The Birthright
of Mary Magdalene
Joan Riise
The Lord created me at the beginning of his work,
the first of his acts of long ago.
Ages ago I was set up, at the first,
before the beginning of the earth.
When he established the heavens, I was there,
when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,
then I was beside him, like a master worker;
and I was daily his delight,
rejoicing before him always.
(Proverbs 8:22-23, 27, 30)
Come to me, you who desire me, and eat your fill of my fruits.
For the memory of me is sweeter than honey,
and the possession of me sweeter than the honeycomb.
(Sirach 24: 19-20)
Dedication
Grandmothers Frieda and Minnie Jewel
Mother Muriel Daughter Shanti
Granddaughter Riise
All Sisters in Spirit
Foreword
Who was Mary Magdalene? Where did she come from? What made her the unforgettable and fearless woman of her time, a lightning rod for both divine energy and popular scorn?
In an effort to discover the essence of Mary, the idea occurred to seek her going backwards. What cultural roots, values, spiritual beliefs and philosophical ideals might have influenced her development?
So, here we meet the seven year old Mary as she is about to embark upon the journey to Bethlehem with her mother and grandmother, midwives to Mary of Nazareth. On evenings around the campfires, herstory is told through the voice of her grandmother, Sakinah.
As someone who has sought spiritual resonance among the world’s religions, it’s interesting at this point in my life that I’ve been drawn back to my own roots. Educated in the Catholic schools of the 50’s and 60’s, Mary Magdalene was a heroine of mythic proportions. Before recognition and forgiveness, she was the Bad Girl of the Bible – misunderstood, denied, distorted, nearly stoned for following her heart - fascinating stuff for a teen on the brink of women’s liberation and the era of free love.
Mary has stayed at the top of my list as I’ve watched her transform from harlot, to equal partner in divine mission, Apostle to the Apostles, the woman who sparked heresies. Through it all, she’s maintained her radiance even as she has continued to intrigue.
There are already so many myths, legends and books about Mary Magdalene. Need there be more? And yet the story in my head demanded a voice. I researched and generally followed the interwoven strands of Biblical and secular history. She became real as I allowed free rein for dreams and imagination to direct the writing. The characters took on a life of their own leading the way down paths I hadn’t anticipated. My own wonder grew as I realized I am myself a seeker and that much is learned through the process of listening in the silence.
Seven. A mystical number associated with creation, perfection, spiritual awakening and esoteric understanding. At seven, Mary is at the stage of development where she is moving beyond her own self-absorption. She is smart, sweet, eager, open to life, insatiably curious, an original. She listens, enthralled by Sakinah’s stories; these are, after all, her own stories going back seven generations. The courage, creativity, independence and wisdom learned through their telling are indeed, her birthright.
It is my hope that this story resonates with women; that young women in particular may find relevance and strength as well as liberation from cultural strictures that are still imposed upon us millennia removed from the time of its telling.
Blessed be.
The widow walked the dusty footpath with a grace that belied her age. Her pace quickened as she neared her destination - Magdala.
The tower city shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight, reflecting the Sea of Galilee in all its bustle, beauty and diversity. Soon she would be at her daughter’s door. Soon she would be with her granddaughter, Mary.
Though she was clothed in widow’s black, her presence and gait intimated far more than a shadow of misfortune. She emanated the light of joy and a confidence earned through life’s experience.
Sakinah had been widowed as a young mother. She raised her only child Hannah alone making a life for them both as midwife and healer. Her husband was a fisherman when he was killed, thrown from his boat in a sudden tumult of the sea. They had both grown up in Capernaum, she learning the healing uses of native plants and roots, the making of poultices, salves, teas and potions from her mother; he following in the trade of his father. Fisherman and midwife, she and her husband were woven deeply into the fabric of community, both trusted and respected. Upon his death she chose to remain in Capernaum, content to grow in her healing knowledge and to raise her child while assisting others into the world. She remembered attending births as a little girl, just about the same age Mary was now.
She neared the garden gate that surrounded Hannah’s family home. Sakinah entered passing under the grape vines that hung heavy with clusters around the archway. She smiled at Hannah’s sign posted on the inner door leading to the beeyard - I WORK FOR THE QUEEN - but before she could even enter she was mugged from behind with a joyful squeal, “Nana! You’re here! Guess who’s hugging you right now! I am so happy!” Sakinah turned to scoop Mary up in her arms hugging her close to her heart.
At almost seven, Mary was a lightning bolt of energy, articulate for one so young; she was a beautiful child with hair the color of honey inherited from the generations of women before her. Her blue eyes flecked with gold, held a deep animation of spirit. She was small of build but powerful and she expressed an intelligence far beyond such few years.