Recognizing the Name-Caller

Shocking as it is to believe -- there have been times that I have tuned out my children's voices. I know, I know. This is unprecedented. Unheard of. Unbelievable. But... true.

I have been so deeply absorbed in conversation that I have put the repetitive "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy!" on the white noise reel in the back of my mind while I finish the front-reel conversation or situation already garnering my attention.

"Tamara!" 

And suddenly I'm all ears. I round on my children. "What did you call me?"

Then it's back to Mommy again. My children now have my undivided attention. They've called me by my name.

John 20:10-18 begins at the empty tomb. Peter and John have come to see it. They've seen the empty strips of linen and the neatly folded burial shroud I wrote about yesterday, and they've gone again, wondering what in the world has just happened. 

Seemingly, everyone else has gone. The garden is empty... except for Mary Magdalene. 

She's heartbroken. She doesn't know the whole story yet, and so she believes someone has taken Jesus' body. The one thing left to her, the one reminder of what she has placed her entire hope and faith in -- is missing. She wants to honor the memory of Him, honor His body at least if she cannot honor His life, but her efforts are cut short when the empty tomb stares her in the face. That echoing, hewn-out-of-stone, hollow place reflects her empty hope. There is nothing left.

Have you ever hit rock-bottom before? Have you ever cried until there is nothing left but aching, echoing, dull nothingness? I have, and I recognize Mary's heartbreak here. All her faith, shattered. All her hope, only air. Friday was painful. Saturday, destructive. Sunday... a barren wasteland. There's nothing left.

She bends over to look once more into the empty tomb, and suddenly...

It's not empty. Two men are sitting there, one where Jesus' head had been, the other at the place where His feet had rested. "Woman," one of them said, "why are you crying?"

The whole situation is strange. Why are two men sitting in a tomb? Specifically, why are they sitting in Jesus' tomb? Even more specifically, Why are two men sitting in a tomb when Jesus is clearly not in the tomb in place of them?

Mary answers with the only honest question she can unearth from her broken heart. "'They have taken my Lord away,' she says, 'and I don't know where they have laid Him.' At this, she turns around and sees Jesus standing there, but she does not realize that it is Jesus" (John 20:13-14).

Jesus is the white noise on that reel in her head that is weeping in pain. 

Let me say that again: Mary is so caught up in her pain that she does not or cannot recognize her Savior who has come, specifically, to her. To her. Not yet to His bestie John. Not yet to His rock Peter. Not yet to His physician Luke.

To Mary. Mary Magdalene. Dark past, demon-possession, drowning in sin... but redeemed Mary.

Jesus says to her, "Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?" Mommy. Mommy. Mommy! MommyMommyMommy...

Mary can't see past her pain. She thinks this must be the gardener. The tomb caretaker. He must have done something with Jesus' body. Her mind can't believe, not yet. "Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have put Him, and I will get Him."

Jesus says to her: "Mary!"

Mary. 

Tamara.

[Insert your name here].

"'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name. You are mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior" (Isaiah 43:1-3).

This moment, this name-calling, broke me this morning. Jesus comes first to the one who needs Him the most. He breaks through the white noise that is turning red with pain, and He speaks Mary's name, a single word.

And when He does, she recognizes Him. "She turns toward Him and cries out in Aramaic, 'Rabboni!' (which means Teacher)" (John 20:16). 

Jesus goes from "Sir" the gardener to "Rabboni" the Teacher. Specifically, it means "my Teacher." There are few (if any) examples in Scripture of its use except to call on God in prayer. Mary goes from conversation with a gardener to a prayer of recognition.

When was the last time you prayed with recognition? Think about that for a second. When was the last time you offered prayer to the Great God of Heaven, to your Master and Savior, to Rabboni... recognizing Him as He recognizes you?

When you pray, do you really see the One to Whom you are praying? Or are you still looking at the gardener?

Y'all, I'm talking to myself here today, but if the shoe fits... How often have I sat on my couch and petitioned heaven and felt that my prayers get no higher than the swirly designs on my living room ceiling? 

Oh, often. Far, far too often. 

Jesus recognizes Mary. He calls her by name. She is His. You are Mine. And when her name leaves His lips, she recognizes Jesus. He is now hers. She calls Him by name. Rabboni. My Teacher.

"I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine" (Song of Solomon 6:3). 

Reciprocity. Give and take. Back and forth. Ownership. Possession. All these words come to mind in this story. This is love. This is relationship.

Mary can't help the joy that wells up in her heart. She runs to the disciples with the news. "I have seen the Lord!" I have recognized Him! He is mine!

Hallelujah!