Commentary on John 20:1-18

Taken all together, the resurrection passages in the Gospels are a dizzying and confusing array. The spotlighted role of Mary Magdalene in John is crucial, for Paul omits women altogether, and none of the Synoptics, though mentioning Mary Magdalene, narrates a full scene around her such as we find in John 20.

This singular focus on Mary (who is often still wrongly identified as a prostitute) gives some narrative support to the recent scholarship that suggests that “Magdalene” is not the name of her home (typically understood as Magdala, a location otherwise unaffiliated with her until the fifth and sixth centuries CE; the recent archaeological explorations at “Magdala” by the Sea of Galilee are of the ancient Jewish town Tarichea). Instead, scholars argue that “Magdalene” is her title, identifying her as “the Tower,” which is the meaning of the root word migdol (see also Peter “the Rock” [Matthew 16:18]—a title omitted in John!).

John uniquely describes the place of Jesus’ burial as a garden (19:41), a subtle evocation of “Paradise Found” and the renewal of the garden of Eden from Genesis 2–3 (see also John 20:15). Mary Magdalene arrives there early, on the first day of the week (Sunday), again a gentle gesture toward the “new creation” of the resurrection. Unlike the Synoptics, no other women are mentioned with her, placing full emphasis on her (and her subsequent testimony) alone. 

The timing reflects both the honoring of the sabbath (Saturday) and the eagerness of Mary to visit the tomb. Since Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, both “hidden” disciples, had prepared Jesus’ body with spices previously after his crucifixion (John 19:38–42), and since the perfume of pure nard for Jesus’ burial had been used by Mary in Bethany to anoint Jesus the previous week (John 12:1–7), the reason for Mary’s early arrival remains unstated (see also Mark 16:1–2, where the women bring spices to anoint the body early on Sunday morning). Without tasks to complete, she is seemingly drawn solely by her love to be near Jesus as soon as possible.

Mary here is the centerpiece of discipleship, the showcase of what it means to be a child of God and sibling of Jesus. This resurrection scene is bracketed and interwoven with examples of incomplete discipleship. 

We have Joseph and Nicodemus, who remain hidden as followers due to their fear. In the midst of Mary’s arrival we have Peter, who, after his denial of Jesus (John 18:15–27), goes Absent WithOut Leave from the cross and has to be roused to visit the tomb. The mysterious “disciple whom Jesus loved” also has to be summoned, and while he outruns Peter to the tomb (why wasn’t he there in the first place?), the final comment on him (and Peter) regards their lack of understanding about the necessity of Jesus’ resurrection—hardly a ringing endorsement. That they return to separate homes shows that they are nowhere close to approximating (let alone achieving) the unity that Jesus desired for them in John 17:21. The subsequent episode portrays the remainder of the disciples cowering in fear behind locked doors, with Thomas noticeably absent. 

No threefold affirmations of love (21:15–17), reversing Peter’s threefold denial (18:15–27), are needed of Mary—the abundance of her love has already arrived upon the first fingers of dawn, and it runs down her cheeks before angels and Jesus, much like the water from Jesus’ side on the cross.

Mary’s comments in this passage focus on the body of Jesus, and she seems to have been intent on caring for and protecting it. This divine tabernacle, the tangible flesh of the incarnate Logos (John 1:14) that was shamed and mutilated in the crucifixion, appears to Mary to have undergone the further humiliation of being stolen from the grave. Oh, that the bodies of all of God’s creation would be treated with such love, such care, such respect, not least the innocent victims of state violence and those “disappeared” dissidents whose bodies are never found.

The narrator draws attention to Mary’s weeping, mentioned twice in 20:11 and emphasized in the question both the angels and Jesus ask: “Woman, why are you weeping?” Though perhaps at first coming off as a criticism veiled as a question, the question may simply focus our attention on her behavior, especially in contrast to the other disciples. Why wasn’t Peter weeping? Why wasn’t the Beloved Disciple? 

Indeed, weeping as an expression of love is especially associated with Mary of Bethany, who wept profusely at the death of Lazarus, even moving Jesus deeply enough to weep himself out of love (11:33–36, the only recorded incidence of Jesus weeping in the Gospels). And then, in a vivid recapitulation of Martha’s statement in John 11:28 (“The Teacher is here and is calling for you”), Jesus calls this Mary by name, and Mary turns and exuberantly responds, “Rabbouni!” (Teacher). 

She is apparently so intent on finding and protecting the body of Jesus that she is not even looking at the angels or the “gardener” directly. It should be no surprise, then, that she desires to hold onto it now that Jesus has revealed himself to her directly. However, Jesus replies, “Do not hold on to me.” This command has been taken in all sorts of ways, many misogynistic and anti-material, but the reason given emphasizes something altogether different: “because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” 

Jesus doesn’t say “Do not hold onto me” because faith is spiritual and not bodily, or Platonic and not Stoic, but rather because his journey (which is also our journey) back to the Father is not yet complete. The story of Jesus’ life does not end with the desecration of his body—there is more. More for Jesus, to return to his Father, and more for Mary. As promised in John 16, her pain has been transformed into joy, and she is then commissioned as the apostle to the apostles, a “pillar” in the household of God.

Unlike Mark’s account, where the women at the tomb fled in fear, saying nothing to anyone (16:8), in John Mary directly goes and announces to the disciples (here called “brothers”), “I have seen the Lord” (20:18). The message of Jesus that she conveys is powerfully transformative: “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” 

Not only is the grave overcome, but so too is the fear that isolates and separates us from God and each other. No longer servants, and even more than friends (John 15:15), we are proclaimed to be brothers and sisters of Christ, fully and completely children of God. As God fashioned humanity from dust in the garden of Genesis 2, the “gardener” molds Mary’s tears and testimony to fashion a new creation in God’s family. Mary’s gospel rings as hopeful and transformative today as it did at first!