A Symphony Spoken by Your Name

by Fay Barlow
(Lexington, Sc USA)

John 20:13 “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.”

Now when she said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, and did not know that it was Him. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” She, supposing Him to be the gardener, said to Him, “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to Him, “Rabboni!” (which is to say, Teacher)

I am an avid watcher of romance movies. I love the part of the movie, when the hero says the woman’s name. He might have said her name all his life, but when he has reached that point in his love for her, that deep, complete and utterly romantic moment of devotion and longing, and says her name, I imagine it to sound like a symphony poured forth from his lips.

And for the first time, the woman, who may have had disdain for the man at some point in their lives, melts with the richness of vowels and consonants that have been strung together as if a jeweled necklace had just been laced for her as her name is spoken for the first time in love.

It awakens her to the beauty of her commitment for him. It speaks volumes in a single word.
Such is the case with Jesus when he utters Mary’s name. She had been so distraught with the death of her teacher that she longed to be at the tomb just to be near his body, though dead.

She had heard him speak hundreds of times throughout the years and she had faithfully and financially followed him. She knew his voice. She had grown to love his voice as would be the case of anyone showing complete devotion to another.

But on this day, all she could think of was the terrible way in which he had died. She did not yet understand, just as the disciples didn’t, that Jesus was going to be raised from the dead. She only knew her pain of loss and her last memory of his death.

Even though the other disciples left the tomb shortly after seeing it empty, Mary stayed. She cast her pride aside and wept at the entrance, wanting just one more moment with Him. Even if that moment was in the form of His body wrapped beyond recognition. It was the security of being close to all that was left of him. And she wept.

The two angels didn’t seem to haunt her, nor did Jesus himself, as they both talked with her. She was committed to one thing. To find the body of Jesus and protect it. Even if it meant carrying it off in her own strength. She needed one last moment with him.

As her thoughts went round and round with whom she thought to be the gardener, Jesus broke through her prison of doubt and fear and spoke one word. “Mary!”

It was as if His very breath had crushed a four wall cell that was intensely closing in on her. In that one word all fear was gone. All doubt was reconciled to belief. In that one word, her name, a symphony began to play. A love that measured beyond that of human romance broke through her anxiety of soul. This is the man I follow. This is the love that is everlasting. This is my Rabboni! My teacher.

God, who created romantic love, has a love passion of His own for us. He is constantly wooing us into an intimate relationship with him.

Not the human kind, for that does not compare to the depth of God’s love for us. His love is one of eternal value. One that we have no comparison to. Yet it is there.

It is an ever present void deep in our spirit that on occasion tries to fill itself with worldly love and passion. But the spirit within us knows the richness of the love we crave.

It is the love of a Heavenly Father that breaks through the universe to die for our sins. It is a love that requires nothing from us for it was created outside of our ambitions. It cannot be bought. It cannot be taken. It will survive our most monstrous moments of hatefulness. And our long years of neglect. Yet it is there.

Calling us by name. Speaking life into our lives if we will but only listen. And when we have fallen in love with the giver of love Himself, as Mary did, our names spoken from His lips will, like Mary, cast the scales of darkness from our eyes and open the floodgates of a newly beating heart.

For me, to hear my name spoken by the savior would be a moment of the most beautiful aroma splashing across my face. His voice would stir the depths of my spirit and overflow my body as the void is filled to spilling over.

I love when my husband says my name in a tender and possessive way. It tells me I am his. The same is true of Jesus, and yes He does say my name. But unlike Mary, when the Lord speaks my name, it is only audible within my soul.

For the other thousands of “Fay’s” in the world, I hear only my name, spoken to my heart, from a God who has become my hero. The rescuer from my chains. Just as Jesus is a personal God, he has a personal way of speaking my name.