I woke up this morning with my mind on the Story.
I looked forward to celebrating what I already knew about how the 3rd day turned out. On the 1st day of that long ago week, though, Jesus’ mom, the other ladies, and the disciples didn’t have that luxury.
As the Sabbath came to a close, they likely tossed and turned through another restless night and then found the new morning didn’t feel all that different from the previous one. Hearts still ached, eyes still spilled over with sadness, and raw emotions still felt on edge.
A fresh start? Hardly.
The ladies had something to look forward to, though. They could put aside their angst and wrap up the burial customs they’d been chomping at the bit to finish. I imagine anticipation filled their purposeful steps as they quietly made their way to the tomb in the stillness of the dawn. Because I’m not a big talker first thing in the mornings, I tend to think the path they took to the gravesite was only marked by the sound of their gentle steps — grieving friends lost in thought making their way to the moment when they would pay their final respects to their friend.
I imagine they may have planned a final farewell to their hopes that morning, too. As they walked, maybe their minds replayed all the things He’d said, all they’d believed, and all the reasons His death seemed so very wrong. But no one could argue they’d seen Him die; and hope died with Him. It would be appropriate to acknowledge that loss.
When the group got to the tomb, though, they found the unimaginable: He wasn’t in it. After all their efforts, so much sorrow, and one final wish to pay respects in a traditional way, they couldn’t find Him. The picture of Mary Magdalene weeping as she searches for Him is a heart-wrenching image.
And “the gardener” doesn’t seem to be much help until she hears her name.
She knows that voice. It’s His voice. She recognizes it because it’s the one that has spoken forgiveness and grace into her life, the one that represents everything she knows to be true about God. As He speaks into the stillness of that quiet morning, a dawn of infinite proportions lights up the sky… He’s alive! He’s alive! He’s alive!
It’s true. It’s all true. Jesus is, in fact, the Messiah, and He is alive.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Amen.
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Read Reflections on Good Friday
