Before the Dawn: The Garden Where Everything Changed

One woman's sorrow meets resurrection light—Mary Magdalene and the first moment of the risen Christ.

Apr 20, 2025

Before the dawn had fully broken, before the sun crowned the hills of Judea with its golden warmth, a garden lay quiet and still, veiled in the hush of mourning. The stone had been rolled away, and heaven itself had cracked the silence. But not everyone knew yet. The earth had already trembled with the breath of resurrection, yet the human heart still sat in the ache of loss.

And there, in that sacred in-between, we find her—Mary of Magdala. Not the sanitized figure some imagine, but a woman whose heart had been shattered by shame, crushed by demons—seven of them, the Gospels say (Luke 8:2)—until Jesus came and called her by name. Her whole world had been remade in His presence. He wasn't just her teacher. He was her Deliverer. Her Hope. Her Life.

And now He was gone.

She came to the tomb while it was yet dark (John 20:1). Her hands likely trembled, carrying spices—not in expectation of resurrection, but out of love for the One who had rescued her. She wept. Deep, aching sobs. When she found the tomb empty, she ran to Peter and the beloved disciple. They came, looked, and left, confused and pondering. But Mary stayed. The kind of love she carried doesn't leave quickly.

And then, through her tears, she saw angels. One at the head, one at the feet—just where Jesus’ body had been laid (John 20:12). It’s the image of the mercy seat, the very dwelling place of God’s presence in the Old Covenant, now fulfilled in the risen Christ. They ask her, “Woman, why weepest thou?”

She answers, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him” (John 20:13).

Then she turns—and there He is.

But she doesn’t recognize Him at first. She mistakes Him for the gardener.

And in a way… she wasn’t wrong.

He is the Gardener—the One who planted Eden, who walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day. And now He’s here again, in another garden, face to face with humanity… only this time to restore what was lost. This is not the end of the story—it’s the rebirth.

He says to her, “Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?” (John 20:15).

Her voice breaks, “Sir, if thou hast borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.”

And then it happens.

He speaks one word. Her name.

“Mary.”

And in that moment, the world shifts. The veil lifts. The fog clears. Her heart leaps.

“Rabboni!” she cries, clinging to Him, overwhelmed. He is alive. He is alive.

But then Jesus says something that has puzzled many: “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended unto the Father...” (John 20:17).

Why would He say this?

This wasn’t a rebuke—it was an invitation into something deeper.

Mary wanted to hold onto the Jesus she knew—the One who walked dusty roads and sat by campfires. But there was something holy and untouchable in this moment. Jesus had just borne the sin of the world (Isaiah 53:6; 2 Corinthians 5:21). He had descended into death carrying all the weight of humanity’s fall, and now He had risen—but He had not yet ascended to the Father. He must return, untarnished, unstained by the fallen world He had just conquered. Like the high priest under the old covenant who could not be touched before offering the blood in the Most Holy Place, Jesus was set apart for a sacred presentation in the heavenly temple (Hebrews 9:11-12).

This wasn’t about distance—it was about divine purpose.

He wasn’t leaving her behind—He was calling her forward. onto the Jesus she knew—the One who walked dusty roads and sat by campfires. But Jesus was stepping into a fuller glory. He wasn’t leaving her behind—He was calling her forward.

“Go,” He says, “unto my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father, and my God and your God.”

Do you see the beauty of this moment? The first person Jesus appears to is not a man. Not Peter. Not John. Not even His mother. It’s Mary—once broken, now whole. Once bound, now sent.

The resurrected Christ chooses a woman to be the first herald of resurrection life.

This is not just tender—this is intentional. This is the Father saying: I see you. I know you. I delight to reveal my Son to the one who lingered in love.

And His words, “Touch Me not,” aren’t a denial of intimacy. They’re a commissioning. Don’t try to hold Me here. Go tell the others. This resurrection life isn’t just for you—it’s for the whole world.

He was ascending—to present His blood, to finish the work, to pour out the Spirit. And through that Spirit, He would no longer be limited by location. He would live in them. Intimacy unbroken. God with us—forever.

Mary ran, heart burning, eyes still wet but now with joy. She told the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” (John 20:18).

And all of heaven echoed.

Mary in the garden… it was the beginning of everything new.

The beginning of a restored humanity.

The beginning of the Bride being awakened to her Bridegroom.

The beginning of resurrection being not just an event—but a Person.

And her story whispers to ours: He calls you by name. And He lives. And He is not far off.

So don't cling to what was.

He is doing a new thing.

Let go—and go tell the world.