Just the heart.
There is a scene in Season 2 of The Chosen where Mary of Magdala has left Jesus and the group and slipped back into what we might call a night she wants to forget — even though she barely remembers it. Jesus sends Matthew and Peter to find her, and when they do, they discover her drunk, broken, and weighed down by shame.
When they find her, Mary tells them she can’t go back. She can’t face Him.
Matthew doesn’t shame her. He doesn’t offer a trite quote or try to fix her. He simply stays with her. And that matters, because Matthew knows what it is to be despised. He was a tax collector — the Benedict Arnold of Israel. A man who sold out his own people to Rome, paid to squeeze his brothers for more than they could afford. He wasn’t just the IRS; he was the IRS who knocked on your door and said, “I’m not done yet.”
Matthew knows what it feels like to believe you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. So when Mary says she can’t go back to Jesus, Matthew doesn’t argue theology — he offers understanding.
He tells her that she helped him learn the Torah. That she had influenced him when he was just beginning to read the Scriptures for himself. Peter adds that she was the one who inspired the four friends to lower the paralyzed man through the roof so Jesus could heal him. In other words, when shame is screaming, they remind her of truth.
Because to face the past, we must bring the past to the outstretched arms of Jesus on the cross.
Mary says something hauntingly honest:
“I have faith in Him. I just don’t have faith in myself.”
When she returns to the camp, the disciples welcome her, but she asks only one thing:
“Where is Jesus?”
She finds Him kneeling in prayer. He looks up and gently tells her that His prayer was not because of her — that she has not broken His heart. Her face is still full of fear. She tells Him, “You redeemed me… and I threw it all away.”
Jesus replies,
“It wouldn’t be much of a redemption if you could throw it away in a day.”
That is the Gospel.
As someone who knows I owe Jesus everything, I understand Mary. I’ve tried to repay grace. I’ve tried to earn what was freely given. But grace cannot be repaid — it can only be received.
Mary speaks from shame.
Jesus answers from love.
He tells her He doesn’t require much. He only wants her heart.
In Jesus’ time, the heart wasn’t just emotion — it was the center of the self. The seat of desire, will, and identity. When Jesus says He wants your heart, He means He wants you. Not the polished version. The real one.
Coming to Jesus does not mean a life without struggle. It means a life held by mercy while you struggle.
So what happens when you fall back?
When you do the very thing you swore you never would?
Jesus does not leave.
He kneels beside you.
The Spirit calls us not to hide, but to bring our fear, grief, longing, and questions into His light. Even the ones that whisper, “I wonder how they're doing…”
If God takes away something you thought you could never lose, imagine what He is preparing that you never thought you could receive.
And I’ll tell you a secret. The greatest gift God has prepared for you is far greater than you could imagine.
It’s not a guy or a girl.
It’s not a job.
It’s Jesus.
What your heart longs for is the Father — the embrace that meets you after the pig pen, after the hot dog at 3 a.m., after the regret and the wandering.
Healing is on the other side of honest prayer.
Sometimes it starts with:
“Enough is enough, Jesus. I’ve tried it my way. I want Yours.”
God is the Redeemer.
No Father gives a snake when His child asks for bread.
So start here.
“Lord Jesus, I give You my heart.”
Not perfect.
Not polished.
Just real.
That is where everything begins.
