It had been three days, and she wouldn’t wait any longer. Sabbath had kept her at a distance, prevented the journey to where his body lay. Now she walked with burial spices in her arms, staring bitterly into the road ahead. Her feet pressed heavier into the dust with every step; she felt the tears gripping her throat again as she neared the tomb. She shut her eyes against the morning sun that flared brightly against her as she turned the last corner. Opening them, she found herself staring into the darkness of an open tomb.
She drew in a short, anxious breath and ran to the yawning entrance before her to peer inside–but he was not there. The morning sun streaked like a silver thread into the place where his head should have rested, but… she hesitated. Were there grave clothes lying in the place of her teacher’s lifeless form? Where was the wounded head whose gentle reprove she had learned to treasure, the maimed feet she had gratefully bathed with her tears? Her heart sank and raged within her for the indignities done to this man, whom she loved. Where had they taken him now?
The tears would not be quieted any longer; she began to weep with the strength of a lifetime of grief. In him, she had found a reprieve from the weight of her mistakes, and a sweetness she could not grasp. He spoke truth and acted in mercy; he set the high-and-mightys straight and kneeled in the dust to captivate children with stories of “the Kingdom.” She grimaced at the thought and trembled with grief. What king? and what kingdom? Disappointment burst, not for the first time in three days, like a tide over her weary heart.
Then, from behind her, a voice. Startled, she turned.
“Woman, why are you crying?” This man wanted to know, “Who is it you are looking for?”
“Sir, if you know where they have put him…”
“Mary.”
With one word,–her own name, spoken in that sweet familiar voice–everything changed. “Rabboni!” She cried, and ran to her teacher, who is alive.
[based on John 20:10-16. Happy Easter, all.]
Awesome! Loved it!