The day dawned in confusion, like a nightmare without end. How had things gone so wrong? He was the messiah; she was sure of that. Or was she? She knew what he’d done for her. He called her by name and had saved her. Saved her from the spirits that had been driving her mad and transformed her life. Now, her life before she’d met him seemed like a different person’s life. But he’d been killed. How did this happen?
There were conflicting stories, everything from conspiracy theories to idle gossip. She needed to know the truth; he always said that the truth would set her free. Of course, he also said that he was the truth. She was headed for the tomb where they’d buried the truth. Thoughts whirled through her mind and in an effort to pull them into some kind of order, she ran through what she’d pieced together over the last three days.
There had been a meal and Jesus and the twelve went to a garden on the Mount of Olives. Some said the garden was called Gethsemane, others that they had been staying at an oil press that was in an unnamed garden or olive grove. John had said that Judas betrayed their location to the Sanhedrin and brought a mob of people to arrest him. One of the twelve had pulled a sword and injured one member of the mob. It wasn’t clear if it was Simon, or Simon. Either made sense though as one had been a Zealot before he met the Lord and well, Peter, was always one for acting without thinking. Yeah, it was probably Simon Peter. They said that Jesus healed the injured man and told Peter to put the sword away. That’s just like him.
The twelve, well eleven, fled and Jesus was taken to the High Priest’s and things get rather muddled. There were even reports of someone running all the way back to Jerusalem naked. No one seems to know exactly what happened. Some say he was tried and found guilty, others say it was a mock trial, and others claim that he confessed. The mock trial seems to be the most likely case. Peter had apparently followed them but then denied even knowing the Lord. He wouldn’t talk about any of it; in fact he hadn’t said a word to anyone really. At least nothing of substance, the others were looking to him for leadership, and he was lost in his own grief. He seemed almost haunted.
What was indisputable was that Jesus had been turned over to Pilate for execution and after some serious back and forth that seemed more focused on political considerations than on justice, was beaten and crucified. She’d been there for the crucifixion. It had been awful. It’s always awful, but somehow more so with him. She kept expecting a miracle. Squads of angels or something suitably messianic. Nothing like that happened. There was an earthquake, and the sky turned black for several hours, but he wasn’t rescued.
After he’d died, Pilate gave his body to some guy named Joseph. Some said he was a follower from Arimathea, but others claim he’s a member of the Sanhedrin and that he took the body to destroy it. Joeseph had indeed taken the Lords body and he and Nicodemus, who was absolutely a member of the Sanhedrin had respectfully wrapped the body and placed it in a tomb. She’d followed them, so that she would know what they’d done with him. That’s how she knew where he lay. That’s how she knew where she was going.
She looked up and couldn’t believe her eyes. The stone was no longer blocking the entrance to the tomb. Twenty men had rolled it into place but now it wasn’t there and the seal that had placed on the tomb was broken. The stone had been rolled away, but by who. She turned and ran to the place where the eleven were staying in an upper room. She beat on the door and shouted for someone to answer. Eventually Peter and John cautiously answered. Words poured from her mouth, “They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him.” Somehow, they understood the jumble of words and raced off back the way she’d come. She chased after them.
John, being younger, easily outpaced Peter or at least Peter claimed it was due to his youth at each retelling. John was lurking at the entrance when Peter arrived, he seemed hesitant to enter. Peter didn’t even slow down; he just ran straight into the tomb. The linen sheet that he’d been wrapped with was lying there and the face cloth from his head had been neatly folded and was sitting by itself a little way away. John finally entered and saw everything that Peter had seen. Then they left to return to the others. John seemed to believe that a miracle may have occurred. Peter, somehow, looked even more dejected as they passed her.
She stood there by the tomb, weeping and after a little while she stooped down and looked into the tomb. Two people in white were seated at either end of where the body had lain. “Woman, why are you weeping?”
“Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him,” she replied. She must have heard something behind her because she turned away from the tomb and found someone else standing nearby. He too asked, “Woman, why are you weeping?” and followed with another question. “Whom are you seeking?”
It occurred to her that he must be the one who tends to the garden. “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” He called her by name. He called her by name! “Rabbi!” She cried out. He smiled at her and said, “Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father; but go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, and to My God and your God.’”
She felt as light as a feather as she almost danced toward the upper room. The Lord was alive; he had risen from the dead! She needed to let the others know, to tell them what he’d said to her. They needed to know that this day that had started out in darkness, death, fear and confusion had been transformed into a glorious day of light, life, hope and clarity. They needed to know how God’s steadfast love had changed everything. And we need to know too.
© 2025 Richard L. Foland Jr. Image generated via AI from prompt by the author.
