Who Is Mary Magdalene?

I don’t claim to be a theologian, but like many others, I am on a journey to find the Divine. I follow my intuition, looking for signs … the red cardinal on the wire … the first burst of lilac in the spring.

Recently, I attended a retreat called “The Mystery of Magdalene,” led by Reverend Pat Cashman, an Episcopal priest. At the beginning of the retreat, she said, “We are all Mary Magdalene. What have you brought with you today that is Magdalene?”

What did she mean?

Outside the second-floor rectory window, the rooftop of a stately home is shrouded in April’s greenery of sweet spring. I remember the June day when we greeted our guests under the portico of that house, newly married, him in a cream-colored tux, me in a rather slinky white wedding gown. I remember our love for one another in a way I haven’t felt since then and never will again. Forty-five years have passed.

Now, I travel alone. People ask me why I am without a man, a partner, or a marriage. Why do you have no one with you? Who are you?

Who is Mary Magdalene?

Although she is a central figure in the New Testament, little is known about her life. The widow, the mother, the sister—the woman possessed by demons? They rewrote her story. They melted her down among the nameless women like a candle of wax. Was she a woman in love with a charismatic preacher? Or was she a wealthy woman who traveled the Galilee alone? Why wasn’t she attached to a man? Or was she a prostitute and sinner whose name tarnishes Irish history, forever haunted by the memories of Magdalene Laundries, those hellholes for “fallen women?”

She kneels at the cross, she is the first to witness the resurrection, and the one who anoints his feet with nard-scented hair. She was a teacher, a leader, a follower, a sinner, a prostitute, and perhaps the one who loved Jesus the most.

Some scholars believe that there was a special love between them and that their conversations were intimate and private, that they kissed on the mouth. Peter was even jealous of her. The rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar turned her into the woman who sings: “I don’t know how to love him.”

The role of women in the life and times of Jesus is complex and confusing. It seems to me that Jesus was a feminist, and it was the men who followed him who failed to relinquish their power and authority to the women he loved. I think of the women witnesses who promoted his ministry, whose lives are never the subject of sermons.

Then there is the woman author belittled because people believed that a woman could not have had conversations that the Twelve didn’t have with the man proclaiming to be the Son of God, let alone write her own gospel. Her leadership and authority are disputed by the men, an ancient message but one that resonates with women today. I think of women whose stories, whether or not they inspire anger or jealousy, dare to write them.

She was smart. She was slandered. She was Virginia Woolf. She was Adrienne Rich. She was the woman who dared write while the famous male authors said she couldn’t write, so why pretend?

When we eliminate guilt and shame, desire, and anger, we prepare to become “fully human,” according to the Gospel of Mary. This is the writer’s journey, the one that leads to redemption, the one that frees and heals.

To be “fully human” is to be divine. The “realm of God is among you,” she proclaims. This was heresy. This was revolutionary. This was the nameless women who gathered around the sacred Circle, lit the candle, and shut out the distractions of the outside world, putting their trust in each other. This is Magdalene.

How are you like Magdalene?