Sermon preached for the feast of Mary Magdalene (July 21st 2026)
Revd. Canon Leonard Doolan
This Sermon will be preached for the online congregation of Skopje on the Eve of the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene (July 21st 2026)
July 22nd is universally observed as the feast to celebrate the life and witness of Mary of Magdala. Magdala is located on the NE shore of the Sea of Galilee. Her name Mary comes from the Hebrew Miriam or in Aramaic Maryam (which I will use). The Catholic west refers to her as Apostle to the Apostles, referring to her function of reporting the empty tomb to Peter and John. In the Eastern Church she has the title ‘Equal to the Apostles’ (Isapostolos) a quite remarkable reference to her status.
Maryam of Magdala is one of those gospel personalities that we would love to know more about, but of course, we can’t, because of the scant information we are given in the Canonical books of the New Testament. Apocryphal books might offer us more but we dare not use these as equal to the approved books – they are ancient, but largely considered to be based on legend or elaborated traditions.
Personally I would love to know more about her, along with John the Baptizer, and Lazarus. We can piece together a little bit more about John because he features a little more than the others, but more about Lazarus would be great. I have a particular interest in Lazarus because when I was the Vicar of Cirencester, in that magnificent church there was a chapel where the stained glass windows were a brief series of images of what little we know about Lazarus from the gospel narratives.
However, returning to the saintly lady in question I would like to take us back into history before her time, to the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, 43,1
‘But now, thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine’.
Here of course the reference is not to the country we now know as Israel, but to Jacob himself. It was at the River Jabbok that Jacob fights with a stranger whom it turns out is a manifestation of God. God renames Jacob as Israel, which means ‘he who wrestles with God.’ (Genesis 32, 28). God renames Jacob whom he has known from his formation, that is, from the womb.
In another example, an earlier one, Abram, the Father of the Nations is renamed by God as Abraham; a small change perhaps but important to recognition, identity, and calling.
Names are important. For each of us our name is important. It captures our identity – enables us to be identified – and is an important part of human interaction and conversation in all manner of situations. The denial or eradication of a name shifts us away from having an identity, a dignity, and a personality. Knowing the name of another enables friendship and creates the foundation for respect. Knowing the names of others builds society, creates community, and protects human values and qualities. Our name is precious. It is a great proportion of us as a person. I don’t mean this as an individual but as a person.
We live in a culture where individualism is worshipped and where human rights are reduced to individual rights. Even the European Court of Human Rights, which influences governments, cultures and communities has been tempted towards making rulings more like the European Court of Individual Rights. This is not one and the same thing. If our name is important, it is because it is important for the building of identity, personality, and community.
It is a feature of oppressive regimes, regimes that rule illegally, unjustly or amorally, to reduce identity, erode community values, and hollow out human dignity. Not only do they destroy symbols of historical identity and culture – what we might call the erosion of corporate memory – they also reduce humans to mere individual units. People become numbers, not names.
As an example I am thinking of prisoner, number 16670. We are under the evil of one of the countries invaded by Germany under Nazi control. The prisoner had no name by which he was referred to, just a number – such was the dehumanizing ideology of this regime. Prisoner 16670. No name – so it is easy not to consider that this is a human being, a person, an identity, a soul.
Among hundreds of thousands of people under this regime he is just a statistic. The statistic can be treated any way they please. There is no need to regard human dignity in this man whose name was traded for a number; number 16670. This statistic is held in Auschwitz concentration camp along with endless other numbers. The cell is so small he has to stand, in chains, all the time, even to sleep. He is degraded and treated as an object among other objects. A fellow number is taken to be shot. Number 16670 pleads to be shot in his place, for the poor man about to face the firing squad has a wife and children. So prisoner 16670 ends his precious life on this earth under a hail of bullets.
Prisoner 16670 is Maximilian Kolbe – let’s give him back the dignity of his name. Maximilian was a Fransiscan Polish priest and for his selflessness and his respect for another prisoner Maximilian Kolbe was later made a saint of the Roman Catholic Church on 10th October 1982. He will forever be remembered by his name.
In the garden where Jesus had been placed in the tomb, after his crucifixion, Maryam from Magdala comes to the tomb. It is early on the morning of the third day since the death of our Lord. The tomb was open and empty – was it the authorities trying to make sure there was no body for these acolytes to come and fuss over? Was it grave robbers – common enough as people buried in a tomb must have had a bit of money, so there could be some burial gifts to steal.
Maryam hot- foots it to her fellow followers and tells them her news. They go to double check, then seemingly leave the garden. All of the followers of Jesus, of course, were devastated. Their great hope was that this Jesus was the Messiah, the Christ. They are all crest- fallen and their very identity as a group, no, as a community, was now utterly in tatters.
Maryam remains. She is heart-broken. She is despondent. How can things ever be the same again – how can she ever be the same person again; so much of her has been lost. Someone says to her ‘woman’. It is impersonal, maybe even dismissive. One can almost hear the tone – what are you crying for woman! So many women through the ages must have experienced that attitude.
She thinks it is the gardener. Oh, what a clever writer St. John is – the most sophisticated of the gospel writers. All through his gospel he uses a common device – he places side by side opposites, such as light, darkness, seeing and not recognizing, ignorance and understanding, the cryptic and the revealed.
Here we have a supreme and effective example of this. Maryam thinks she is talking to the gardener. The gardener has to use only one word – Maryam. Her identity is restored – what was lost is recovered. Grief gives way to former dignity and purpose. ‘My Lord’ is her response.
Suddenly Isaiah resonates in this moment of restored humanity; ‘Do not fear, I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.’ (Is 43, 1).
Each of us is known by God and called by name. Our dignity is original, a birthright. Our name helps us to identify and be identified. This is why in baptism it is so essential that we are named – not as a simple naming ceremony, though in Orthodox countries like Greece it is often the case that a newborn’s name is not known until it is uttered by the God-parent, the ‘nonos’, when presenting the child to the priest. It is in this public saying of the name at baptism that we enter a new creation and gain a new dignity in God and before others.
Just as in baptism, it is equally essential that we know we are called by name to sit at the table of the Lord, and to receive the food of the Supper of the Lord. It is like one of those dinners where everyone has a place-name – not to control social etiquette, but to show that we are invited, that we are welcome, that we are recognized by name.
Just as our Lord in the garden says ‘Maryam’ and the blindness falls from our eyes, so the Lord says the name of each of us as we are called by him to ‘Receive God’s holy gifts, for God’s holy people.’
Being named, being called, being recognized –having our dignity endorsed, our sacredness proclaimed, and acknowledging the sacred dignity of others, together, in the Risen Christ – this is our Christian calling, our duty and our joy.
I feel I have been progressing steadily towards quoting a wonderful poem ‘Love bade me welcome’ by the 17th century priest-poet, George Herbert (and please forgive my inadequate reading)
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
‘A guest,” I answered, ‘worthy to be here:’
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee’.
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’
‘Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat.
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