Chapter 19

Early the next morning, while it was still quite dark, Miriam woke Mary.
“Mary, dear, it’s time for you to go. Get dressed quickly and go to the tomb.”
Mary jumped up when Miriam said the word tomb. She quickly dressed in the dark room as she tried to remember what the other women had told her about where they were to lay Jesus’ body. Joseph of Arimathea had given up his own burial tomb for Jesus. A borrowed tomb, Mary thought. She remembered Jesus saying once that the birds of the air have nest and the fox’s have holes, but the Son of Man has no where to lay His head. Or His body. She made her way through the dark to a small lamp by the door where Miriam was waiting for her with bread.
“Go quickly my dear and don’t doubt. Go with rememberance.” With that, she opened the door and gently but firmly presssed Mary on.
The darkness hung like a heavy veil on Mary as she made her way through the streets and to the outskirts of the city where the tombs were. The night was quiet and peaceful. It seemed like the world had continued on as if nothing had happened just a few days ago. Mary wondered how people could forget so easily and return to the past rhythm of their lives. Would she ever feel at peace again.
As Mary found her way to the tomb, she noticed that the large stone that lay before it had been moved. She stood frozen for a moment, squinted her eyes against the darkness and looked around wondering if she was in the wright place. No, she knew this was the tomb. She backed away, frightenend, not knowing what to do. Had someone stolen Jesus’ body? And why would they do that? Who would do such a thing? She stood trying to think of what to do and where to go. Peter, John, the other disciples. They would know what to do. She ran as fast as she could back into the city and to where Simon Peter and the others were staying before all this began. She banged on the door as she panted and tried to let the morning air fill her lungs. She was shaking and her mind was racing from the myrid of thoughts that began to cloud her judgement and oppress her rememberance of Jesus. She tried to push away the doubts as she banged harder and harder on the door. ‘They’re probably sound asleep,’ she said outloud as she thought of an earlier time that they were reprimanded by Jesus for such an act. She could hear Peter’s rough voice from inside as he headed toward the door. He threw open the door and yelled words Mary hadn’t heard from him before. She jumped back thinking he might attempt a swing of his hand to go along with his language. When he saw her, he stopped short of his next word and pulled her inside the house.
“What are you doing here, Mary? It’s over, go home.” He turned and walked away from her.
“Peter, they’ve taken Jesus out of the tomb and I don’t know what they’ve done with Him.” Her voice was desperate and loud enough to create a stiring in the house. Peter turned back toward her, rubbed his bearded face a moment and yelled for John to get up, get a sword and follow him.
The three walked quickly and silently back to the tomb. Peter’s stride was one of waging a war, while John and Mary were more concerned about robbers and what they could have done with Jesus’ body. All three held their own brand of failure to the master as they walked the dark road to where death made its home. Peter was remembering his denial of Jesus, John, his inward demons and Mary, her doubts. Mary noticed that even though Peter commanded that John bring a sword, their hands were empty. It was typical of John to think more clearly than some of the other disciples. His age didn’t always match his wisdom.
John sprinted ahead as they got closer to the tomb. Mary was happy for a man to take the lead and Peter was busy lost in his own thoughts to venture a contest with John. John stopped at the entrance of the tomb and stooping down to look in, he saw the linen cloths that had been wrapped on Jesus’ body, lying there, as the first peeks of daylight were streaming into the cavern. But John didn’t go in. He stood and waited for Peter. Peter did not hesitate to walk right into the tomb. He also noticed the wrappings lying on the floor, but the handkerchief that had been around Jesus’ head was folded and laid aside. John then walked inside with Peter and they both examined what they saw with great intensity. The two men were silent as they each grappled with their own thoughts. John’s mind began to recall Jesus’ words of resurrection, but Peter, his pride and heart still brusied from his deniel, walked out of the tomb and went back to his home. John followed him. Neither men spoke with Mary as they walked past her. She stood in shock of their reactions to the empty tomb.
She stood outside the tomb, weeping, not knowing what to do. Where to go. She slowly kneeled down to look into the tomb, wanting to know what John and Peter saw. She drew in a quick breath as she gasped at the sight of two men in white. There was a stone table hewn out of the rock where a body would lay. One of the men was sitting where the head would be and the other where the feet would be. Then they spoke to her in unison.
“Woman, why do you weep?”
“They took my Master, and I don’t know where they put him.” Mary said with a trembling voice to match her shaking body. Her mind was a fury of thoughts. Why would these men take Jesus’ body and why were they so brilliant in their appearance. Could her mind be playing tricks on her. Was she hallucinating. She had seen visions before when she was in a drug induced state, but she had never seen anything like this. She turned her head and saw someone standing behind her. She assumed it was another man dressed in white. She began to cry more with the confussion surrounding her. She just wanted to know where Jesus was. She just wanted her master. The man behind her asked the same question the two men in the tomb asked.
“Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?”
She stood up, turned and walked toward the man in a posture of desperation and plea.
“Mister, if you took Him, tell me where you put him so I can care for Him.” Her voice broke as the words fell from her mouth. She didn’t know how she could possibly carry the weight of his dead body on her own but she knew she needed to be with her Savior. She fell to the ground, weeping as she had when Jesus was hanging on the cross. Her life seemed over. Her master was gone, stolen by robbers. What could they possibly want from Jesus’s body. He had nothing, possessed nothing. She was mumbling as her face and hands were buried in the dirt.
“Please, please, Jesus. Please don’t leave me. Please come back. I want to see you, I want to hear you. I need you.”
“Mary!”
With the one word, all fear was gone, all hope was restored and Mary’s mind was clear again. The voice of her Savior was calling her name!