Gospel in Art: Jesus said to her, 'Do not cling to me'

Noli Me Tangere, painted by Abraham Janssens I & Jan Wildens, 1620, oil on canvas © Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dunkerque / Wikimedia

Source: Christian Art

Gospel of 22 April 2025
John 20:11-18

At that time: Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, 'Woman, why are you weeping?' She said to them, 'They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.' Having said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, 'Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?' Supposing him to be the gardener, she 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 in Aramaic, 'Rabboni!' (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, 'Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, "I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God." ' Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, 'I have seen the Lord' - and that he had said these things to her.

Reflection on the painting

In today's Gospel, the risen Jesus says to Mary Magdalene: "Do not cling to me", or in the Latin that titles our painting by Abraham Janssens and Jan Wildens, "Noli me tangere." But this phrase carries far more weight than a simple "don't touch me." It speaks of letting go, of not holding on to Christ in the way we once knew him. "Cling" is, in fact, a powerful word: it suggests grasping at something tangible, physical. And Jesus gently tells Mary not to cling to his earthly form, but to cling to him in his spiritual form for soon he will ascend to the Father.

This is the defining moment of Mary Magdalene's life. This is the instant everything changes. In the painting, she is shown in a graceful, almost reverent posture: kneeling, reaching out, yet holding back. She has just realised the gardener is none other than her friend, the risen Lord. Christ stands before her, clothed in a flowing blood-red cloak that opens to reveal the wound in his side. In his hand he holds a spade, a subtle, traditional symbol in depictions of this moment, and the only remaining sign of his humanity. Note how the tip of the spade rests gently on the soil, an almost symbolic bridge between the divine and the earth, uniting heaven and humanity in a single, humble tool.

The garden around Jesus and Mary overflows with fruit, a sign of new life and spiritual abundance. The image of Christ as the gardener is a very helpful one. Just as a gardener patiently cultivates the soil-clearing weeds, nourishing roots, and encouraging growth-so too does Christ tend to the garden of our souls. He knows what needs pruning, what needs nurturing, and when to let things lie fallow so that deeper growth can occur. He does not force, but gently coaxes life from barren places, bringing new shoots out of brokenness. If we allow him to work within us, Christ will shape us with loving care, helping our hearts to flourish with the fruits of grace, compassion, and faith. Under his tender guidance, even the most neglected corners of our inner lives can blossom again.

LINKS

Gospel in Art: https://christian.art/
Today's Reflection: https://christian.art/daily-gospel-reading/john-20-11-18-2025/ (with audio)