Mary Magdalene: A Woman Reclaimed, Reflection for her Feast Day

I had the great honor of sharing these reflections at Epiphany Catholic Church on July 23, 2023 for their Feast of Mary Magdalene celebration (her actual feast day is July 22).

Feast Day of Mary Magdalene; Epiphany Catholic Church, Joan Chittister excerpt, A Passion for Life; Luke 24:1-12

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Good evening. What a joy it is to be with you all celebrating the Feast of Mary Magdalene.

Yesterday the Resonant Peaceful Cities Project began for the 2nd of 3 years in Louisville. This study measures the effect of synchronized meditation on violence in a city or area of a city; this year the focus area is in Old Louisville. Last year with the participation of a few hundred ordinary folks like you and me, there was a 13% reduction in violent crime in Louisville during the time of the study. This year there are at least three times more people participating and it is expected that there will be a greater reduction in violence in Louisville, and particularly in the focus area, during the study period.

A few weeks ago I was telling a scientist about the project and last year’s results. The best way I can describe his response is that it was filled with contempt and derision. I won’t go into the particulars of his objections, but I will say that it was disappointing that a scientist, who I’d hope would exercise a healthy curiosity, was unwilling to even look at the data because it didn’t fit his preconceived ideas.

We just heard in Luke’s gospel that when Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary told the male apostles of Jesus’ resurrection, the men did not believe them. I wonder if the male apostles’ responses were also filled with contempt and derision. I hope not. If I put myself in their shoes, it’s easier to give them the benefit of the doubt because I can imagine being hesitant to believe. Maybe I’d be like Peter, wanting to check things out myself.  

I also imagine myself in Mary Magdalene’s shoes. I’m grieving my friend’s death, expecting to see and anoint his body, and he’s gone. I’m unsettled by that and even more so by the appearance of the two men in gleaming white who tell me Jesus is risen. Even though Jesus had told us it was going to happen, it’s pretty discombobulating to actually experience it. When I go to tell the others, I’m trying to process what’s just happened and I really need some care and understanding. Not only do I not get care and understanding, I’m met with disbelief. 

How was that for Mary? Was she expecting that reaction from her friends? Did the experience feel familiar? I wonder how many other times, even as a part of Jesus’ inner circle, Mary had spoken up among the men and been ignored, silenced, or told she was wrong. I am thankful that, whatever her previous experience, she chose to use her voice, to claim and proclaim what she had witnessed.

If you are a woman, I suspect speaking up and not being listened to is familiar. I suspect that speaking and not being taken into account until a man repeats what you’ve said is also familiar. Mary told the male apostles, but it was the men who spread the word wider.

Two thousand years later we women still have the experience of speaking truth and not being believed. We have the experience of stepping into leadership, whether in the church, the business world or in other contexts, and only being able to get so far.

In 2016 Pope Francis raised the celebration of Mary Magdalene from a memorial to a feast day. He recognized her as “the apostle to the apostles,” and noted that, “The decision is situated in the current ecclesial context, which calls upon us to reflect more deeply on the dignity of women, the new evangelisation and the greatness of the mystery of divine mercy.” 

We can celebrate this recognition, this reclamation of Mary Magdalene’s importance in our Catholic heritage. But, I, like Joan Chittister, am frustrated that “it is two thousand years later and little or nothing has changed.”

I am frustrated that there is a need to “reflect more deeply on the dignity of women.”  We are all made in the image and likeness of God; this alone endows us with inherent dignity. When I was teaching theology at Trinity, I remember talking about women’s experiences and women’s rights to my students. In their reflections, more than one of my students wrote, “I now realize that women are people, too.” I am frustrated that somehow the humanity of women is still in question.

As I was writing this, I considered whether I’ve heard men referred to as less than human. I have, in the context of men who do harm to others, and in the context of men who are part of the global majority – black, brown, indigenous – or part of some other marginalized group. But in a general sense, I don’t hear men’s humanity and dignity questioned.   

I am frustrated that women’s wisdom and leadership is nearly always absent from the pulpit. I am frustrated that we’re told that we are equal to men in the church, but that we cannot be deacons or priests. I also grieve this, since I know women who feel called to minister in this way and cannot follow that call in the Catholic Church. I am frustrated that someone like Roy Bourgeois, who supports women priests in this institution can be laicized and excommunicated for his solidarity and advocacy. I am frustrated that the many ways women weave our church communities together are often overlooked, taken for granted, or minimized.

Mary Magdalene was named twelve times in the gospels, second only to Jesus’ mother Mary. Mary Magdalene is one of the few followers who was explicitly named as witness to Jesus’ death and burial. She did not shy away from what must have been the gut-wrenching grief of watching her beloved friend die a horrible death. She was present at his burial and she was prepared to do the sacred work of anointing his lifeless, brutalized body.

Mary Magdalene, who was healed by Jesus and faithfully followed and supported him, was strong. She is, as Joan Chittister says, an icon for our century.

Chittister says, “She calls women to listen to the call of the Christ over the call of the church.” In a church that speaks of honoring women, but not does not, in fact, fully embrace us, we instead heed the call of the universal Christ, the spirit of all-embracing love. Dear women, this Christ of wholeness and interconnection lives in each of us. Mary Magdalene calls on us to trust ourselves.  

Chittister says, “She calls men to listen for the call of the Christ in the messages of women.” Patriarchy hurts us all. In the patriarchal paradigm, men are expected to have all the answers and lead with certainty, even when they are not certain and lack information, like the scientist who wouldn’t look at the data that challenged what he thought he knew. When men don’t listen to women, it is to the detriment of women and men. Dear men, we women are half of the global population. Our words, our experiences, our gifts, our truths do not diminish the value of your words, your experiences, your gifts, your truths. In fact, we enrich each other when we share them. When you, when we, bring curiosity and a sense of wonder to all people’s realities, when we honor both our commonalities and our uniqueness, we piece our fragmented world back into holy wholeness. Mary Magdalene calls on men to trust women.  

Chittister says, “Mary Magdalene is a shining light of hope, a disciple of Christ, a model of the wholeness of life, in a world whose name is despair and in a church whose vision is yet, still, even now, partial.”

We celebrate Mary Magdalene today in our world whose name is despair and our church whose vision is still partial. As we do so, we reflect upon her legacy and her lessons.

The theme of tonight’s celebration is “A Woman Reclaimed.” Reclaiming is often preceded by letting go of something to make space for what we choose to claim again. In that spirit, I offer these questions first for quiet reflection and then sharing.

Chittister says, “[Mary Magdalene] calls women to courage and men to humility.”

For women: When have you practiced courage? What would you like to release and reclaim to practice humble courage now? 

For men: When have you practiced humility? What would you like to release and reclaim to practice courageous humility now?

If those questions don’t resonate for you, I offer this simple question: How do this evening’s readings and reflection touch you?

Practicing Deep Community, Deep Hope, Deep Belief

On April 16, 2023 I had the honor of sharing my reflections with my church community. Below is a slightly extended and updated version of what I shared. Even with the small additions and updates, there is still so much more to say.

from the left a hand holds a lit match next to a short lit canlde in a flower-shaped candle holder. The background is all black.

Second Sunday of Easter, Sunday of Divine Mercy

Acts 2:42-47; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20: 19-31

Good morning. It is so good to be with you all today. What a week it’s been. I have talked to many people who feel heart-broken, despondent, angry, frustrated, helpless, hopeless. Perhaps you are feeling these, too. We bring this collective pain, as well as our individual struggles, into this second Sunday of Easter. Today’s readings show us practices of deep community, invite us to root in deep hope, and encourage us to practice deep belief in the Christ of transformation, the Christ that has been with us for all time and was embodied for us through Jesus’ resurrection.

In our first reading we hear how the community of disciples shared all things in common and allocated resources according to need. In the second reading from the first letter of Peter and the gospel reading from John, we are invited into hope, into the practice of believing. To be sure, believing and expanding our hope are practices. If you are like Thomas, if you are like me, hope and trust in renewal and resurrection fluctuate and waver, particularly in times like these, when there is so much to grieve.

If you ever struggle to believe in what you cannot see, I offer a simple, but not always easy invitation: broaden your perspective. Orient yourself in another direction. Practice patience. We only need look to our yards and gardens to see that Life is stronger than death. Resurrection is the way of Creation. This isn’t to say we should ignore the pain and harm in the world, but rather to remember that it is only a part of the picture. Then we can seek the places where in the midst of it all, people are taking steps toward care, healing, and restoration. Ask yourself the question: What do I want to see? And then keep your eyes open for it.

I want to see a world of vibrant community in which meeting needs is prioritized over unfettered accumulation. I could easily look around and not see this. AND there are places where people are operating differently from the dominant cultural norms.

Here at St. William we are strengthening our interconnected community through small groups and community retreats. When members of the community express a need, others step up, offering resources in ways that support individual and collective well-being within and beyond our church community. When our LGBTQ+ siblings are hurting, when our Black and Brown siblings are hurting, when our immigrant and refugee siblings are hurting, our leadership makes public statements affirming that they, you, we all are worthy of care; individual community members write letters, rally in Frankfort, collect resources, and otherwise tend to needs. When members of the St. William community saw that free trade did not mean fair trade, Just Creations was born, now 33 years ago. These are just a few of our works of community. These are acts of seeing the Risen Christ and recognizing that we play a role in its joyful fruition. This is believing in the value of salvific acts, even when we’re not sure of outcomes.

What is the world you want to see? I want to see a world in which all people feel safe enough and supported enough that they don’t turn to guns to protect, defend, or avenge. I want to see a world in which violence is not seen as a viable and desirable strategy to meet needs. We are 106 days into 2023 and in the United States there have been at least 161 mass shootings, in which at least 4 people were injured or killed with a gun. I suspect that since the 146th such shooting happened Monday at Old National Bank in downtown Louisville, many of us have been feeling the impact of this ongoing violence particularly strongly. Last night at Chickasaw Park, Louisville experienced another mass shooting- 2 dead, 4 injured- the 158th in the country, the second in a week for our city. This was one of 7 mass shootings that happened on April 15th in the United States, the largest being in the small town of Dadesville, AL, where 4 people were killed and 20 injured at a Sweet 16 party. These are only the mass shootings, not even counting the other injuries and deaths from gun violence.

I do not put my faith in guns or violence. Guns are not part of the story of the Risen Christ. I do not put my faith solely in gun legislation. Stricter gun laws are a stopgap, but they’re only one step toward creating greater collective safety. I put my faith in the multi-faceted and creative expression of people power.

Two and a half weeks ago, I was one of a few hundred people from around Louisville who participated in an anti-violence summit with the guiding question, “What if Louisville were the safest city in the world?” I believe in the people who were in that room- the violence interrupters, the mental health professionals, the restorative justice and conflict resolution teachers and practitioners, the elders who have shown us the efficacy of nonviolence.

I have seen the power of nonviolence on the streets of Louisville, at Standing Rock, in Palestine, in Colombia, in Guatemala, and other places in the world. Erica Chenoweth’s extensive and ongoing research on nonviolent and violent movements gives any doubters evidence to show that nonviolent social movements for change are twice as effective as violent movements and all such movements that have involved just 3.5% of the population have succeeded. 3.5% Echoing the second reading, there is cause for rejoicing here.

The world I wish to see is one in which we are so bound to one another that we don’t need laws to restrict guns because no one has used them to hurt others. I dream of a world in which we don’t have prisons or police forces because we choose other ways of addressing and repairing harm. Beyond St. William we also have models of these, places where small pockets of people are practicing care-filled community.* We can see them. When we struggle to see and believe, may we turn toward one another and lean into the love-filled creative potential of Christ in our midst.   

We shall be known by the company we keep
by the ones who circle round to tend these fires
We shall be known by the ones who sow and reap
the seeds of change alive from deep within the earth

It is time now
It is time now that we thrive
It is time we lead ourselves into the well
It is time now, and what a time to be alive
In this great turning we shall learn to lead in love
In this great turning we shall learn to lead in love

(Listen here to “We Shall Be Known,” by MaMuse, performed by thrive East Bay Choir)

*In future writing I will name some of the places and people that help me hold onto hope.

Cory to Corey: A Story of Unexpected Connection

In a previous post, I referenced Elizabeth Lesser’s Cassandra Speaks. I was in a book group to explore the book and we were fortunate enough to have a Zoom conversation with the author. When asked about the impact of her book, Lesser mentioned a man named Corey Arthur (though I only knew his first name at the time) who had written her about the book. Both her book and his letter inspired the homily I shared with my church community on August 29. My words were also sent to Corey and he responded to me.

What follows is my reflection and, with Corey’s permission, his response. Since I edited his words for the homily, it feels particularly important to share his full unedited response here.

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Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-8; James 1:17-18, 21-22, 27; Mark 7: 1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Good morning. It’s interesting to be considering critiques of hand-washing and dish-washing in this pandemic time. Of course, Jesus wasn’t critiquing the acts themselves, but the way the Pharisees and scribes spoke about them to discredit Jesus. So let’s get into these readings about cleanliness and purity. Woo hoo!

In the first reading Moses shares God’s Law with the Israelites. He cautions them to neither add to it nor subtract from it. If we believe that God is Love and that God’s Law is an extension of God’s Being, then these statutes and decrees make clear the ways of Love. The second reading reminds us that we are birthed through God and that we have the power to save ourselves by tending to and acting on God’s word within us. We are reminded that coming to the aid of widows and orphans, the least among us, and keeping ourselves uncontaminated by the world are how we practice “pure, unspoiled religion.”

In the gospel reading, Jesus rebukes the Pharisees and scribes for holding human traditions higher than God’s Law. Perhaps these human traditions are the additions or subtractions Moses was warning about. Jesus says that nothing that goes into us makes us impure. It’s what we put out into the world that sullies us.

Whew! What a task Jesus has put forth- to take what goes into us and make sure that what comes out is clean and pure. When I think of all the yucky stuff we ingest and are supposed to clean up, I’ll admit I feel overwhelmed. We are immersed in the intertwined systems of patriarchy, white supremacy, and capitalism, all of which breed shame, blame, judgment, criticism, ideas of deserving and undeserving. Ingesting so much human-made muck, it’s no wonder that we put back into the world what we take in. Trying to transform toxicity into purity is no small feat, especially when we keep breathing in the noxious fumes and especially when we’re trying to do it alone. However, I don’t believe we’re meant to do this work by ourselves.

Recently I read Elizabeth Lesser’s Cassandra Speaks. Throughout the book, Lesser invites us to examine how we think about power. Lesser notes that in our patriarchal culture, what are considered "masculine" qualities and expressions of power are valued more than "feminine" qualities and expressions of power. She invites us to consider how we might do power differently. She encourages us to think more expansively, to reimagine how we think about and participate in our families, our workplaces, our communities, our world. None of us are whole until all of us are whole in this interconnected world. None of us are free until all of us are free. On a recent call with Lesser, when someone asked about the impact of the book, she shared the story, and later a letter, from a man named Corey, who is incarcerated for having committed murder.

Corey went to prison when he was 19 for robbery and murder. His actions, which today’s readings refer to as evil, I’d call extreme, yet unsurprising, consequences of the systems we live in. Miki Kashtan describes evil as “utter disconnection,” “the most horrible state we can be in, when absolutely nothing matters, not us, not anyone else, not life itself.”

For reacting to his own utter disconnection with more disconnection, Corey has been incarcerated for over 25 years. He writes, “For longer than that, I've participated in and been subjected to the traditional way power has been done in our urban ghettos and criminal justice system. That patriarchal brand of power has only begotten the senseless death of a good man and the making of a societal monster; me.” Corey recognizes the toxic air of patriarchy he’s been breathing.

He writes about how two women had “thought there was something salvageable, worth saving in what was left of my humanity… In the space of 2 years these ladies managed to do to me what steel cages, assault rifles, prison guards armed with batons and billions of taxpayers’ dollars failed at… [T]hey [along with a few others] transformed me from the horrible person I was, into what I currently am. Today, I am a published writer, an award-winning artist, a community leader that led his prison community through a global pandemic, and I am a mentor to the younger prisoners.” If I could talk to Corey, I might challenge his assertion that they changed him. Instead, I’d suggest that they connected with him and then accompanied him in his transformation; he was a willing participant in his purification. He humbly welcomed the words of love offered him, he allowed the love to take root, grow, and bloom.

In Cassandra Speaks Lesser names people like Corey’s companions, as well as teachers, nurses, and social workers, climatologists, and others, “first first responders,” the people who “save lives before they need to be saved.” First first responders are practitioners of connection, sowers of love. Corey says his first first responders offered him “radical acceptance…They created a space where I could be my authentic self in all the best and worst of ways. They helped me see the ways I was screwed up. They saw me for who I could become if I wanted to.” I believe they helped Corey bring to new life parts of himself that were languishing or even had died. With their accompaniment I believe Corey re-parented the parts of his young self that hadn’t received the care he needed growing up.

Lesser coins another term, “innervism.” Innervism is the act of connecting or reconnecting with “a wiser, stronger, more essential version of [ourselves].”  Innervism is the work of composting, taking the rot we ingest and making it the fertile soil of love. Corey writes that innervism “can be nasty work but, hey, I'm a work in progress.” Aren’t we all?

Jesus is inviting us to innervism, to connecting with the purity of God’s Law that lives within us, that opens our hearts fully, that connects us to ourselves first, and every other person after that, until we truly know that every single one of us matters. As that awareness grows, perhaps we can be like Corey, acknowledging the harm we’ve done, the harm of the human systems created outside of God’s Law of Love, and, moving from innervism to activism, vow to practice purifying not just ourselves, but the sources of our unhealthy consumption.

In this regard Corey has big plans: “I want to change the criminal justice system. I know that if we can reproduce the relationship model I have been learning and extend it to all prisoners it would have a significantly positive impact in furthering restorative justice and providing real rehabilitation to prisoners. Or, at least it would be a huge leap in exercising power differently, thus correctly inside of prison. My experience is living proof of… how we can do power differently with women at the helm of the ship in partnership with men.”

May we do power differently, leaning into God’s Law of Love, tending to God’s word planted in us, accompanying each other so that we may move from evil toward love, from utter disconnection toward radical purifying connection. 

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Corey Devon Arthur’s Response

Greetings,

I hope my words find you well. I received your letter. Thank you for finding my words worthy enough to include in your homily. I read it several times before I realized I was reciting it from memory. You did an amazing job. My only critique is that you didn't use my full name, Corey Devon Arthur. I know it may sound like a strange thing. However it is important to me.

I am a person. Our names are essential to our personhood, thus humanity. In prison they stop at no end to reinforce the idea that I am not a person. That I am an inmate with a DIN number. That I am the property of the state. I protest in the voice of my humanity. I am a person. I have a name.

You challenged the way I conceptualized the roles of my first first responders in my redemption and transformation. I accept.

"Go your ways, behold I send you forth as lambs among wolves." Luke 10:3. The ladies who healed me didn't just connect with me as you said. They engaged and clashed with me on numerous occasions. In the beginning I was deeply entrenched in my former state of darkness. Or as you wrote, disconnect. A term I happened to agree with, brilliant.

These ladies believed in the good that was still left in me. They believed in it so much that they endured and overcame my stubbornness. They answered the pleas of that little boy who never grew up beyond the first wave of his childhood traumas. The same little boy that society and the criminal justice system pushed off to the side in order to focus on punishing the very same monster it created.

True, my desire to change was there. Although I could barely perceive it. It could not have blossomed if these ladies did not willingly expose themselves to some pretty awful stuff and get it out the way.

These ladies were more than my companions. They were my protectors, healers, and comrades. They came down to the low ends of the wastelands and helped me to slay the monster I'd become. At the same time they saved what was left of the boy and built him into a productive man. It's hard to make you appreciate the depth of vicarious trauma they endured for a single step forward with me. It was nasty work I tell you. I was there for it all. There is only one reason to explain why they subjected themselves to such an endeavor; love.

Please take a moment to read Luke 7:39-50. The criminal justice system with all its patriarchal knowledge and resources gave me a cell / cage to become an animal in. They gave me a wooden baton, chemical agents, gloved fists, and steel toe boots to wound my flesh. They mandated me to attend boiler plate programs to rehabilitate what no one can say for certain. They tell society justice has been served. I rebelled against all their treatments. In response they increased their doses ten fold. I only became more cold and reverted deeper into the dark. It's where we go at the bottom in the wastelands to cope with what we can't understand or accept is being done to us inside of society's prisons. I can assure you nothing good happens down there.

On the other hand these women who did not know me, with meager resources, their spare time, hearts and life experiences simply loved me and called me friend. They embraced my humanity. They did not abandon me when the hard work of innervism was taking place. When I reached out from any random cell I had faith that I could find their warmth waiting to heal me.

Thank you for allowing me to share in community with you. I hope that we can do this again. Your homily brought a blanket of comfort to me. I recently went to my first parole board hearing. I was denied. Perhaps the timing of me receiving your words was a part of God's plan for me. Sharing in community with you has helped me to endure. Thank you.

The irony has not escaped me that we share the same name, although I spell mine with an "e". I suspect such a connection did not go unnoticed by you either. I wish you a most peaceful evening, Cory Lockhart. I hope to hear from you soon.

One
Corey Devon Arthur

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Corey and I have exchanged a couple of correspondences since the above and I suspect we’ll stay in connection. Because of him, I’ve also learned about Empowerment Avenue, “a program for incarcerated writers, artists, musicians, and thinkers committed to the radical act of paying incarcerated people fairly for their labor.”