Echoes of Resurrection

 

Mary tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She had endured hard nights before, but this was different—this was her second sleepless night in a row, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. The wounds in her heart were still raw, refusing to heal.

Morning was slowly creeping in, though the world outside remained dark. Unable to lie still any longer, and knowing sleep would not return, she rose quietly and stepped out into the night. The brooding darkness and desolate silence did not frighten her. Her steps were quick; her resolve unshaken.

It was unusual for a woman to walk alone in the darkness—more unusual still to walk toward a graveyard. But Mary did not waver. Images of His crucifixion—His pain, His suffering, His agonizing death—flashed before her eyes again and again. She had witnessed it all. She had seen His lifeless body placed inside the tomb, and she had been the last to leave the graveyard that terrible day.

She knew the tomb had been sealed with a heavy stone. There were likely guards near the tomb, but the thought did not deter her. If she had to, she would beg them to let her near. Sitting beside His grave felt infinitely better than lying in helpless agony.

As she crossed the graveyard gates, she failed to notice that the guards were gone. Guided by an unshakable longing, she walked straight toward the familiar tomb. Her heart ached; her throat tightened. There lay in somber silence, the dearest person she had ever had.

During His life, He had been followed by crowds—multitudes of people, along with His twelve chosen disciples. He had helped them all. But now, as He lay in His dark, cold grave, He seemed utterly deserted. Not one of His disciples was there. They were likely hidden behind locked doors, afraid of the Jews, she thought.

Though darkness clung to the morning, Mary could already make out the outline of the tomb. But as she drew closer, a chill ran through her. The great stone had been rolled away. The tomb stood open.

She bent low and peered inside.
She nearly fainted.

The sepulcher was empty.
Only the linen cloths remained.

A fresh wave of grief struck her. Someone must have stolen His body. Perhaps His enemies. Perhaps the guards themselves. As His life had been controversial, so was His death. But this—this was impossible. He had been despised by both Jews and Romans; nothing seemed too cruel to imagine.

Distraught, her legs trembled beneath her.
“Oh, where will I go to find Him now?” she fell on her knees and wept.

“Woman, why are you weeping?”

A deep voice echoed through the hollowness of the cold graveyard. She lifted her head and saw the silhouette of a man standing before her. His face was not clear in the dark dim morning light.  Who else would be in this graveyard at such an hour except the gardener?

Without hesitation she pleaded,

"Master, please give me His body, if you know to where it has been taken, please, I will take it away."

She was not sure how she will take a lifeless body away or what she will do with it or where she was going to take it. But "somehow", that was all she thought, "Somehow". In her hand was the sweet spice she had bought to smear on him.

“Mary.”
“Why do you seek the living among the dead?”

The voice… the name… Her name spoken in that familiar tone—
A shock pulsed through her entire being.
Recognition struck like lightning.

Jesus.
He is alive!!!
He has defeated death!!!
He has risen!!!

That single moment was enough to fill Mary’s heart for the rest of her life. It was indeed more, much more than what she needed. She had seen the risen Christ first.

From a forsaken woman once possessed by seven evil spirits to the first witness of the risen Christ—she had been given an honor of seeing the risen Christ first, a privilege denied even to his beloved disciples, for she loved Him above all.

(A recreation of John 20 by Solin Stanling)