Letter from Future: Mary Magdalene, silent resurrection, and digital judgment of memory

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OPINION

By Godfrey Mutabazi

I write to you from the year 2075, a time when the boundaries between memory, technology, and spirituality have dissolved into one seamless tapestry. We stand on the precipice of the Digital Judgment, an era where every action, every story, every forgotten whisper of the past has been resurrected through artificial minds, quantum computing, and immersive realities. Yet in this dazzling world, it is the absence of media in your time, the stillness of the first resurrection, that haunts us with its wisdom. Luke 12:2-3 (NIV)

Two thousand years ago, Mary Magdalene, popularly known as the Mona Lisa of Jerusalem because of her stunning beauty, stood at the mouth of an empty tomb. Alone. There were no cameras, no recorders, no news bulletins, only silence, broken by the call of her name: "Mary." In that moment, the greatest event in human history, the Resurrection, was entrusted not to the media but to memory. Mary carried this light without spectacle, without proof, through a world ready to forget or deny it.

In a world where every secret can be unearthed by AI, where memory is digitised and deep fakes distort truth, silence may no longer protect the sacred. The resurrection once called for faith beyond sight. But today, revelation is inevitable; everything hidden will be exposed. In this new age, truth must speak, or risk being rewritten by the loudest algorithm.

Today, we resurrect stories using quantum AI and digital tools, rebuilding Mary’s face, retracing her journey, re-animating her words. We call this the Digital Resurrection: lost voices revived in virtual form.

Mary’s warnings spoke to Africa’s deepest wound, spiritual displacement. Teachings once aimed at salvation would erase identities. African reverence for earth and ancestors would be labeled pagan, and generations would learn to see themselves through foreign eyes.

Conflicts will endure, with each side claiming divine support because of different faith inheritance, but in the end, righteousness will prevail, for God sides with the just.

Yet a shift will take place, she went on,  Young minds will begin to question. Some would leave faith, others seek to blend belief with reason, justice, and thought.

Faith should not be a leash, but a ladder. Sermons not to inspire fear, but love. “God gave us brains to use before asking for miracles.” Even though Noah had to build the ark, he didn’t just pray for dry feet, she said. Faith may move mountains, but action moves people. Africa’s rise will come through liberated minds, not miracles, according to her last words.

Now, in a world flooded with media, truth is drowned in noise. Deepfakes, false memories, simulation threatens reality,  Revelation without truth is illusion. Memory without meaning is empty. Truth needs more than data; it needs courage, discernment, and the will to see clearly.

Legend holds that after the crucifixion of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, accompanied by Lazarus, Martha, and others, fled persecution in Jerusalem. They escaped in a rudderless boat, carried across the Mediterranean to the shores of southern France. Mary is said to have spent her final years in the caves of Sainte-Baume, in solitude and prayer, safeguarding teachings too dangerous for her time.

At the seaport, to say farewell were one or two faithful men, of African origin, one of them was known as Simon.

Mary, with solemn tenderness:  I thank thee for thy heart so full of grace, that bore the cross whereon the Master died.  Thou tookst the weight none else would dare to lift,  And bore it not with groan, but with resolve.

Simon bowed, but steady: To bear it was mine honour, not my choice,  Yet now I call it a gift, not a burden laid.  His blood did stain my hands, yet cleansed my soul;  Though splinters sharp, I felt the heavens stir.

Gazing upon the cross, she said, “The world shall not give thanks for such a deed.  Too often it hateth what it cannot match.  Thy charity shall breed thee bitter foes,  For men do mock what mirrors back their shame.”

I walked with Him, what need have I of praise?

Aye, but this earth is shadow-wrought and cruel.  Yet while thy steps walk straight in virtue’s light,  The Lord shall guard thee neath His holy wing.  She turns to face him fully, her voice low and weighty. But hear me well, if thou dost know the truth,  And having known, still tread the path of wrong,  Then shall thy guilt outcry the ignorant.   For he that sins and knows it not is blind, but he that seeth light and chooseth dark,  Hath cursed the truth, and bears the greater cost. 

Simon, after a long pause, then let me walk in light, though it may burn.  Better the flame of truth than the shadow's ease. 

As twilight deepened and the winds hushed to a whisper, the scene at the shore turned solemn.

Simon of Cyrene, tall and well built, stood in silence. His face, though hardened by labour and burden, bore a gentleness when his eyes rested upon Mary. He was a handsome man, quiet, strong, and noble in bearing. Though his heart longed for her, he had little by way of riches or reputation to offer, save the depth of his feeling and the silence of his soul.

Mary, ever resolute, felt the weight of the parting more keenly than words could bear. The boat was ready. The sea, endless.

“Go thou in peace,” Simon said, voice firm but tender. “May you live to be a blessing to the nations across the sea.”

No vows were exchanged. No promises made. Yet in that brief moment, more was spoken than love itself could speak. They all parted in tears, each step away from the shore a prayer, each glance back a benediction. The boat slipped into the growing mist, and with it, a piece of Simon’s heart.

She carried him in her mind during her dramatic journey and probably during her entire life in France.

She became a symbol not just of exile but of endurance, a carrier of wisdom that systems of oppression sought to erase. Her presence in France is still venerated today, not because of empirical evidence, but because her story touched something deeper in the human soul: the longing for continuity, meaning, and redemption.

Though her tale never made the canonical gospels, it lived on in whispers, ancient texts, and local legends. Her story, of exile, faith, and hidden wisdom, was preserved in the hearts of the few who dared to remember. For centuries, pilgrims made their way to the South of France, drawn not by historical certainty but by spiritual resonance. The absence of media did not diminish her story; instead, it magnified its power..

Speaking with her, even briefly, filled him with a joy he had never known, a quiet pride in being seen by one so revered. That brief encounter became his most treasured memory, a moment he would revisit with wonder for the rest of his life.

Simon’s wife is unnamed in scripture and unknown in history. She is possibly the woman referred to in Romans 16:13, praised by Paul for her maternal kindness. Like many women of faith in biblical times and today, her story remains largely hidden but not forgotten. She was the mother of two boys,  Alexander and Rufus.

And to you, my sons, Alexander and Rufus, said Simon,

Carry not only my name but carry the message:

That no burden borne in love is wasted.

That the cross we carry may one day set others free.

The absence of media at the resurrection could have changed Christianity’s course by offering immediate proof or inviting instant doubt.