Turning from death to life: a biblical reflection on Mary Magdalene - John 20:1-18 - "Turn to God - Rejoice in Hope": Unfolding the Eighth Assembly Theme

Dorothy A. Lee

Imagery of "turning" is integral to the story of Mary Magdalene in John 20:1-18. In this, the first of the Johannine resurrection narratives, the verb "turn" literally occurs twice (Greek strephein), as Mary turns to face the one she seeks, without at first recognizing him (20:14,16). On a theological level, Magdalene's physical motion represents the turning from grief and sorrow to joy and hope in the discovery of Easter faith. This article is written for the eighth assembly of the World Council of Churches. Through exegetical study and also imaginative meditation, we seek a Johannine perspective on the assembly theme: "Turn to God -- Rejoice in Hope".

The notion of turning is central to the narrative and theological structure of John's gospel. This gospel's main concern is the revelation of God's saving glory and the human response of faith, signifying the turning from darkness to light, from death to life. Throughout the narrative, glory is revealed in the person and ministry of Jesus, a glory that has its material origins in the incarnation (John 1:14). Glory is the theme of the wedding at Cana (2:1-11) and of the subsequent signs, symbols and teaching of Jesus' public ministry (John 2-12). This glory reaches its climax on the cross, where Jesus glorifies God by revealing the full extent of God's love for the world and by bringing about life through death; he is himself "glorified" by God through the cross, which, as a ladder of ascent to the realm of glory, represents his exaltation (13:31-32; 17:1-5). The characters of the fourth gospel respond to this divine radiance by either turning towards, or turning against, the light. Mary Magdalene's story reflects the major themes of the gospel and exemplifies, in particular, that painful though life-giving "turning" towards the Author of life.

The narrative of John 20 is structured around the giving of the Spirit by the risen Christ on the evening of Easter day (20:12-23). As the passion narrative begins in a garden (18:1-1), so the setting for the first resurrection appearance is likewise a garden (19:41), with its overtones of Paradise renewed (cf. Gen. 2:8-3:24).(1) On each side of this central scene, we see representatives of the believing community struggling to reach Easter faith -- in particular, Mary Magdalene (20:1-18) and Thomas (20:24-29), both of whom are drawn into the orbit of the Spirit to become key witnesses to the resurrection.(2) The other disciples also are drawn towards Easter faith, including the Beloved Disciple and Peter, whose brief though puzzling narrative (20:3-10) is not elucidated until John 21. The narrative ends with what many have seen as the original ending of the fourth gospel (20:30-31), which summarizes the evangelical purpose of the gospel.(3) Mary Magdalene first appears in John's gospel at the foot of the cross, where, with the other holy women and the Beloved Disciple, she witnesses the death of Jesus (19:25).(4) Thus in John 20 she is already established as a woman of faith. Despite the reference to "we" in verse 2, Mary is alone in her visit to the tomb.(5) The arrival of Peter and the Beloved Disciple (20:3-10) does nothing to solve Magdalene's problem of where to find Jesus' body. We know already that the Beloved Disciple has a unique relationship to Jesus (cf. 13:23-26; 19:26-27, 35) and that he believes more than Peter, but what that "more" is we do not yet know.(6) From v. 11 onwards, Mary moves from one sign to another, until finally she recognizes Jesus' identity (20:16) and is commissioned to proclaim the resurrection (20:18).

Turning towards suffering and death

Magdalene's story of coming to Easter faith involves the notion of "turning" on a number of levels. In the first place, Mary turns towards suffering and death. Although at this stage of the narrative she misunderstands and searches for a corpse instead of a living being, she begins her search in the right place: at the tomb where the body of Jesus has been sumptuously laid by Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathaea (19:38-42). After the departure of Peter and the Beloved Disciple, we find her weeping outside the tomb (20:11); unlike them, she does not go home but rather continues her search. It is this willingness to remain in the place of sorrow and to articulate the pain of the believing-yet-doubting community that finally leads her to the joy and hope of Easter (16:21-22; 19:34). Not unlike the Samaritan woman (4:7-42), Mary Magdalene persists in her search, without letting go, without disowning the pain.

There is an important spirituality embedded in this Johannine narrative. The first step in turning towards God is knowing the reality of ourselves. Christianity is not an escape from the "real world"; on the contrary, it is a definite turning to the world (cf. John 3:16-17; 17:15).(7) The journey of faith is a Lenten journey -- the movement is from suffering and death to hope and joy. Without turning to face the one, we cannot encounter the other; in Calvin's words, "without knowledge of self there is no knowledge of God".(8) Yet self-knowing is also divine gift as well as human struggle: "without knowledge of God there is no knowledge of self".(9) In John's gospel, it is the Revealer who reveals both divine and human knowledge to the one who is "thirsty" for life (4:13-14; 7:37-39).(10) Such knowledge is spiritual, but it encompasses every aspect of our lives: spiritual and material, soul and body, sexual, psychological, personal, political. And because it is ultimately a divine gift, this knowing springs from love, not judgmentalism or harsh moralism. It leads to a self-acceptance that (paradoxically) makes possible both self- and social transformation.

We too need to turn to the place of pain, no matter how dark and terrible it seems. Like Mary Magdalene's, our grief, as persons and as community, is something to be faced. Those of us who live in a context of Western affluence find this perhaps more difficult than others. Access to entertainment and consumerism, medication for the merest hint of pain, institutions and structures which push to the boundaries all that is bruised and disabled, funeral customs that are disembodied and cursory -- all these can shield us from the pain of what it means to be human. If we are to "turn to God" and pursue the journey of Mary Magdalene, our sister in faith, we need like her to turn towards suffering and death: on the one hand, to reach down to what lies within -- the bruised soul that is buried alive; on the other hand, to reach out to what lies without -- the suffering that is pushed to the margins of our world.

Turning towards the Living One

Secondly, through turning towards pain and death, Mary Magdalene ultimately turns towards the Living One.(11) Her physical movement towards the risen Christ is symbolic of an inner turning; it represents a metamorphosis.(12) In this turning, she moves through grief and longing towards the joy and hope awaiting her. In turning to face Jesus, she responds as one who has lost, searched and finally found (cf. Song of Songs 3:1-4).(13) Mary recognizes the beloved voice of the Shepherd,(14) and his authority (exousia) as Sovereign One (Kyrios) to lay down his life and take it up again (10:118); and she responds with the intimate term "Rabbouni" (20:16), expressing her love for Jesus as well as understanding of his teaching.(15) And in being granted this Christophany, Mary is commissioned to proclaim the resurrection to the community (v. 18a),(16) in relation both to Jesus' ascension and the establishing of a new, covenant community.(17) As representative of the community of faith, Magdalene prepares the reader for the giving of the Spirit in the next scene, in which Jesus' ascension is completed.

Such movement, however, is not made without struggle. Rather than gliding effortlessly across the abyss that separates life and death, Magdalene reels awkwardly, disoriented, in a divergence that (paradoxically) leads her from death to life. Like other characters in the fourth gospel, she misses the significance of the signs that point to a deeper, symbolic meaning: the removal of the stone and emptiness of the tomb (20: 1), the appearance of two angels replacing the body of Jesus (20:12), the questioning of the cause of her grief (20:13,15) and the advent of the Risen One, whom Magdalene mistakes for the gardener (20:14-15). Even when she recognizes Jesus (20:16), she misunderstands his presence. Not yet understanding the descent of the Spirit, she interprets his appearance eschatologically in wholly realized terms. The words "Do not hold onto me" (20:17) turn her instead towards the covenant community,(18) the locus of the Spirit, and its role of witnessing in an unsympathetic and often alien environment.(19) Jesus' permanent "abiding" (menein) is to be in the Spirit who vivifies the life of the flesh (6:63; 20:22).(20)

At each point, Mary moves closer and closer to what she seeks. Misunderstanding, in the end, leads her to understanding. In John's gospel mistaken turnings are part of the journey of faith -- except in those who close themselves against the revelation. In the accounts of the Samaritan woman (4:1-42), the man born blind (9:1-41) and Martha of Bethany (11:1-44), misunderstanding linked to openness of heart transforms creaturely existence; the flesh becomes the medium for divine glory. In the fourth gospel, it takes growth and maturation to make this journey; and growth signifies a dynamic process, an ability to learn from mistakes, a refusal to be paralyzed by guilt and fear. In this sense, conversion is life-long, a constant turning back and turning towards. The characters of the fourth gospel never ultimately grasp the one to whom they turn (1: 18, 6:46); yet in that turning, again and again, they enter more fully into the incarnate glory of God, they receive the commission to abide in love and to be sent out to reap the harvest (4:35-38; 20:21). From the deepest and darkest places, they bear witness to the light.

For us, too, turning towards God can mean misleading pathways and wrong turnings. Yet paradoxically the very mistakes we make can take us -- even if it seems like a tortuous and thorny path -- to where we want to go. As in Dante's Divine Comedy, there is no short-cut to the garden of bliss and love; we must take the long road that passes through hell and purgatory, through pain and misunderstanding. As the church and as individuals we walk the stony path towards God, a journey made in the company of both heaven and earth; with all creation, we are engaged in moving towards the one who is sovereign over life and death.

God's turning towards the world

Thirdly, Mary Magdalene's movement towards the one who is crucified and risen is dependent on God's prior movement towards the world (3:16). Magdalene's turning to the risen Christ -- and the church's turning to its Source -- is predicated on the prevenient grace of the one who has first turned in love towards her.(21) Although Magdalene's story has the literary characteristics of a "recognition-story" (where a disciple fails to recognize the Easter Jesus until he does or says something familiar(22)), it can also be seen as a biblical "call narrative": a story in which God takes the initiative in calling an individual to prophetic or apostolic ministry (e. g. Isaiah 6, Jeremiah 1:4-10, Mark 1:16-20, Luke 5:1-11). Whatever else we say about Mary Magdalene's search -- her initiative, determination, persistence, longing -- this story is, at a more fundamental level, about God's searching for her, God's call, God's commission to proclaim the Easter message.(23) Behind Magdalene's tearful yet joyful turning is the prior and archetypal turning of God.

In John's gospel, this divine revolution is expressed in terms of the incarnation. Though the darkness has never been overpowered -- or comprehended -- by the light (katalambanein, 1:5), God has turned towards the world in the person of Jesus in a revolutionary way.(24) God has become human, entering into the human condition, into the vivid and material life of creation: immortal turned to mortal, Creator to creation, spirit to matter, eternal to ephemeral. The divine Word is now "bone of our bones and flesh of our flesh" (Gen. 2:23). The divine glory which is both protological ("in the beginning", John 1:1) and eschatological ("at the last day", John 11:24) flames into the present moment, shimmering in the ordinariness and vulnerability of human flesh.

The incarnation in John's gospel is the place to which the needle-point of the compass always turns, the centre and living heart of faith.(25) Creation is forever sanctified in this divine act of turning; matter is exalted, mortal flesh made radiant. Mary Magdalene turns to God because God first turns to her. And, like her, the community of faith down through the ages turns to face the one who already faces us, who has already turned from enmity and alienation, whose loving circle embraces us on every side, meeting us face-to-face in eternal graciousness and love.

Yet the incarnation does not stand without the cross and resurrection; the divine turning to humanity is also a turning to mortality. Human nature -- indeed all created reality -- is both verified and transfigured in the events of Easter. There is a direct line running from incarnation to passion, death and new life. The Good Shepherd not only guides, nurtures, knows and protects the flock, but also loves the sheep through death to life (John 10:17-18). In turning towards humanity and creation, the incarnate Word also embraces mortality. As his distress at the tomb of Lazarus suggests (11:33-38), Jesus himself turns to face death and walks the sorrowful way, loving his own to the end (13:1).(26) At the same time, imprisoned within the blackness of the tomb and descending into the pits of hell (cf. 1 Pet. 3:19), Jesus turns from thence to life. Whereas human beings invariably turn away from death, Jesus is able to move freely towards it, because he has divine authority over life and death. He turns from death to life as well as from life to death, revealing his true identity as the sovereign one, the resurrection and the life, the one who shares the being of God. Thus Mary Magdalene turns to Jesus only because, through incarnation, death and resurrection, God in Christ has turned towards her; it is not a passive turning, however, for God has actively turned death on its head, transforming "mortal trash" into "immortal diamond".(27)

God's inner turning

Fourthly, the notion of divine turning -- in this case, of God towards humanity, of Creator towards creation -- expresses what is already intrinsic to the divine nature. God is already turning within Godself.(28) The evangelist first suggests this graceful inward turning in the opening verses of the fourth gospel. Most English versions use the preposition "with" to translate the Greek preposition pros, because its literal meaning, at least in classical Greek, seems awkward and clumsy: literally, "the Word was towards God" (1:1); "He was in the beginning towards God" (1:2). We might paraphrase: "the Word was turned towards God".(29) At the end of the Prologue, the same idea is expressed in a different phrase: "God the only Son who lies in (the Greek preposition eis is used) the Father's embrace" (1:18). The imagery is that of two people in intimate relationship, each endlessly turning towards the other, as lovers do at the beginning and end of the day.(30) To be eternally "turned towards" is an expression of the most profound intimacy and connection.(31) What Jesus does in the fourth gospel is to draw the believing community into the same circle, the same "turning towards", the same covenant relationship of mutuality and intimacy.(32) Here the notion of turning suggests not a static union -- like two statues facing each other -- but rather a dynamic circumfluence, an encompassing of one within the other, twining in and out, like the steps of a dance.(33)

Turning towards community

There is one final sense of turning in Magdalene's story in John's gospel, though the verb itself is not used. After the Christophany, Magdalene turns back to the community with the commission she has been given: the message of the risen one. Her words of faithful witness, "I have seen the Lord" (20:18), ring out in joy and hope beyond the pages of the gospel. It is a cry of faith, an unheard-of exultation in the midst of grief and pain. It represents the community's call to mission, to bear witness to the love of God in our life together and in our commitment to those who are poor, exploited, disabled. The call to mission is also a turning towards creation, a creation threatened by greed and exploitation; to rediscover the perception of Christ at the heart of all reality -- each land and culture, each living creature, each flower and blade of grass:

Thou art the joy of all joyous things,

Thou art the light of the beam of the sun,

Thou art the door of the chief of hospitality,

Thou art the surpassing star of guidance,

Thou art the step of the deer of the hill,

Thou art the step of the steed of the plain,

Thou art the grace of the swan of swimming,

Thou art the loveliness of all lovely desires.(34)

In the end, God turns us towards one another and towards creation, with the same song of joy and hope on our lips. We are turned in love to the world because it is the place of God's dwelling, the lands of God's ancient dreaming. We turn to face its beauty and terror, its grace and suffering. Without this turning to creation, our lives are self-defeating, an ineffectual revolving on the one spot, a renouncing of what God has made and what God has become. With Mary Magdalene, we are called to share in the mission of the Living God whose purpose is the union and communion of all things in Christ (17:21-23).

Conclusion

The story of Mary Magdalene's search at the tomb is an elaborate narrative of turning. The conversion to Easter faith which Mary experiences -- her Johannine role as witness to the resurrection -- represents the movement from grief and despair to hope and joy. That movement is made possible only by her willingness to face the darkness of the tomb, and to seek the Christ of her longing with persistence and courage. This complex interaction of turning is itself dependent, as we have seen, on a deeper and prior turning: that of God towards the world in the incarnation, facing suffering and death, transforming death into life. It is the Word-made-flesh who brings to birth the community of faith -- the one who is eternally turned towards the divine presence. In this sense, turning has to do with communion and intimacy; it is a key image unlocking the meaning of salvation. As the church, hearing the echo of that distant apostolic cry, we too participate in the steps of the dance, sharing the journey towards God with all creation: the painful yet ecstatic turning from darkness to light, from death to life.

Coda: a meditation on turning

This meditation is not intended as historical reconstruction, but rather as imaginative entry into the text of John 20:1-18, using the character of Mary Magdalene. It is written from the perspective of an Anglo-Celtic woman living in the Southern Hemisphere -- in an ancient land whose peoples loved the earth of their Dreaming and whose ancient ways were ravaged by European colonization.

After the sabbath day, I stand in the garden outside the cave, turned to the darkness and the open mouth where no stone protects me. Just as I stood on the bald hill, only three days ago, beside the cross. A life-time ago, an aeon, an eternity of disbelieving. There in that hour I saw the glory, the priceless cloth, the presence of the mother, the open wound which is also a womb, the life pouring through. Bleeding in the darkness on the holy day. The red glow of pain which is also life: breathing in and out, giving and letting go, surrendering the spirit.

Unquestionably a glorious death, suffused in love, vibrant yet terrible. We gathered around in a small group, our sole companion the disciple he loved who chose to stay, not with the others -- his companions -- but with us the mourning women. There was grief and pain, but the breath of the dying man fell upon us: passion, tenderness, confidence, holding us to the end.

And then the burial which I watched, hiding like Miriam in the bushes of the garden, guarding what lay in rivers of blood. The great ones came to exclaim, to gather up, to wrap around and around. They bustled about, bringing gifts for his body. It was too late for them, of course, but they scorned renown and poured their wealth instead on his feet, his hands, his burning wounds. A turn-around indeed, I told myself in astonishment. A burial fit for a king; the fragile body cradled in myrrh, fragrance to shield an alien truth.

But here today in this garden I see only emptiness and loss. That which was present is absent. I face the emptiness of the vault which is nevertheless terrifyingly full; the stench of death, the soft corruptible flesh ending all my dreams, the dry bones, the fine dust poured on the earth like a libation. The very beauty and tranquillity of this garden offends; sublimely indifferent to crypt and cross, to ugliness and desolation. The tall, slender trees, the tangled blossom, everywhere the amber air fragrant with wattle and eucalypt. The chime of currawong and bellbird, as if in exultation. Yet to me all this no more than a fierce reminder of Paradise forever lost. Why couldn't this place be a desert, a burning centre far from water that only the ancient ones can trace? Or a wasteland of bruised rocks and trampled dreaming?

It is to my brothers that I first turn when, taking my courage in my hands, I peer into the gloom and find it emptier than I had imagined. Oh his body gone! Oh the sound of the lover's footsteps turning from the threshold! Nothing to touch or hold onto; no fleshly consolation. My brothers come to my aid but they do not help me. They run and clamber to see what I have seen -- perhaps see more -- but speak no word of healing. They turn away in silence and I am again alone, the tears blinding me, washing down my skin like the breaking of drought. All my pain, all the pain of the world, from the beginning of time until now, lies in that dark cave; in that loss, in that denial even of the last consolation. Like the mothers of tortured sons, I beseech anyone who will listen for the lacerated, lifeless flesh to be given back; fruitless to anyone else, but all that is left to me. And people futilely question my tears and I have no defence, no strength to separate the sorrowful interior, no mask to convey a happiness and solidity that are not there.

And then it happens. A looming presence, a voice ringing in my ears; the syllables of my name, like a caress, coming from the dark stranger to whom I turn, the keeper of the garden. Suddenly I am awake and the darkness and grief coil like a snake in the daylight. The cave and its emptiness swirl away as if they no longer existed. All that I see is his presence, his bodily truth. And I hold him and touch the living flesh.

Yet it is not to be. Somehow I am confused, not yet awake, still half-dreaming. More words, more explanations and I find myself failing back in disbelief. But only for a moment. Only until I grasp the words, until the sign of his flesh and blood begins to make sense. Transfiguration, I realize, not a mere repetition of the old, the struggle still there but turning into his radiance, his shimmering life.

And when he tells me -- when I learn I am to be the witness -- I turn back across the doleful path I have trod twice today already. Running to proclaim to those I love, those without spirit. For the first time, I perceive that the earth itself is new, though it turns on its axis from light into darkness. The soft autumnal glow, the warm days, the stately branches refusing to shed their foliage merely because the winter comes. Stones, grass, trees, flowers, fecund and suffused with life, triumphantly meeting the cold and dark. The days and nights turn, the seasons turn, the whole earth turns. And, in harmony with all creation, I too turn: towards the source, the fountainhead, the sun stealing over the eastern rim.

Behind me the cave is bare, the walls streaked with signs and pictures formed from clay. A sacred site where long-dead ancestors traced their dwelling. An icon not only of death but of life, its very emptiness a sign of hope. The womb, no longer barren, dazed from giving birth; a sanctuary of love, a shelter in the coming night. I am born, I am new, the fresh wind fills my mouth, my limbs, my soul. I am turned round and around like a spinning-top. How beautiful the feet that run and dance, the feet that were clenched so recently in birthpains, bearing down and down into the darkness! And now light, and now hope; now a garden and a harvest sown; now a gospel to proclaim.

NOTES

(1) N. Wyatt, "`Supposing him to be the gardener' (John 20,15). A Study of the Paradise Motif in John", Zeitschrift fur die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, vol. 81, 1990, pp.21-38.

(2) See D.A. Lee, "Partnership in Easter Faith: The Role of Mary Magdalene and Thomas in John 20", Journal for the Study of the New Testament, vol. 58, 1995, pp.37-49. The more usual structure divides John 20:1-18 into two episodes, e.g. R.E. Brown, The Gospel According to John, New York, Doubleday, 1966, II, pp. 965,995, and R. Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St. John, London, Burns & Oates, 1982-86, III, pp.301-302.

(3) Further on the ending to John's gospel, see Brown, op. cit., II, pp. 1057-1061. On the possible literary connections between John 20 and 21, cf. C.H. Talbert, Reading John, London, SPCK, 1992, p.248, and S.M. Schneiders, "John 21:1-14", Interpretation, vol. 43, 1989, pp.70-75.

(4) On the role of Mary Magdalene in Western iconography, see S. Haskins, Mary Magdalen. Myth and Metaphor, London, Harper Collins, 1993. On her high Johannine status, see T. Okure, "The Significance of Jesus' Commission to Mary Magdalene", International Review of Mission, vol. 81, 1992, pp. 177-88, and J. Neyrey, The Resurrection Stories, Delaware, Michael Glazier, 1988, pp.61-75.

(5) The "we" may well reflect an early tradition closer to the synoptic gospels (Mark 16:1-8/Matt. 28:1-10/Luke 24:1-11); see Brown, op. cit., II, pp.996-1000. On the pre-history of the narrative, see Schnackenburg, op. cit., III, pp.302-307.

(6) Verses 8-9 are notoriously difficult. Does the Beloved Disciple reach full faith (e. g. Brown, op. cit., II, 987-88), or is his faith still partial (so P. Minear, "`We don't know where ...' John 20.2", Interpretation, vol. 30, 1976, pp. 127-28)? Could it be that the narrative is deliberately ambiguous?

(7) For John's complex use of the term "world" (kosmos), see C.K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John, 2nd ed., London, SPCK, 1978, pp. 161-62.

(8) J.T. McNeill, ed., Calvin: Institutes of the Christian Religion, Philadelphia, Westminster, 1960, I.1.1. Ibid., I.1.2.

(10) See R. Bultman, The Gospel of John, trans. by G Beasley-Murray, R.W.N. and J.K. Riches, general eds, Oxford, Blackwell, 1971, pp. 187-88.

(11) On this non-gender specific title for God in Scripture, see G. Ramshaw, God Beyond Gender: Feminist Christian God-Language, Minneapolis, Fortress, 1995, pp.47-58.

(12) The text implies that, after first turning towards Jesus (20:14), Magdalene turns away before finally facing him (20:16); see B. Lindars, The Gospel of John, Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1981, p.606.

(13) Okure, op. cit., p. 181.

(14) E. Schussler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, London, SCM, 1983, 1994, p.333.

(15) Okure, op. cit., p. 181, argues that the term "Rabbouni" is affectionate; against this, cf. Brown, op. cit., II, pp.991-992, 1010.

(16) Okure, op. cit., p.185. On Magdalene's "quasi-apostolic" role, see R.E. Brown, "The Roles of Women in the Fourth Gospel", in Community of the Beloved Disciple, New York, Paulist, 1979, pp.189-90; E. Schussler Fiorenza, op. cit., pp. 326,332-33; and M. Scott, Sophia and the Johannine Jesus, Sheffield Academic Press, 1992, p.225; also G. R. O'Day, "John" in C.A. Newsom & S.H. Ringe, eds, The Women's Bible Commentary, London, SPCK, 1992, pp.301-302, and S.M. Schneiders, "Women in the Fourth Gospel and the Role of Women in the Contemporary Church", Biblical Theology Bulletin, vol. 12, 1982, p.43.

(17) The term adelphoi (literally, "brothers") is likely to be inclusive here, rather than being a narrow reference to the Twelve.

(18) On the covenant theme (Jer. 31:33, Ezek. 37:28, Ruth 1:16), see E. Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel, London, Faber & Faber, 1947, II, p.647, and Brown, op. cit., II, pp. 1016-17.

(19) The words "Do not touch me" are difficult (20:17; cf. 20:27). The present tense, however, suggests ongoing activity: "do not go on holding me"; so Barrett, op. cit., p.565, and Schnackenburg, op. cit., III, p.318.

(20) O'Day, op. cit., p.302.

(21) See Barth's Church Dogmatics, Edinburgh, T. & T. Clark, 1936-1960, II.1, pp.353-58; II.2, pp.3-93,557-59, IV.1, pp. 157-210, IV.1, pp.8-52, and IV.4, pp.33-36.

(22) E. g. Luke 24:13-35 and John 21:1-14; see J. Ashton, Understanding the Fourth Gospel, Oxford, Clarendon, 1991, pp.507-508.

(23) The same verb (strephein) is used of Jesus in the opening episode (1:38) in a symbolic context that sets out the symbolic meaning of discipleship (1:35-40).

(24) John's gospel has a strong sense of continuity with Judaism, but it is interpreted in christological terms: the Johannine Jesus is "the personification and universalization" of Israel's ancient symbols; cf. F.J. Moloney, Signs and Shadows: Reading John 5-12, Minneapolis, Fortress, 1996, p.205.

(25) For this reading of John, see, e.g. R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, trans. Kendrick Grobel, London, SCM, 1958, II, pp.40-49; M.M. Thompson, The Humanity of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, Philadelphia, Fortress, 1988; and J.D.G. Dunn, Christology in the Making, London, SCM, 1990, pp.239245; against this, cf. E. Kasemann, The Testament of Jesus, London, SCM, 1968.

(26) For this reading of Jesus' distress at the tomb, see B.J. Byrne, Lazarus, Minnesota, Liturgical Press, 1990, pp.57-60, and D.A. Lee, The Symbolic Narratives of the Fourth Gospel, Sheffield Academic Press, 1994, pp.208-12.

(27) "That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the Comfort of the Resurrection", in W.H. Gardner, ed., Gerard Manley Hopkins: Poems and Prose, London, Penguin Books, 1953.

(28) See C.M. LaCugna, God For Us: The Trinity and Christian Life, New York, Harper-Collins, 1991, esp. pp.234-317, P. Wilson-Kastner, Faith, Feminism and the Christ, Philadelphia, Fortress, 1983, chap. 5, and D. Edwards, Jesus the Wisdom of God, Sydney, St Paul's, 1995), pp.91-110.

(29) For this translation see I. de la Potterie, "L'emploi de eis dans Saint Jean et ses incidences theologiques", in Biblica, vol. 43, 1962, pp.366-87, and F.J. Moloney, "`In the Bosom of' or `Turned towards' the Father?" Australian Biblical Review, vol. 31, 1983, pp.63-71. Against this, cf. Schnackenburg, op. cit., I, p.234.

(30) A similar translation is "face-to-face with God"; see L. Morris, The Gospel According to John, Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1971, pp.75-76.

(31) In the Wisdom tradition, which has influenced John's Christology, Sophia (Lady Wisdom) is the pre-existing and intimate companion of God (see Prov. 8:27-31; Wis. 7:25-26, 8:3-4, 9:4, Sirach 1:1, 24:3-5, 9); see E.A. Johnson, She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse, New York, Crossroad, 1992, esp. pp. 86-100.

(32) This is linked especially to the Johannine imagery of "abiding"; so D.A. Lee, "Abiding in the Fourth Gospel: A Case-Study in Feminist Biblical Theology", in D.A. Lee & M. Porter, eds, Feminist Theology: The Next Stage, in Pacifica, vol. 10, 1997, pp. 123-36.

(33) On John of Damascus' notion of perichoresis (Greek perichorein, "to encompass"; Latin circumincessio), see LaCugna, op. cit., pp.270-78.

(34) Alexander Carmichael, ed., Carmina Gadelica: Hymns and Incantations, Edinburgh, Floris Books, 3.

Dorothy A. Lee is Professor of New Testament in the United Faculty of Theology, Queen's College, Melbourne, and an ordained minister of the Uniting Church in Australia. A member of the WCC Faith and Order commission, she has published in the areas of New Testament theology, feminism, symbolism and spirituality.

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