Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Saint John

John 20:11–18

¹¹However, Mary stood outside the tomb, shedding tears, and weeping, she bent down towards the tomb., ¹²and she saw two angels dressed in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³And they said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have put him."" ¹⁴Having said these words, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, and she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, «Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?» She, thinking he was the gardener, said to him, «Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him and I will go and get him.» ¹⁶Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned around and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabboni," which means "Teacher." ¹⁷Jesus said to her, «Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and tell them, »I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'’ ¹⁸Mary Magdalene went and told the disciples that she had seen the Lord and that he had said these things to her.

At that time, Mary Magdalene stood outside the tomb, weeping. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb. She saw two angels in white, sitting where Jesus« body had lain, one at the head and the other at the foot. They asked her, »Woman, why are you weeping?« She answered, »They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.« When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, »Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?« Thinking he was the gardener, she answered, »If you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will get him.« Jesus said to her, »Mary!« She turned and called out to him in Hebrew, »Rabboni!« (which means Teacher). Jesus said, »Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go to my brothers and tell them, «I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.»” So Mary Magdalene went and told the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” and she reported what he had said to her.

«I have seen the Lord!» — Mary Magdalene and the first Easter announcement

How a woman in tears became the first witness of the Resurrection and the apostle to the apostles

On Easter morning, in a garden just beginning to light the dawn, a woman weeps. She seeks a dead man and encounters the Living One. This complete reversal—from night to day, from mourning to joy, from silence to proclamation—is the beating heart of John 20:11-18. This article is for anyone who has ever sought God in tears, in emptiness, in absence: Mary Magdalene is your sister, your companion on the journey, and her cry, «I have seen the Lord!» is the answer the Risen One wants to place in your very mouth.

We will begin by placing the scene within its Johannine narrative and symbolic context, before analyzing the dramatic movement of the text around Mary's threefold reversal. We will then develop three major themes: the theology of tears and searching, the Christology of the spoken Name, and the ecclesiology of the missionary sending. We will examine the practical implications, the patristic and mystical resonances, a concrete avenue for meditation, the contemporary challenges of this text, a prayer inspired by its vocabulary, and a conclusion open to the present day of Easter.

The Garden of Dawn

We must begin by setting the scene, because in John's Gospel, nothing is accidental. Every geographical, temporal, and symbolic detail is laden with theological meaning. John 20:11-18 is part of the longest Easter narrative in the fourth Gospel, a text that exegetes consider one of the most finely crafted pages in all of New Testament literature.

We are «the first day of the week» (Jn 20:1), a phrase that deliberately alludes to Genesis: it is a new beginning, a new creation. The resurrection of Jesus is not merely a biographical event, it is a cosmogony. John sets the scene in a garden (kêpos (in Greek, Jn 19:41), a detail that appears only in the fourth Gospel. This garden resonates with the garden of Genesis (Gn 2-3), where death entered the world, and with the garden of the Song of Songs, where the beloved seeks the departed lover (Song 3:1-4: "I sought him, but did not find him"). John thus programs, from the very setting, a symbolic reinterpretation of the entire history of salvation.

Mary Magdalene came alone, according to the Johannine account (unlike the Synoptic Gospels, which mention several women). She had already discovered the empty tomb (John 20:1-2) and had informed Peter and the Beloved Disciple, who had come to check and then returned home. She, however, remained. This detail is crucial: Mary's unwavering faithfulness—remaining in the face of emptiness, remaining in tears—is the inner disposition that makes the encounter possible.

The liturgical text we are meditating on is proclaimed at the Mass of Easter Sunday, the culmination of the liturgical year. It is preceded by the Alleluia from Psalm 117, that cry of victory which Jewish tradition sang during the great pilgrimage festivals: «This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!» Hallel The Paschal (Psalm 113-118) was sung at the end of the Passover meal—Jesus himself had sung it with his disciples before Gethsemane (Matthew 26:30). Placing it as the opening antiphon of the Paschal creates a striking liturgical arc: the cry of the woman who saw the Lord responds to the ancestral song of the people who await God's intervention.

In the Johannine tradition, this pericope is often called Noli me tangere based on the Latin Vulgate, which translates Jesus' "Do not hold on to me." But this label, however beautiful it may be in painting, obscures the true center of gravity of the text: not the mysterious distance of the Risen Christ, but the mission that flows from it. The scene is not a farewell, it is a sending forth.

The triple reversal

The narrative architecture of this passage is remarkably virtuosic. Jean constructs his story around three physical reversals of Marie, which correspond to three progressive internal reversals.

First reversal (v. 14): Mary, after answering the angels, «turned around.» She saw Jesus, but did not recognize him. This non-recognition is fundamental to all the Johannine Easter appearances: Mary Magdalene did not recognize him (Jn 20:14), the disciples on the road to Emmaus did not recognize him (Lk 24:16), Thomas refused to believe (Jn 20:25), and the disciples fishing did not recognize the figure on the shore (Jn 21:4). The Risen One is the same and yet different. His corporeality is real but transformed, glorified, filled with the Spirit. This mystery of delayed recognition underscores that Easter faith is not a natural perception: it requires grace, a call, a divine initiative.

Second reversal (v. 16): Jesus pronounces her name: «Mary!» And there, she «turned around.» Same Greek verb (straphêsaThe same physical gesture, but this time something radically different happens: she recognizes him. The name spoken by Jesus is the trigger of faith. It is not an argument, not empirical proof, not a philosophical demonstration. It is a voice calling by name. This brings us back to the discourse of the Good Shepherd: «He calls his sheep by name» (John 10:3). The resurrection is communicated first as a personal relationship, an intimate address.

Third reversal (v. 17): Implicit in the movement is the act of going to the disciples. After turning to the past (the tomb), after turning to the Risen Christ, Mary now turns to the future, to the community, to the proclamation. This third turning is the most important from an ecclesial perspective: it is the model for all Christian mission. One cannot proclaim the risen Christ except after having encountered him in the garden of contemplation.

The dramatic structure is that of an initiation: a descent into mourning, a transformative encounter, and a sending forth on a mission. This sequence — kenosis, epiphany, mission — is the fundamental pattern of every prophetic vocation in the Bible (think of Moses at the burning bush, Isaiah in the Temple, Jeremiah in the womb). John deliberately rewrites this pattern in the feminine and on Easter morning.

The theology of tears — seeking God in the darkness

The question posed twice in this text—first by the angels, then by Jesus himself—is identical: «Woman, why are you weeping?» Repetition is a Johannine hallmark: in the fourth Gospel, what is said twice deserves double attention. The question is not rhetorical; it is theologically charged. Why this Why ?

In biblical tradition, tears possess a dignity of their own. The Psalmist pours his tears into the cup of God (Psalm 56:9). Jesus himself weeps at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35)—the shortest verse in the entire Bible, yet one of the most theologically profound, because it affirms that God takes human grief seriously. The Book of Revelation promises that on the last day God will "wipe away every tear from their eyes" (Revelation 21:4)—which implies that the tears were real and that they mattered.

Mary Magdalene's tears are not a sign of weakness. They are proof that she loved. The love that fears loss, the love that remains when all others have left, the love that does not give up even in the face of emptiness: this is what her tears represent. And it is precisely this love that makes her open to encounter.

There is a tremendous spiritual lesson here for times of inner aridity, dryness in prayer, and a feeling of divine absence. Mystical theology calls this the dark night of the soul. John of the Cross, in his commentary on the Song of Songs, sees in the painful quest for the beloved the very matrix of the mystical encounter. One finds God only after experiencing his apparent absence. The emptiness of the tomb is, paradoxically, the place where Easter begins.

Mary is looking for a body to embalm. She is looking for a dead man. She is not looking for the Risen One because she does not yet know that there is a Risen One. And yet, her search is answered beyond all expectation. Therein lies a divine pedagogy: God responds to the deepest intention rather than to the conscious formulation of the request. Mary sought to honor Jesus of Nazareth, the beloved dead man. She receives the risen Christ, the living Lord. The excess of the gift in relation to the request is the very sign of Easter grace.

This theology of tears invites all those who pray in the night, who believe without feeling, who remain faithful without tangible consolation, to recognize in their arid tenacity the very form of love that God rewards in the most unexpected way.

The Christology of the Name — when Jesus says «Mary»

One word. One name. "Marie!" And everything changes.

In Hebrew thought, a name is not an arbitrary label: it expresses the essence of the person. When God changes Abram's name to Abraham, Jacob's to Israel, he reconfigures their identity and vocation. When Jesus calls Simon "Peter," he establishes him in his mission. When he calls Mary by name in the garden, he... reconstitutes in his dignity, in his vocation, in his future.

The scene irresistibly evokes the shepherd of Psalm 23 and the discourse in John chapter 10: «I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep and my sheep know me» (John 10:14). The knowledge John speaks of is not intellectual; it is a knowledge of love, a mutual recognition. The Risen Lord knows Mary by name—and in that spoken name, she finds herself.

The fact that John specifies that Mary responds in Hebrew (RabbouniThis is a remarkably rich exegetical detail. Hebrew is the language of intimate relationship, of prayer, of the Torah. By responding in Hebrew, Mary signifies that she recognizes in Jesus not a stranger, but the original interlocutor of her faith, the one who formed it, called it, transformed it. Rabbouni is an emphatic form of Rabbi, with an emotional nuance: "my Master". This possessive expresses the full intensity of a personal relationship.

But Jesus immediately reframes this relationship. «Do not hold on to me» (or, more literally from the Greek: «Do not touch me, do not cling to me»). This is not a rejection of the relationship—Jesus will later invite Thomas to touch his wounds (Jn 20:27). It is an invitation to move from a physical and memorial relationship (the Jesus of earthly life whom Mary knew and loved) to a spiritual and ecclesial one (the risen Christ present in the Spirit and in the community). The resurrection does not destroy the relationship; it transfigures it.

This Christology is strikingly relevant for any believer nostalgic for a religious past, a childhood faith, an intense spiritual experience now gone. The Risen One says to each of us: «Do not keep me in the tomb of your memories. I am alive, and I want a new relationship with you.» Easter is a constant invitation to let go of the relics of the past and embrace the radical newness of the Living One.

The ecclesiology of sending — the apostle to the apostles

The ending of the text is truly astonishing, especially in the context of the first century. Jesus tells Mary, «Go to my brothers and tell them…» A woman is sent to announce the resurrection to the male apostles. In a society where female testimony had no legal standing, this divine choice is a deliberate provocation.

Tradition, since Hippolytus of Rome in the 3rd century, has given Mary Magdalene the extraordinary title of’apostola apostolorum, the apostle to the apostles. This title is not a late concession from Christian feminism: it is rooted in the Johannine text itself. The apostle is the one who is sent (apostolos = sent). Mary is sent by the Risen One himself — she is therefore an apostle in the strongest sense of the term.

The message it conveys deserves careful attention. Jesus says to her, «I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.» This carefully constructed formulation reveals a profound ecclesiology. Jesus does not say «our Father» (as in the Lord’s Prayer). He distinguishes: «my Father and your Father.» This distinction is not a distance, but a Christological precision: Jesus« relationship to the Father is unique (he is the eternal Son), but he shares it with the disciples (they become, through adoption, children of the same Father). The »your Father” is a Paschal gift: divine sonship is the fruit of Easter.

Furthermore, Jesus now calls his disciples «my brothers.» In John chapter 15, he had called them «friends.» Now, after Passover, he calls them «brothers.» The resurrection inaugurates a new quality of relationship: no longer the Master-disciple relationship, but brotherhood in God. This change in vocabulary is not insignificant—it reflects an ontological transformation of redeemed humanity.

Mary carries this revolutionary message and goes to tell it to the disciples. Her final proclamation—"I have seen the Lord!"—is the first Paschal profession of faith of the Church. Eight words in French, perhaps four or five in Greek. But in these few words lies the core of the entire Christian kerygma: Christ is risen, I have seen him, and he has sent me to tell you.

What this text changes in our lives

This text is not only beautiful to read. It is demanding to live by. It directly challenges several spheres of Christian existence.

In personal spiritual life: The garden scene invites us to remain at the edge of the void when consolation vanishes. Many believers abandon prayer or religious practice when they no longer "feel" anything. Mary Magdalene teaches that faithfulness in the face of aridity is the condition for encounter. It is not necessary to understand in order to remain. It is enough to love and to wait.

In community and church life: Mary's example underscores that the proclamation of faith does not originate primarily from structures or institutions, but from a personal encounter with the Risen Lord. The Church was born that morning in the garden, in the cry of a woman who had seen. Every living Christian community is a community that can say, with Mary, "I have seen the Lord"—not as a memorized formula, but as a lived and shared experience.

In relation to grief and loss: This text holds unparalleled depth for those experiencing grief. Mary seeks a dead man and finds the Living One. This does not diminish the grief: her tears are real, her despair is real. But it proclaims that death does not have the final word. For grieving families, the sick, and those nearing the end of life, John 20 is a promise rooted in a historical event: the empty tomb is not a symbol, it is a fact.

In our relationship to the world and to service: Mary's final movement—she departs, she proclaims, she recounts—is the movement of every missionary vocation. Contemplation is not an end in itself: it leads to being sent forth. The experience of the Risen Christ must be shared. Christianity is not an individualistic spirituality of inner seeking: it is a religion of sending forth, of proclamation, of fraternity.

In relation to the body and sensory experience: The fact that Mary wants to touch, hold, embrace, and that Jesus turns her away not out of disapproval of the body but towards a higher presence, says something important about Christian spirituality: the body is good, the senses are good, attachment is legitimate — but all this must be transfigured, elevated, directed towards what lasts.

Echoes in tradition — from the Fathers to mysticism

This text has nourished two thousand years of Christian meditation. It would be impossible to exhaust its resonances, but a few key points are essential.

In the patristic tradition, Origen of Alexandria (3rd century) sees in Mary Magdalene the figure of the soul that seeks the Logos, the divine Word, and at first finds it only absent. His commentary on the Song of Songs constantly superimposes the quest of the bride and the quest of Mary: «The soul that loves the Word seeks Christ with tears, and finds him only when he himself deigns to reveal himself.» This is the very structure of the mystical theology : not a human conquest, but a divine gift received with desire.

Ambrose of Milan (4th century) insists that Mary Magdalene represents the entire Church, the’Ecclesia ex gentibus, The Church, which came from the nations. Its conversion, its fidelity, its proclamation: these are the stages of Christian initiation experienced by every baptized person. "What Mary accomplished at the tomb, the neophyte accomplishes in the baptismal font."«

Gregory the Great (6th century), in his famous Homilies on the Gospels, develops a theology of love as a condition of recognition: "He who loves more sees more. Mary stayed because she loved more. That is why she alone lived while the others had left." This Gregorian intuition gave rise to a contemplative tradition that would flourish in medieval mysticism.

Bernard of Clairvaux (12th century) takes up the figure of Mary Magdalene in his Sermons on the Song of Songs to describe the degrees of mystical love. For Bernard, the passage of Rabbouni The phrase "do not hold me back" represents the transition from carnal love (attached to the historical Jesus) to spiritual love (open to the glorified Christ). This is not a devaluation of the human being, it is a transubstantiation affection.

Marguerite d'Oingt (13th century) and Julian of Norwich (14th century) both meditate on the garden scene to speak of the "gentleness" of the risen Christ who calls each soul by name. In Julian theology, the Risen One who says "Mary" is in reality saying to each believer: "You are the beloved of God, and your name is engraved on my flesh."«

In the iconographic tradition, the figure of Noli me tangere It inspired Fra Angelico, Titian, Rembrandt, Poussin, Giotto—each capturing a different aspect of the scene: the mysterious distance, the tenderness, the astonishment, the mission. Christian art felt that this painting was worth a thousand sermons.

Lectio divina

Entering the Easter Garden

Here is a six-step lectio divina for praying this text personally. It can be practiced alone or in a group, in twenty minutes or an hour.

Step 1 — Get settled. Read the text of John 20:11-18 aloud, slowly. Let the words resonate with you. Don't try to understand yet.

Step 2 — Enter the scene. Close your eyes. Imagine the garden at dawn, the coolness, the smell of the earth, the dimness of the empty tomb. You are Mary Magdalene. You are crying. Why are you crying this morning?

Step 3 — Listen to the question. «"Who are you looking for?" Let this question flow through you. Not "What are you looking for in your life?" but "Who?" What face of God are you seeking? What form of Christ do you want to encounter?

Step 4 — Hear your name. In the silence of meditation, let Jesus speak your name. Not a generic name. Your own name, with all your history, your vulnerabilities, your awkward love. Let that name touch you.

Step 5 — Receive the shipment. After the encounter, Jesus said, "Go." To whom is he sending you today? Who is waiting for you to tell him, "I have seen the Lord"—in your own words, in your own language, through your life?

Step 6 — Carry the message. Conclude the meditation by formulating, in a simple sentence, your own "I have seen the Lord." Not a theological formula, but a personal statement: "I have experienced that…" or "I believe that Jesus is alive because…"«

Current challenges — this text resists us and makes us resist

Every foundational text encounters objections. Intellectual honesty compels us to address the main ones.

The historical-critical challenge. The resurrection accounts differ significantly among the four Gospels: in Matthew, several women are involved; in Mark, they flee in terror; in Luke, there are several women who report to the Eleven; in John, only Mary Magdalene has the Christophanic vision. There are no clear parallels. What can we conclude?

The answer lies not in forced harmony but in profound convergence. All the Gospels agree on the essentials: the empty tomb, the women who witnessed the event, an appearance of the Risen Christ, and a missionary mission. The discrepancies in the details are the hallmark of a living memory, not of a deliberate fabrication. Paradoxically, these superficial inconsistencies enhance the overall historical credibility: a myth cannot be created by including contradictions that are not addressed.

The feminist challenge. Some feminist interpretations see in the phrase "do not hold on to me" a further marginalization of women after a brief period of recognition. Others, on the contrary, see it as proof that Jesus treats Mary as an equal, entrusting her with the first and most important of Christian messages.

The second reading is better, textually speaking. The "do not hold on to me" is not a limitation of Mary's dignity: it is an elevation. Jesus frees her from sentimental attachment to entrust her with an apostolic mission. He does not dismiss her: he sends her. And the message he entrusts to her is theologically the richest in the entire chapter.

The challenge of contemporary unbelief. In a secularized world, bodily resurrection seems at best a metaphor for hope, at worst a naive myth. How can we talk about John 20 to a contemporary who struggles to believe?

The entry point is not dogmatic but existential. The text poses questions that every human being asks: Where has the one I loved gone? Is death truly the final word? Does anyone know my name in the darkness? The resurrection answers not primarily as a belief system but as an event that addresses humanity's deepest desire: not to die in oblivion, to be loved personally, for love to never end. John 20 speaks first to the human being before it speaks to the believer.

The challenge of religious nostalgia. In a Christianity that is aging in the West, many are searching for a Jesus of the past—the Christ of childhood, of docile certainty, of stable practices. The "do not hold me back" disturbs them. But it also liberates them: Easter is not a museum. The Risen Christ is always moving forward.

Prayer at the threshold of the empty garden

Lord Jesus, risen from the dead, This morning again, I am Mary Magdalene. I come to the tomb of what I have lost, at the tomb of my eroded certainties, at the tomb of my broken relationships, to the tomb of what you were to me when I still knew you the way a child knows you.

I am here, standing in the garden of my life, red eyes, empty hands, not knowing yet that you're already standing there, behind me.

You're asking me the same question you asked her: «"Who are you looking for?"» Not what. Not how. Who. And I discover, deep inside myself, that it is you I am looking for, Always you, still you., even when I thought I was looking for something else.

Say my name, Lord. Say that name you've known since before I was born, that name that you wrote in the palm of your hands before they are pierced. Say it with the tenderness of one who has returned not despite the wounds, but with them, And whoever says: see, I have conquered.

When you say my name, Let me turn back to you, Let me say Rabbouni with all my life, with everything I've missed and everything I've loved, with my tears and my joys mixed together.

And when you tell me "Go", Give me the strength to leave. To leave the garden of intimate consolation to enter the world with your message. To say — even if my voice trembles — «"I have seen the Lord."»

Make me an apostle of your resurrection, not through my skillful words, but by the quiet clarity of someone who has been called by their name in a garden, at dawn, on the first day of the week.

May your Passover be the first day of my new life.

Amen.

The first day that never ends

There is something in this passage from John 20 that resists enclosure. One does not leave this garden as one closes a book. One leaves it transformed, like Mary.

Let us return to the path we have traveled. We have seen a woman weeping in a garden of dawn, whose tears are the purest form of faithfulness. We have heard a name spoken—a single first name—that shatters all nights and turns history on its head. We have seen a woman sent forth, constituted an apostle not by a human institution but by the Risen One himself, and bearing the first Christian kerygma in history: «I have seen the Lord!»

This text is a synecdoche of all Christianity. In a few verses, it contains everything: the Trinity (the Father, the risen Son, the sending in Spirit), the Church (born from the mission of Mary), the liturgy (the first day of the week, the new garden), the eschatology (death overcome, the divine filiation offered), the mysticism (the name spoken, the personal relationship with the Risen One).

But above all—and this is perhaps the most important point—this text says that God chooses the improbable. He chooses a woman, in a patriarchal society. He chooses someone who wept, not someone who triumphed. He chooses to reveal himself in the intimacy of a spoken name, not in the splendor of a public theophany. The Resurrection is not announced first as information, but as an encounter. It is not received first as doctrine, but as a call.

And that call, this Easter morning, still resounds. In every garden of mourning, in every searching heart, in every life that has stopped before an empty tomb and dares not move: the risen Jesus still speaks your name. He still asks his question: «Whom are you looking for?» And when you turn around—when you dare to turn around—you will find him there, alive, standing, radiant with a light that death could not extinguish.

Alleluia. This is the day the Lord has made.

Seven gestures for living John 20

• Remain in silence for five minutes in front of a lit candle, mentally repeating: "Jesus knows me by name and he is alive."«
• Identify a situation of "empty tomb" in your life — a loss, a void — and explicitly entrust it to the Risen One in prayer.
• Reread John 20:11-18 in the morning and write in a notebook the word or phrase that touches you the most, without trying to explain it.
• Tell someone close to you, in simple and personal words, what faith in the resurrection means to you — your own «I have seen the Lord».
• Search for a pictorial representation of the Noli me tangere (Fra Angelico, Titian or Rembrandt) and remain for five minutes contemplating it in silence.
• To pray specifically for someone who is going through a bereavement or loss, bringing their name before the Risen One as Mary brought her message to the apostles.
• Celebrate Sunday as the "first day of the week" by introducing a deliberate gesture of joy — a shared meal, festive music, a letter sent — in memory of the Easter garden.

References

Primary Sources

• John 20:1-18, in The Jerusalem Bible, Cerf, revised edition 2000.
• Psalm 117 (Hallel Pascal), in The Jerusalem Bible, Deer.
• Origen of Alexandria, Commentary on the Song of Songs, trans. L. Brésard, Sources Chrétiennes n°375-376, Cerf, 1991.
• Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons on the Song of Songs, trans. Paul Verdeyen, Sources Chrétiennes n°414, Cerf, 1996.
• Gregory the Great, Homilies on the Gospels, Homily 25, trans. Bruno Judic, Sources Chrétiennes n°522, Cerf, 2008.

Secondary sources

• Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John XIII–XXI, Anchor Bible, Doubleday, 1970.
• Xavier Léon-Dufour, Reading from the Gospel according to John, Volume IV, Seuil/Parole de Dieu, 1996.
• Sandra M. Schneiders, «John 20:11-18: The Encounter of the Easter Jesus with Mary Magdalene,» in A Feminist Companion to John, flight. II, Sheffield Academic Press, 2003.
• Jean-Pierre Lémonon & Christian Grappe, Jesus in the Gospels, Bayard, 2006.

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