"WHEN HE SPOKE"

“ WHEN HE SPOKE”

JOHN 20:15 “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you’re looking for?”

When he walked into the room, no one noticed he was there--just a simple man they knew from Galilee.

Son of a carpenter, who lived right down the road. They all thought they knew what he would be.

He would work with wood and build a home, maybe raise a family, but surely there’d be no great destiny.

But no one knew the secret hidden in the father’s heart; his appearance gave no hint to what they’d see.

But when he spoke all of heaven just stood still, and the earth began to tremble beneath his father’s will.

When he spoke, the hearts of men began to change. Heaven fell like rain, when he spoke. (Words by Rusty Goodman)

The whirling stress of the past week has laid me low. My friends and I were sitting alone tying to make sense of it all. I had a special attachment to this trauma. You see, at one point in my life, I was totally out of control.

Most of you probably won’t be able to relate to what I am about to tell you, but I’ll proceed.

When I was a child, I lived in deep corruption. It wasn’t my own, I was far too young to understand. My lostness was handed down as a legacy. What I saw as routine, those around me saw as dysfunctional. My family came from the wrong side of the tracks, troubled and traumatized. Poor, struggling to survive and most of all lonely. I don’t mean alone. We lived in a very highly populated area. I mean lonely. Plenty of people around, but very little meaningful attention. I am from Dalmanutha, or Magadan, about three miles west of Tiberious.

Tiberious was an unclean place. As a matter of fact, when it was founded, they had to force people to live there. The population was the lowest of the low. Centuries passed before things changed. Eventually, many Jewish people moved to Tiberious because they were forced from their homeland. The generations before me were forced to move to the suburbs. And it was in Magadan that my family settled and then struggled.

As I grew from dependency as a pre-teen to the new-found freedoms of my adolescence, life became very complicated. I tried everything. Most of my behavior stemmed from my need for attention. It worked. People began to notice me. It didn’t much matter to me what the process for being noticed was, just being seen was sufficient. My cries for meaning grew louder. Those who knew me best, and loved me most, just watched as I gradually lost control.

I’ve heard you have your own burdens to bear in your generation: Anorexia, Bulimia, Teenage Suicide, AIDS, Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, Teenage Pregnancy, and the such. I’m sure the list goes on. I would have tried most of those. It is unfortunate how every generation has its dark side. We had ours, and you have yours.

I didn’t want money. I was never looking for a hand out. My heart’s cry was for someone to let me know that I mattered. That I had worth. Acceptance was my motive, and misbehavior was my method.

My adolescence got stretched. It began to extend into young adulthood; and eventually, I was trapped in a stage of life that was sad and sometimes sickening.

One of your historians got it right when he said: “This girl had seven relapses, fits with hysteria.” I was caught in a cycle. Panic prevailed.

I told you my hometown was wicked. And word got out. Every low life with a diluted dark side settled on our shores. We lived by the sea; and as sea towns go, we were no resort. This was a town full of corruption, and I was just another of the lost young women who had sold her soul at the till of trouble.

The greatest tragedy, however, was that I didn’t know I was troubled. To me this was all normal. I went from day to day with no direction or discretion. Secretly, it bothered me when people changed to the other side of the street when they saw me coming. I had feelings. Privately, I cried; but publicly, I was cool.

I wandered from day to day with no real purpose. Physical hunger usually brought me in contact with crowds. Bread was enough. But one day, I got a whole lot more.

Word had spread of this man who could make people better, sometimes even raising them from the dead. Although I acted satisfied with my sickening life, I was always interested in new displays of power. Word spread and a crowd gathered, there were thousands of us. Suddenly, he began to speak. I had never been so moved in my life. I had heard it all, manipulation, political persuasion, military might. In fact, there was a new god for every season. Many of us had thousands of gods. Some of those gods were not gods at all; they were the devil himself, wrapped in a lie.

But this man was different. He had something I had never seen.

I listened. My insides turned upside down. I was hungry for more, but my head said no. It was then he spoke as if he knew my name. “No man can serve two masters.” He said. “I am the bread of life. Do not work for the food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the son of man will give you. The bread of life is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

He sought me out and delivered me from my pain and past. My torment was lifted; and from that day forward I listened to every word he said, followed faithfully and served wherever needed. I became a disciple.

I saw him calm storms, heal the oppressed, raise a dead girl to life, teach the twelve with authority and even feed 5000 people on the banks of the sea by my hometown. Everything seemed to be just perfect. But there was one moment when that all came screeching to a halt. Jesus was arrested.

How could they do this? He had never hurt anyone. I stayed with his mother through it all, and even watched as the man I had come to honor hung on a cross.”

From the cross, he noticed us, especially his mother. He looked right at her and said, “Dear woman, behold your son.” I cried so hard my stomach wrenched. I stayed for her, and I stayed for him. In what seemed like days we watched in agony until he finally said: “It is finished.” He bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

Three days later I went to the tomb. The grave clothes were in an orderly arrangement. From that we knew that the body had not been stolen, “but that the mortal had put on immortality.”

As I stood there, something told me I was not alone. I heard a noise; and as I looked inside, I saw two angels where the body had been. They talked to me. They asked me, “Why are you crying?” “They have taken my Lord,” I said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”

I turned around to leave, and another man was there. “Why are you crying? Who is it you’re looking for?” he said. That is an uncommon question in a cemetery. In fact it could almost be considered an insult. That is unless the questioner knows something the questionee doesn’t.

I thought for sure he was the gardener. He could have revealed himself right then, but he let me hear that voice one more time. I told him my struggle, and then it happened. He called me by name.

He didn’t leave me wondering for long; just long enough to remind me that he loves to surprise us. He waits for us to despair of human strength and then intervenes with the heavenly. God waits for us to give up and then----surprise.

From then on I was at peace. I had seen him die, and now I had seen him live again.

He surprised me. Has it been a while since he has surprised you? It’s easy to reach the point where we think we have God figured out. We know exactly what God does. We break the code. We chart his tendencies. God becomes a computer. If we push all the right buttons and insert the right data, God will be exactly who we thought he would be. No variations, no alterations. God becomes a jukebox. Insert the coins, punch in the right numbers and---bam---the divine music we want fills the room.

I met the other Jesus. The one that couldn’t be figured out just counted on. “Mary,” he said. I was shocked. It is not often you hear your name spoken by the resurrected voice of the Savior. But when he said it, I recognized it. And when I did, I worshipped him.

Who am I? I am Mary Magdalene. You know me now as one of you. I was looking for Jesus all my life, I just didn’t know it. Are you looking for Jesus? When was the last time you got surprised by the savior?

Take it from a lonely girl from the other side of the tracks. When he speaks, all of heaven just stands still; and he is speaking to you.

Heaven fell like rain when he spoke. Is it raining in your life?