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A Prayerful Invitation
One of my favorite ways to pray is through the gift of imagination. For centuries, Christians have discovered that God often speaks to the heart through our imagination as well as through our minds. St. Ignatius of Loyola encouraged this form of prayer by inviting us to enter the Gospel stories, to see the faces, hear the voices, and allow ourselves to become participants in God's unfolding story of love.
I have found imaginative prayer to be a grace-filled way of growing in faith and spiritual consciousness. As I pray, I sometimes imagine conversations with biblical figures whose witness continues to inspire us today. These encounters are not intended to be historical accounts, but prayerful reflections that help us listen more deeply for the voice of the Holy Spirit.
The dialogue that follows is offered in that spirit.
As I prayed before dawn, I imagined sitting with Mary Magdalene—the apostle to the apostles and the first witness to the Resurrection. I wondered what she might say to women who continue to answer God's call to ministry in our own time. What wisdom would she share with Roman Catholic Women Priests and all who long for a Church where every baptized person is welcomed, valued, and free to serve according to their God-given gifts?
I invite you to enter this conversation prayerfully. Perhaps, as you read, you will hear not only Mary Magdalene's voice, but also the gentle whisper of the Spirit inviting each of us to proclaim the Good News with courage, compassion, and joy.
I sat quietly in prayer before dawn.
The world was still.
The birds had not yet begun their morning song.
I carried into prayer the hopes and struggles of so many women called to ministry—women whose voices have been ignored, whose gifts have been questioned, and whose love for the Church remains steadfast despite rejection.
In the silence, I whispered:
“Mary Magdalene, apostle to the apostles, what would you say to us today?”
Slowly, as though emerging from the morning mist of Easter, she stood before me—not as a distant saint carved in marble, but as a living disciple whose eyes sparkled with wisdom, compassion, and unmistakable joy.
She smiled.
Mary Magdalene:
“Bridget Mary, why do you ask as though you do not already know?”
I laughed softly.
“Because there are days when the resistance feels overwhelming.”
She nodded knowingly.
“Oh yes. I remember resistance.”
“I remember the whispers.”
“I remember the disbelief.”
“I remember the men who could not imagine that the Risen Christ would entrust the first proclamation of Resurrection to a woman.”
She paused.
“Yet Jesus did.”
“He called my name.”
“And everything changed.”
I asked,
“Did you know then that your witness would inspire generations?”
Mary smiled.
“I knew only that Love had conquered death.”
“When Love calls your name, you cannot remain silent.”
“You simply go.”
“You tell the story.”
“You proclaim what you have seen.”
“That is what apostles do.”
I hesitated.
“But today many still say women cannot preach, cannot preside, cannot be ordained.”
Mary laughed—a joyful, liberating laugh that echoed through the garden.
“My dear sister...”
“Did anyone give me permission to proclaim the Resurrection?”
“The Risen Christ commissioned me.”
“That was enough.”
She stepped closer.
“Remember this.”
“Authority born of love is always stronger than authority rooted in fear.”
I reflected on the thousands of women throughout history whose ministries had remained hidden.
“The Church has forgotten so many of its daughters.”
Mary gently touched my shoulder.
“No.”
“Some have forgotten.”
“The Spirit never forgets.”
“The Spirit continues to awaken women in every generation.”
“The same Breath that filled me on Easter morning is breathing through women today.”
“Through mothers.”
“Teachers.”
“Theologians.”
“Pastors.”
“Chaplains.”
“Prophets.”
“And yes...”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“...through women priests.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“You mean...”
“I mean exactly what you think I mean.”
“You are not replacing my ministry.”
“You are continuing it.”
“Whenever you proclaim the Gospel...”
“Whenever you celebrate the Eucharist around an open table...”
“Whenever you anoint the sick...”
“Whenever you bless a child...”
“Whenever you accompany someone through grief...”
“Whenever you welcome those whom others exclude...”
“You are doing what I did.”
“You are announcing that Christ is alive.”
I thought of the Roman Catholic Women Priests movement and the many inclusive Catholic communities around the world.
“We are still considered outsiders.”
Mary nodded.
“So were the first disciples.”
“The Gospel has always grown from the margins.”
“The Resurrection began in a garden before sunrise—not in the Temple.”
“The Spirit delights in surprising those who believe they control God.”
We both laughed.
I asked,
“What would you say to women who feel called to priesthood but are afraid?”
Mary’s voice became wonderfully tender.
“I would tell them what the angels told us at the empty tomb.”
“’Do not be afraid.’”
“Do not wait for everyone to approve your calling.”
“Listen instead for the voice that speaks your name.”
“The One who called me still calls women today.”
“No decree can silence the Spirit.”
“No institution can imprison Resurrection.”
“No closed door can keep Divine Love from entering.”
She continued,
“Remember what your communities have discovered.”
“The Church is born whenever two or three gather in Christ’s name.”
“The Eucharist is celebrated wherever love welcomes all.”
“The priesthood exists to serve—not to dominate.”
“The Gospel belongs to everyone.”
I asked one final question.
“What gives you hope for the Church?”
Mary’s face shone with quiet confidence.
“I have already seen what Love can do.”
“I watched despair become joy.”
“I watched fear become courage.”
“I watched death become new life.”
“Why would I doubt the Spirit now?”
She looked toward the horizon where dawn was breaking.
“The Church is still awakening.”
“Slowly.”
“Painfully.”
“But surely.”
“The day will come when women and men minister together as equals.”
“When leadership will be measured by compassion rather than privilege.”
“When every baptized person will know that they are called, gifted, and sent.”
“And when that day comes...”
She smiled again.
“...people will wonder why it took so long.”
The morning light filled the room.
Mary’s presence gently faded, but her final words remained with me like a blessing carried on the wind.
“Bridget Mary, keep telling the story.”
“Keep breaking the bread.”
“Keep welcoming everyone.”
“Keep announcing Resurrection.”
“The garden is still blooming.”
As I rose from prayer, I realized this conversation was not mine alone.
It belongs to every woman who has heard Christ call her name.
It belongs to every person who believes that the Holy Spirit continues to pour out gifts without discrimination.
It belongs to every inclusive Catholic community where the Gospel is proclaimed with joy, where the Eucharist is celebrated around an open table, and where love is stronger than exclusion.
Mary Magdalene’s ministry did not end on Easter morning.
It lives wherever the Good News is proclaimed with courage.
It lives wherever barriers are broken.
It lives wherever women answer God’s call with generous hearts.
And it lives today in women priests and the communities they serve—continuing the Resurrection story that began in a garden and continues to unfold wherever Divine Love is free to flourish.
“Go to my brothers and sisters and say to them...” (John 20:17)
The commission has never been revoked.
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