The absolute divinity of Jesus, the height at which he stood above
all men, is nowhere so shown as in what he dared and did for woman,
and the godlike consciousness of authority with which he did it. It
was at a critical period in his ministry, when all eyes were fixed
on him in keen inquiry, when many of the respectable classes were
yet trembling in the balance whether to accept his claims or not,
that Jesus in the calmest and most majestic manner took the ground
that the sins of a fallen woman were like any other sins, and that
repentant love entitled to equal forgiveness. The story so wonderful
can be told only in the words of the sacred narrative:--
"And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with
him, and he went into the Pharisee's house and sat down to meat.
And behold a woman in that city which was a sinner, when she
knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought
an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind
him, weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did
wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet and
anointed them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee which had
bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if
he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman
this is, for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering said unto
him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. He said unto him,
Master, say on. There was a certain creditor had two debtors;
the one owed him five hundred pence and the other fifty, and
when they had nothing to pay he frankly forgave them both. Tell
me, therefore, which will love him most. Simon answered and
said, I suppose he to whom he forgave most. And he said unto
him, Thou hast rightly judged. And he turned to the woman and
said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thy house
and thou gavest me no water for my feet, but she hath washed my
feet with tears and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou
gavest me no kiss, but this woman, since the time I came in,
hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not
anoint, but she hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore,
I say unto you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven her, for
she loved much; but to whom little is forgiven the same loveth
little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. And they
that sat at meat began to say within themselves, Who is this
that forgiveth sins also? And he said to the woman, Thy faith
hath saved thee; go in peace."
Nothing can be added to the pathos and solemn dignity of this
story, in which our Lord assumed with tranquil majesty the rights
to supreme love possessed by the Creator, and his sovereign power
to forgive sins and dispense favors. The repentant Magdalene became
henceforth one of the characteristic figures in the history of the
Christian Church. Mary Magdalene became eventually a prominent
character in the mythic legends of the mediæval mythology. A long
history of missionary labors and enthusiastic preaching of the
gospel in distant regions of the earth is ascribed to her. Churches
arose that bore her name, hymns were addressed to her. Even the
reforming Savonarola addresses one of his spiritual canticles to St.
Mary Magdalene. The various pictures of her which occur in every
part of Europe are a proof of the interest which these legends
inspired. The most of them are wild and poetic, and exhibit a
striking contrast to the concise brevity and simplicity of the New
Testament story.
The mythic legends make up a romance in which Mary the sister of
Martha and Mary Magdalene the sinner are oddly considered as the
same person. It is sufficient to read the chapter in St. John which
gives an account of the raising of Lazarus, to perceive that such a
confusion is absurd. Mary and Martha there appear as belonging to
a family in good standing to which many flocked with expressions
of condolence and respect in time of affliction. And afterwards,
in that grateful feast made for the restoration of their brother,
we read that so many flocked to the house that the jealousy of
the chief priests was excited. All these incidents, representing
a family of respectability, are entirely inconsistent with any
such supposition. But while we repudiate this extravagance of the
tradition, there does seem ground for identifying the Mary Magdalene
who was one of the most devoted followers of our Lord with the
forgiven sinner of this narrative. We read of a company of women who
followed Jesus and ministered to him. In the eighth chapter of Luke
he is said to be accompanied by "certain women which had been healed
of evil spirits and infirmities," among whom is mentioned "Mary
called Magdalene," as having been a victim of demoniacal possession.
Some women of rank and fortune also are mentioned as members of
the same company: "Joanna the wife of Chusa, Herod's steward, and
Susanna, and many others who ministered to him of their substance."
A modern commentator thinks it improbable that Mary Magdalene could
be identified with the "sinner" spoken of by St. Luke, because women
of standing like Joanna and Susanna would not have received one of
her class to their company. We ask why not? If Jesus had received
her, had forgiven and saved her; if _he_ acknowledged previously her
grateful ministrations,--is it likely that they would reject her? It
was the very peculiarity and glory of the new kingdom that it had a
better future for sinners, and for sinful woman as well as sinful
man. Jesus did not hesitate to say to the proud and prejudiced
religious aristocracy of his day, "The publicans and harlots go
into the kingdom of heaven before you." We cannot doubt that
the loving Christian women who ministered to Jesus received this
penitent sister as a soul absolved and purified by the sovereign
word of their Lord, and henceforth there was for her a full scope
for that ardent, self-devoting power of her nature which had been
her ruin, and was now to become her salvation.
Some commentators seem to think that the dreadful demoniacal
possession which was spoken of in Mary Magdalene proves her not
to have been identical with the woman of St. Luke. But, on the
contrary, it would seem exactly to account for actions of a strange
and unaccountable wickedness, for a notoriety in crime that went far
to lead the Pharisees to feel that her very touch was pollution. The
story is symbolic of what is too often seen in the fall of woman. A
noble and beautiful nature wrecked through inconsiderate prodigality
of love, deceived, betrayed, ruined, often drifts like a shipwrecked
bark into the power of evil spirits. Rage, despair, revenge,
cruelty, take possession of the crushed ruin that should have been
the home of the sweetest affections. We are not told when or where
the healing word was spoken that drove the cruel fiends from Mary's
soul. Perhaps before she entered the halls of the Pharisee, while
listening to the preaching of Jesus, the madness and despair had
left her. We can believe that in his higher moods virtue went from
him, and there was around him a holy and cleansing atmosphere from
which all evil fled away,--a serene and healing purity which calmed
the throbbing fever of passion and gave the soul once more the image
of its better self.
We see in the manner in which Mary found her way to the feet of
Jesus the directness and vehemence, the uncalculating self-sacrifice
and self-abandon, of one of those natures which, when they move,
move with a rush of undivided impulse; which, when they love, trust
all, believe all, and are ready to sacrifice all. As once she had
lost herself in this self-abandonment, so now at the feet of her God
she gains all by the same power of self-surrender.
We do not meet Mary Magdalene again till we find her at the foot
of the cross, sharing the last anguish of our Lord and his mother.
We find her watching the sepulchre, preparing sweet spices for
embalming. In the dim gray of the resurrection morning she is there
again, only to find the sepulchre open and the beloved form gone.
Everything in this last scene is in consistency with the idea of
the passionate self-devotion of a nature whose sole life is in its
love. The disciples, when they found not the body, went away; but
Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping, and as she wept she
stooped down and looked into the sepulchre. The angel said to her,
"Woman, why weepest thou? She answered, Because they have taken away
my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him." She then turns
and sees through her tears dimly the form of a man standing there.
"Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?
She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou
have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will
go and take him away. Jesus saith unto her, Mary! She turned herself
and said unto him, Rabboni,--Master!"
In all this we see the characteristic devotion and energy of her who
loved much because she was forgiven much. It was the peculiarity
of Jesus that he saw the precious capability of every nature, even
in the very dust of defilement. The power of devoted love is the
crown jewel of the soul, and Jesus had the eye to see where it lay
trampled in the mire, and the strong hand to bring it forth purified
and brightened. It is the deepest malignity of Satan to degrade and
ruin souls through love. It is the glory of Christ, through love, to
redeem and restore.
In the history of Christ as a teacher, it is remarkable that, while
he was an object of enthusiastic devotion to so many women, while
a band of them followed his preaching and ministered to his wants
and those of his disciples, yet there was about him something so
entirely unworldly, so sacredly high and pure, that even the very
suggestion of scandal in this regard is not to be found in the
bitterest vituperations of his enemies of the first two centuries.
If we compare Jesus with Socrates, the moral teacher most frequently
spoken of as approaching him, we shall see a wonderful contrast.
Socrates associated with courtesans, without passion and without
reproof, in a spirit of half-sarcastic, philosophic tolerance. No
quickening of the soul of woman, no call to a higher life, came from
him. Jesus is stern and grave in his teachings of personal purity,
severe in his requirements. He was as intolerant to sin as he was
merciful to penitence. He did not extenuate the sins he forgave.
He declared the sins of Mary to be _many_ in the same breath that
he pronounced her pardon. He said to the adulterous woman whom he
protected, "Go, sin no more." The penitents who joined the company
of his disciples were so raised above their former selves, that,
instead of being the shame, they were the glory of the new kingdom.
St. Paul says to the first Christians, speaking of the adulterous
and impure, "Such were some of you, but ye are washed, but ye are
sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and
by the Spirit of God."
The tradition of the church that Mary Magdalene was an enthusiastic
preacher of Jesus seems in keeping with all we know of the strength
and fervor of her character. Such love must find expression, and
we are told that when the first persecution scattered the little
church at Jerusalem, "they that were scattered went everywhere,
preaching the word." Some of the most effective preaching of
Christ is that of those who testify in their own person of a great
salvation. "He can save to the uttermost, for he has saved me," is
a testimony that often goes more straight to the heart than all the
arguments of learning. Christianity had this peculiarity over all
other systems, that it not only forgave the past, but made of its
bitter experiences a healing medicine; so that those who had sinned
deepest might have therefrom a greater redeeming power. "When thou
art converted, strengthen thy brethren," was the watchword of the
penitent.
The wonderful mind of Goethe has seized upon and embodied this
peculiarity of Christianity in his great poem of "Faust." The first
part shows the Devil making of the sweetest and noblest affection of
the confiding Margaret a cruel poison to corrupt both body and soul.
We see her driven to crime, remorse, shame, despair, all human forms
and forces of society united to condemn her, when with a last cry
she stretches her poor hands to heaven and says, "Judgment of God, I
commend myself to you;" and then falls a voice from heaven, "She is
judged; she is saved."
In the second part we see the world-worn, weary Faust passing
through the classic mythology, vainly seeking rest and finding
none; he seeks rest in a life of benevolence to man, but fiends
of darkness conflict with his best aspirations, and dog his steps
through life, and in his dying hour gather round to seize his soul
and carry it to perdition. But around him is a shining band. Mary
the mother of Jesus with a company of purified penitents encircle
him, and his soul passes, in infantine weakness, to the guardian
arms of Margaret,--once a lost and ruined woman, now a strong and
pitiful angel,--who, like a tender mother, leads the new-born soul
to look upon the glories of heaven, while angel voices sing to the
victory of good over evil:--
"All that is transient
Is but a parable;
The unattainable
Here is made real.
The indescribable
Here is accomplished;
The eternal womanly
Draws us upward and onward."