Mary Magdalene sat cross-legged near the flickering oil lamp, her mind exhausted from the oppressive grief of the weekend. Just three days ago—Jesus’s lifeless body hanging on the cross. But then, a flashback from weeks past—a snippet of when Jesus explained to his disciples he must suffer at the hands of the elders, ‘must be killed and on the third day, be raised to life.’ Matthew 16:21. Raised to life... He did it for Lazarus... Could He raise Himself?
No, He’s gone... the blood... His
words, ‘it is finished.’ The spear in the side... the water flowing out.
A quivering hand touched Mary’s
shoulder. She looked into the compassionate face of Salome. “We should leave
before the sun rises,” she said as she glanced toward the small window facing
the east. “If anyone sees us—”
Mary of Clopas reached for Salome’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’ve come this far for Him. Fear has no place now.”
Mary Magdalene stood. Her countenance
resolute, though her heart burst with grief. “Didn’t he say, ‘Destroy this
temple, and I will raise it again in three days?’ John 2:19. I
don’t care what the guards or the priests think. Jesus gave us hope.”
The three women shared a quiet moment, holding hands in the stillness—jars with carefully packed spices and embalming clothes ready. They extinguished the flickering lamp and plunged into the darkness of the night.
The night pressed in on the three mourners—oppressive, a malevolent force tugging at their very soul. Each step on the cobblestone path, slick from the evening dew, threaten to derail their journey. Shards of moonlight invaded Jerusalem’s sleepy cloak—its streets deserted save for the distant bark of a stray dog. Salome wrapped her shawl tighter around shoulders, shielding herself against the cool breeze—and against the gnawing fear in her chest.
Mary of Clopas broke the silence,
her voice barely audible above their soft footsteps. “Do you think they’ll let
us near the tomb? The guards—”
“Leave that to God,” Mary Magdalene whispered, her voice trembling. Memories filled her mind: all the miracles they had witnessed, the mercy He had shown her, the laughter they had shared. But I saw Him broken, lifeless, and sealed behind that stone... And yet, hope refused to die completely within her.
They quickened their pace as the eastern horizon blushed with an orange tint. Their sandals scuffed against the rocky path as their uneasy breaths mingled with the morning birds’ song.
There it was. The garden tomb emerged from the dark shadows that held its secret. Leaves rustled in the swirling breeze, fending off intruders. The women hesitated at the threshold, their eyes fixed on the tomb’s entrance.
Salome clutched her chest, her
voice shaking. “Look... The stone—it’s gone!” All three women drew in a breath
of moist, dank air.
Mary of Clopas’ words caught in her
throat, then whispered, “Could someone have...?”
Mary Magdalene stepped forward, her
knees quivering beneath her. The musky smell of damp earth and olive trees
filled the air, but an inexplicable energy sizzled off the leaves. Her
heartbeat echoed in her ears as she stepped closer to the tomb and peered
inside.
Empty. The linen that had wrapped
Him lay neatly folded if in quiet defiance of death itself.
“No,” Mary murmured, stumbling
backward. Her mind raced—senses ablaze. Could it be theft? Desecration? Or... He
is Risen! Matthew 28:6. Could it be?
Salome joined her, pressing a hand
to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Where is He? Who would take him?”
A brilliant, unearthly light
enveloped the tomb. The women stepped back, shielding their eyes. As the
radiance subsided, a figure clothed in robes of dazzling white stood beside the
tomb. His face reflecting a calm, yet commanding presence.
Do not be afraid, the angel said. You seek Jesus
of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; He is not here. Behold the place
where they laid Him. Matthew 28:6.
Those words... could they be true? A spark of hope and terror growing
in their souls. Mary of Clopas fell to her knees, tears cascading as she
muttered prayers of gratitude. Salome covered her face, her body trembling with
the weight of the revelation.
Mary Magdalene stood frozen, her
grief and joy colliding in a maelstrom of emotion. “Risen?” she whispered, the
words too hard to believe, but He had said... Could it truly be? On the
third day...
The angel extended his hand—his
expression calm and engaging. Go, tell His disciples—and Peter—that He goes
before you to Galilee. There you will see Him, just as He told you. Mark
16:7.
Mary of Clopas and Salome fled the garden, clutching their shawls to their heaving chests. But Mary Magdalene, blinded by tears that blurred her vision, froze and dropped onto a rock near the path. She couldn’t move, her chest tight, unable to breathe from the weight of unanswered questions. The angel’s words replayed in her mind, but doubt churned alongside hope. Had she him correctly... or misunderstood?
Her gaze drifted to the empty tomb,
its shadows yawning like an open wound. Warm tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting
crevasses into the chill that clung to her. Her knees shook as it squished the
damp earth beneath her feet. “If you’ve arisen,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“Where are You?”
Then, a voice. “Woman, why are you
weeping? Whom are you seeking?” The voice gentle, yet penetrating.
Staring at the mossy stones, anger
flashed through her despair. “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where
you have laid Him, and I will take Him.”
The man stepped closer. His face
partially shadowed by an olive branch and kneeled—His hand resting lightly on
His knee. Meeting her where she was—both physically and emotionally. He said Mary.—a
single word that imbued a tenderness that unraveled her completely.
She gasped—her heart clutched as
recognition struck like lightning. That voice. Was it possible? Yet, it was
undeniable... She looked up, seeing his face for the first time. Her trembling
hands reached out, but hesitated—afraid this might be a cruel trick of the
mind.
“Teacher!” she spoke almost as if in
a question. Jesus smiled. A gentle radiance encompassing the very essence of hope. Do
not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to My
brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My
God and your God.’ John 20:17.
Mary’s breath caught in her throat
as the weight of His words sank in. Her heart swelled with wonder—her grief
swept away by this miraculous revelation. She nodded, unable to speak as her
tears fell freely—no longer burdened by sorrow, but brimming with uncontainable
joy.
As she rose to her feet, the garden
came alive in a way she hadn’t noticed before. The vibrant colors of the
flowers, the warmth of the sun on her skin, the chorus of birdsong—it all felt
like creation itself rejoicing in His victory.
Her feet carried her swiftly toward
the city, her heart pounding with urgency and exhilaration. The disciples
needed to know. The world needed to know.
HE
HAS RISEN; HE HAS RISEN INDEED!
Most of us think of the Kingdom of God as heaven—something we seek to attain
once we pass on, but Jesus
makes it clear the Kingdom of God is here on earth
in each of us. While His
warning that it can be taken away reminds us
of our responsibility,
this isn't about earning salvation through works.
Rather, it's about gratefully receiving God's grace and
allowing it to bear fruit through us for His glory.
