Mary’s Sorrow Turned To Joy

Heartsore and cried out that was how the day started.

The box of spices to honour his broken body felt like a heavy load as I slipped out the house before the first rays of dawn had warmed the streets. In the distance I could hear the guard speaking softly round their crackling fire. I turned down an alley not wanting to pass them and have them question what I was doing, nor did I want to see the uniforms that had sat and thrown dice as he hung on that cross.  I tucked my box further inside my robe and the strong perfume drifted up and reminded me of when the other Mary had anointed his feet. I felt my throat tighten and hurried on, I wanted to get to the tomb as quickly as possible and tears wouldn’t help me see my way in the low light.

I hurried past the Temple as the carts with caged doves headed towards it, life had gone back to normal, but for me life would never be the same again. I slipped out the city gate and headed towards the garden, suddenly a bright ray of sun flashed across the sky and then the gentle dawn continued. The dew wet the hem of my dress reminding me of that day when a woman had touched the hem of his garment and had been healed. Had her healing ended with his life?

Rushing past the ancient trees I wondered how I would get inside the tomb, maybe the guards the authorities had set would help, if not I suppose I would have to go and convince some of the disciples out of the room to come and help.  Then, then I saw the stone was already rolled away, who was already here?  Had Nicodemus or Joseph returned?

My hand touched the cold stone of the rolled stone as I peered inside its dark interior, no one was there. I looked again, and again all around the cool interior.  Nobody, then I realised there was no body either, but neatly folded up on the slab were the linens I had been going to add the spices too. Maybe this was the wrong tomb. No it couldn’t be I wouldn’t have made that mistake. I turned to leave. Then I saw them, how I missed them before I do not know, two shining figures:  ‘He is not here, he is risen.’ They said.  I dropped my box and ran.  Ran to get Peter and John with the fragrance of the tumbled out spices and herbs following me.

Of course they didn’t believe me, did they, instead they came running back to the tomb to prove me wrong, or maybe to search for clues as to whom might have taken him away.  The guard, who had been sleeping when I arrived had vanished when I came back out the tomb, if they were hoping to question them they would be disappointed.

They looked and found nothing at all, no body, no guards, no angels.  Confusion reigned as the pink rays of the rising sun kissed the tombs entrance.  I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see the gardener, or so I thought,

His eyes were kind and reminded me of someone, his outstretched hand silently spoke of love and peace in its curled fingers.  There was something about him that made the confusion cease.  Tell me where they have taken him I pleaded.  Before he said my name, I knew. I cried out and went to touch him, hold him, make sure he was no mirage.  But he wouldn’t let me.

Then he was gone again, and again I ran to tell the others.  My heart was healed, no longer heavy with sorrow but light with joy.  He was alive, He is alive, I knew in my heart I would see Him again.



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