Does it matter who was buried here?
They were someones’ son, someones’ daughter, someones’ friend, or brother or sister, or parent, or grandparent. No it isn’t Jesus’ tomb, it is a pre-historic burial cairn in Argyll, it isn’t the tomb in which he lay on this dark day, but does that matter?
On this day a son, a friend, a hope was mourned. On this day it was if the world stood still and held its breath, not knowing what came next.
Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow.
Those words aren’t Mary’s, does it matter?
The soul is pierced.