bu t then a local history teacher saw one of the books, guessed at their worth, and they were sold on the black market. Eventually they ended up in the hands of scholars, and they are slowly being translated.

It is thought that when Christianity became the official religion, these books, considered heretical, were being systematically destroyed. Perhaps a monk buried these copies over 1600 years ago in order to preserve them, and there they stayed until 1945.

In the Gnostic gospels of Mary, Thomas, and Philip, Mary is clearly a spiritual companion of Jesus. Jesus is said to have loved her more than all the other disciples, and he used to kiss her often on the mouth. She is the one who understood Jesus' message more profoundly than the others, and she was called upon to interpret his message to the other disciples, to give them courage in the face of persecution. Because she was favored, the other disciples were jealous of her. Jesus rebuked them when they criticized her, saying, "Why have I not loved you like her." Peter at one point says, "Let

Mary leave us, for women are not worthy of life." Jesus says he "will make her a living spirit. . . resembling you males."

How then did Mary come to be characterized as a prostitute? She was not considered such by the early Christians, many of whom believed in

f _ " women's equality and saw Mary as a . The shift came in the 6th mm- t- i-. „^_ 3»,_ century when Pope Gregory in his commentaries conflated the story of Mary

Magdalene with stories of other women who encountered Jesus. He equated her with the woman who breaks ointment on Jesus' feet and wets his feet with her tears and wipes them with her hair. And then there is the woman who anoints Jesus with precious oil. As Christianity moved to define itself, the bishops were of course claiming their authority through Peter, the founder of the Church. Adherents of Peter would have protected him fiercely. Mary had been quite clqse to Jesus, and so making her a prostitute robbed her of her authority as a prophetic figure and made her merely an example of Jesus' compassion and mercy.1

Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Jesus representj^taurset this very destructive split in Western thinking between the spirit and the flesh.

The mother of Jesus is an icon, pure spirit, asexual, whereas Mary Magdalene represents sensuality, sexuality, and is of the earth, of the flesh, and therefore to be feared, like Eve. She is danger, she is temptress, whereas Mary the

'This brief history of the shifting of Mary Magdalene from beloved disciple to prostitute was largely taken from Rosemary Radford Ruether, in an article appearing in the National Catholic Reporter, May 9,1996.

V mother of Jesus is pure unadulterated love, love not contaminated by mere ;..r. •*• e&j t. k °^ ,_.. flesh. The virgin and the whore, a dichotomy that still persists.

As I began to contemplate Mary Magdalene as she really was, I began to think. What would she say if she were to tell her own story, as she was not allowed to do in the canon. What would she tell us about herself? What would she tell us about Jesus? The rest of the sermon will be in the imagined words of Mary. As much as possible I will adhere to the truth of what we know of her.

I am Mary of Magdela, the daughter of a prosperous fisherman on the seas of Galilee and the widow of another man of the sea, who was lost to the sea. Though that loss was terrible for me, it does not touch the kind of grief I now feel, having just lost my Jesus. You have heard of him, have you not?

How can I put into words what this man was like. He was as no other man I have ever met. He had such a presence—everyone was drawn to him, rich and poor alike. Wherever he went, huge crowds would follow, just to get near, as if pulled along by some invisible hand. He was a great teacher. And when he spoke, he often told stories, stories that seemed puzzling at first, but

^* stories that stayed with you until their truth became part of your deep XW *-*< (^ knowing.

I first met Jesus when I was at the market with my brother. As you know, no respectable woman can go out alone, and so my brother escorted me, as usual. We gathered our food for the day, and then as we turned to go home, we saw the crowd gathering. What was this about, we wondered. It seemed a man was at the center of the crowd. We drew closer. Full of awe,

I watched him. He was swarthy, with dark hair, and he looked strong, like one who was used to working with his hands. He was healing the sick, people with all kinds of diseases and torments, those who were possessed of demons, and those with the palsy. I can't explain why, but in his presence, I felt a kind of warmth and freedom that I never felt before. He couldn't see me because I was behind my veil, but then my eyes met his eyes. His eyes spoke of love—not the kind of love between a man and a woman, but something different, something I can't quite define, something like the very love of God in a mere man's eyes.

I rushed forward before my brother could stop me, and I fell in the dust at his feet. "Master," I cried, "Master, heal me! For these many years, ''- «•- ... *. demons have tormented me—I have the falling sickness. Please! Help me!" He heard my cry and had mercy on me. He placed his hands upon my head, one on either side, and was silent. I felt something move through me, some kind of force move all the way through my body. And then he said, "Go in peace. Your faith has made you whole." And it was true. I never was troubled with the falling sickness again.

My brother was not the kind to give credence to " itinerant faith healers," as he called Jesus. He pulled me to my feet and whispered, "Leave this man. He is a magician, a deceiver, he has made a fool of you! Come home, where you belong." But I knew what was real and what was not real.

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I knew that I had to see this man Jesus again. Somehow I knew that my destiny rested with him. And why should I not follow him? I had no children, and I had means of my own. I was free to go. More than that, I w .... I* t ir knew I had to go.

The next morning before dawn I wrapped a few belongings and some bread in a table covering and made ready to go. Just before I left, I saw the little boat that my husband had carved for me. I started to take it, but then I left it behind. I knew that my life was turning, was going in a very different

X direction. I pressed the little boat to my lips and placed it back on the table.

I walked out the door, never to rerurn^agairr.

As soon as the light came, I began to ask passersby, "Where is Jesus? ton*- "***' »' , Have you seen him? Where is the teacher Jesus?" I soon caught up with him, for many knew of his healing and teaching. When he saw me, he smiled.

I told him very simply, "I want to follow you." And he accepted me. When he looked at me, it was as though he knew me better than I knew myself.

As we moved fromtow n to town, I began to know Jesus as a man—I learned his likes and dislikes, his favorite foods, the things which irritated him. I tried to make sure that he ate well, and that he rested, because always the crowds were around him, with many wanting to be healed both of body and of spirit. He had such a compassionate heart that he drew all kinds of people to him—the poor, but also the wealthy. He would stop and talk with people that others quite frankly despised—the tax collectors, the destitute, and even the prostitutes.

Jesus was always surprising me. I'll never forget what happened at th$3 banquets A Pharisee put it on, and it was a fancy affair, loads offish and e goat's meat and delicacies of all kinds and wine flowing like water—an all male affair, as meals outside the home always are here in my country. Some of the disciples criticized Jesus for attending, &aying4hat these revelers were un^dly^4iuUl^ have to say that Jesus always liked a good party—could always tell the good wine from the bad. Anyway, in the midst of the dinner, a woman entered the hall. She was unveiled and her hair unbraided—such a scene! No decent woman would go out in public like this, much less enter a hall full of men.

Her eyes fixed upon Jesus as she moved towards him. The voices stopped -~^> their jokes and gossip and wine cups were set down as the drama unfolded before them. The woman, obviously a prostitute, drew closer to Jesus, and some of the men moved to seize her and remove her from the hall. With one movement of his hand, Jesus stopped them. The woman was weeping, weeping as though her heart was breaking open. She knelt before Jesus and with her very tears washed his feet. And then with her long hair she dried his feet and kissed his feet and then anointed them with ointment she had brought in an alabaster flask.

Now when the Pharisee who had invited Jesus saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner. Jesus read his thoughts and said, "Simon, I have something to say to you. Do you see this woman? I entered your house, and you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. You

: £*" ts **"_ CTJ. 0.12 did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet. Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little." The woman kept her face down all this time.

"Look here, woman," said Jesus, and as she raised her eyes to his, he said,

"Your sins are forgiven." And she rose and standing tall, silently left the hall.

Those who were at the banquet table then turned to one another and began to whisper, "Who is this, who even forgives sins?"

The truth is that Jesus didn't have much use for the . They are generally I have to say a self-righteous lot. Once I heard him telling off a group of scribes and Pharisees, and he really went after them. "You hypocrites!" he said. "You pay your tithe of mint and anise and cummin, but you forget about the heart of the law—you forget about mercy, you forget about faith. You are blind guides, who strain at a gnat and swallow a camel!"

I thought he should have stopped there, frankly, because these men were powerful and could do him some harm. But he just kept on tearing into them.

"You blind Pharisee, clean up what is in the cup and then worry about the outside. You appear righteous on the surface of things, but you are rotten at the core." I was thinking, "Stop, Jesus, that's enough," but he kept going.

"You are the children of them that killed the prophets," he said. "You are a generation of vipers! If anybody goes to hell, it will be you!" Well, as you might imagine, he did not endear himself to these religious authorities—and he paid dearly for his truth-telling.

Jesus was not predictable—he said things nobody expected him to say.

Things like "to save your life is to lose it; to lose your life is to save it." Once he said "blessed are those who weep." And "the first will be last, and the last first" He turned the laws and customs upside down—and kept coming back to the law of love. That is what he measured everything by: not how many good deeds you did or how much money you gave or how often you went to the Temple to pray. "How well do you love?" was always his question. "Do you remember the poor? Those in jail? Those who are sick?" Yes, that was

X XX s .. r.;-,. the heart of his message: "How well do you love?" And that love included all people. Another time I remember so well was when we fed 5,000 people.

Hard to believe! I had said to Jesus, who was bone-tired, let's get away from the crowd so you can rest for a while. But the people figuredou t where he

tost, ^ was, and thousands of them walked there to hear his teaching. When Jesus saw this great throng, he began healing their sick and telling his stories.

When evening came, we said to Jesus, "Look, people are hungry—send them away so they can go get some food." But Jesus said, "You give them something to eat." Jesusr was always^^ saying things like tMs—like we were supposed to feed 5,000 people. "You want us to go into town and buy food for 5,000?" Peter asked, knowing that we didn't have the money for that.

"We only have fiveloave s and two fish, and that's not going to go very far, is it?" Peter was like that at times, hot tempered and sarcastic. Jesus just smiled and said, "Bring the bread and fish to me." Commanding everyone to * ti <«.. '••• sit down, he took the five loaves and two fish and looked up to heaven and blessed them, and broke the bread and gave it to the disciples to give to the crowd. The whole crowd ate, and everyone had plenty. In fact^ there were // twelve baskets of bread left over. You know what I think really happened that day? I think a lot of people brought food with them, hidden in their clothing—in fact, I saw people pulling food out of their robes and sharing that food with those around them. The real miracle was in the changing of the hearts of the people—in their understanding that they had enough, in their willingness to share.

I want to tell you something else about Peter. We never got along very- well. Peter always thought that women were inferior and although several of us women were disciples, he never accepted us as equals. I know he was jealous of my closeness to Jesus. He saw Jesus kissing me on the mouth, as he often did, and Peter hated that. Did he want to kiss Jesus on the mouth?

What was his problem? The male disciples worked hard—they were the organizers, the planners. They thought that Jesus was going to establish a kingdom on earth, which they would be part of. Jesus never said that. I knew that wasn't the kingdom he spoke of. I was the one who cared for

Jesus as a man—I knew he couldn't be god-like all the time. I was the one who watched his moods and soothed him when he was angry or exhausted. I know it was frustrating for him to be misunderstood feomuc h of the time- and he had only three years to bring his message.

The night of his arrest was the worst night of my life. He had been praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was in a terrible way: he flung himself on the ground and prayed so hard—I had never seen him like this before. He asked the disciples to stay awake and pray for him, but they went to sleep. Three times he asked them, and three times they went to sleep.

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They were so weary, and things weren't gojng so well. They knew the authorities were watching them. Then Judas came up to Jesus and called out

"Master, Master" and kissed him on the cheek. As soon as he identified

Jesus, men with swords and clubs came to arrest him. The disciples all scattered, fearing that they would be arrested next. And they knew what happened to criminals m thak Ism-d—the roads were lined with men crucified by the Romans.

Jesus was tried and convicted and crucified—nailed to a cross like a common criminal. I was there, with the other women. I was there the whole time. His mother was there, too. You can't imagine how horrifying that was. seeing Jesus dying over a period of three long days. But I knew I could not desert him in his final hours, though my pain was tearing me apart, and my tears would not stop.

After Jesus was buried, I went to the grave to anoint his body. Was I afraid? Of course I was. But this was the custom, and I wanted to give this last gift to Jesus. The next events are so strange that you might doubt my sanity if I tell you. Nevertheless, I'll report what happened. When I got to the grave, the huge stone that the soldiers had put in front of the door had been rolled away. And even stranger, when I entered to anoint Jesus' body, it was gone. And there inside the sepulchre was a young man in a long white garment. He said, "You seek Jesus, he is not here. He is risen." We ran back to tell the eleven—Peter of course didn't believe me, so he had to come and see for himself. Then the very next day, Jesus appeared to me. In my joy

I moved to embrace him, but he held back. I understood. I could no longer depend on him to spread his word of love to the world—the other disciples and I must do that.

It has been only a few days since these events took place, and yet even now, I feel a new kind of strength inside. Jesus is alive! No, not in the form of the man I loved and cared for—I cannot touch his skin, look into his eyes—but he still lives on. His message is even clearer to me now—love should be at the center of our lives—and now I understand that love conquers even death. Yes, that's what he came to say! There is nothing more powerful than love.

/cT I wonder what the future will be like. The other disciples and I will take this message of love to the people—to whoever will hear—but will the message live? Will Jesus be remembered 10, 50,100 years from now? I don't know. Will his kingdom come about on this earth? I wonder about us in Palestine—will we be at peace one day? Will there come a day when people live by the law of love, rather than the law of the sword? Will there be a time when the rich share with the poor? Jesus died for you and for me— to show us a better way. When will that time come?

PRAYER

Living God, on this Easter mom, may we know the power of love in

our own lives. In spite of all our fears, in spite of law and custom

and the expectations of others, let us search for and cleave to the

good. Let us care enough, let us be courageous enough, to create a

world of justice and righteousness, of peace and plenty for all.

• So be it on this Easter day. Amen.

f .a

/£ BENEDICTION

May the spirit of love live among you, may it guide every thought and every motion. So be it. Amen.

/7 i • . '.

I

• ORDER OF SERVICE Sunday, April 4, 1999 Greetings and Announcements by Board Member 8:30, 10:00 and 11:30 ant. Offertory 'I Don't Know How To Love Him" A. Lloyd Webber Jo Ann Anderson, vocalist

Prior to the service you may light a candle in remembrance of a person, cause or event. Parish Concerns and Pastoral Prayer Rev. Disrud The candle box is located to the right of the pulpit. Reading excerpt from "Revolutionary Patience" Dorothee Solle

Silent Meditation Preludes "O Primavera" Jaches de Wert Pavan Melchior Franck Anthem 8:30 & 10:00 from All Night Vigil, Op. 37, No. 7 Rachmaninoff "Home-Suckle" & "Night Watch" Anthony Holborne "Glory be to God and on earth peace. Open, Lord, my lips Ecotopia Brass Ensemble: and my mouth shall proclaim praise. " Carol Smith & Robert Rutherford, trumpets The Unitarian Choir William Stalnaker, horn Marc Wolters & Randall Malmstrom, trombones 11:30 "Fanfare" David Eddleman The Chalice and Nova Choirs Introit "O Filii et Filiae" alckmar Leisring "O sons and daughters of God, rejoice, Alleluia. " Sermon "MARY'S STORY" Dr. Sewell

Opening Words Prayer

•Hymn #61 "Lo, the Earth Awakes Again" (10:0i 11:30 see insert) Hymn #269 "Lo, the Day of Days Is Here" (10:00 & 11:30 see insert)

Unison Reading #624 "Hope Again" C. D. Wells Benediction

Doxology # 123 "Spirit of Life" (Children, please come forward) Postlude "Canon JT' Eric Funk Spirit of Life, come unto me. Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion. Blow in the wind, rise in the sea; Move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice Roots hold me close; wings set me free; •Latecomers Seated Spirit of Life, come to me, come to me. Carolyn McDade Silence is an important part of worship. Please respect your neighbors and the musicians by observing silence in the sanctuary. Chalice Lighting Chalice Lighters 8:30 Scott Thompson 10:00 Amanda Carey Our 11:30 a.m. Sign Language Interpretor is Mary Herman, CT. 11:30 Anna Trompke May we have eyes that see, hearts that love The flowers in the Salmon Street Sanctuary are given by Barbara Surozell and Dean And hands that are ready to serve. Baker in memory of Barbara's mother Constance Bartelmes.

Story An Easter story from Chicken Sunday Patricia Pollaco The flowers in the Main Street Sanctuary are given by the Momyer family Lynne Bacon, storyteller in memory of their husband and father Don.

Children and teachers leave for the Learning Community to Hymn #413 NEXT SUNDAY: "Making the Earth Sacred Again" Dr. Sewell Go now in peace. Go now in peace. May the love of God surround you Everywhere, everywhere you may go.